Eye of the Sh*t Storm Jackson Ford (detective books to read txt) 📖

comedown was back, and it was the entire world. There wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t in agony. I had no stomach left – it had been sucked into a black hole. Iron railway spikes had been driven into the base of my skull. I was shaking, hyperventilating, doing everything I could not to vomit all over the China Shop van.

I have no idea how I managed to get inside. Africa helped me, kept asking if I was all right, even wandered around tidying the place. Like it would help, somehow. It took a lot of energy I didn’t have to assure him that I’d be fine, to get him to do the one thing I really wanted: to be left alone.

When he finally left, I crawled into bed, not even changing into my PJs, just kicking my shoes off. Not caring. Fuck the world. Fuck everything. Just let me die.

I slept. For about ten minutes. And then I was wide awake, horribly alert, twitching and grinding my teeth. Every nerve in my body vibrating with electricity. All I wanted to do was sleep… and I couldn’t.

I don’t care if it jacks my ability. Meth is the fucking worst.

I didn’t have my phone any more, but I did have Minnie’s. So I called Nic. Hoping he’d distract me, clear my head. He was at his parents’ place – God knows what he told them. He was also hopped up on mucho painkillers.

We didn’t talk for long. I had to bite down on my nervous energy. “I’ll call you tomorrow, OK? Promise.”

“You’d better.” He was practically slurring his words. “Glad you’re OK.”

I shake my head, still not sure that’s true. “You too.”

“Love you.”

I don’t think he meant love you love you. Like I said: high as fuck. But it didn’t stop a strange, queasy feeling from rolling through my body.

Sleep was out of the question, so I did what I always do when I need to calm myself down. I started cooking.

Initially, I think I just planned to cook myself dinner, but it kind of sort of got out of hand. A quick tomato sauce for pasta became a ragu, which became a lot of ragu. I made a huge salad to go with it, clearing out my fridge, throwing in every little odd thing I could find: anchovies, a bag of half-finished croutons, a hastily made vinaigrette. I realised that I didn’t want to eat any of it, couldn’t even imagine eating any of it. I just needed to occupy my fritzing, tortured body.

Somewhere along the way, I baked chocolate chip cookies, burning through the last of my expensive sea salt as garnish. The tiny-ass kitchen with its wonky oven didn’t even phase me. My apartment filled with warring smells, my sink vanishing under a growing pile of pots. I used practically every perishable item in my fridge, every can in my cupboards, and I was still fizzing with energy. My thoughts wouldn’t stay off Nic, and increasingly, they wouldn’t stay off Annie.

Which is how I ended up driving back to the hospital.

Back to Annie’s room.

Thank fuck she’s not in the burns unit. There were some burns, sure, most of them on her torso, but apparently not enough to put her in isolation. Just the regular ICU. Like that’s any comfort. Apparently, what happened to her is known as splash damage, where a bolt of lightning hits the ground and travels outwards from the point of impact, going through someone on the way. If she’d been hit directly…

As it is, her heart stopped twice after she got to the ER. She has a ruptured eardrum. Burst blood vessels. She’s in a coma.

I can’t get over how small she looks. Annie is tall – six feet, easy. But under the snaking network of tubes that criss-cross her chest and cover her face, under the strips of medical tape and the wristbands and the bleached hospital sheet, she looks tiny. She’s in critical condition. I don’t remember much of the conversation we had with the doctors, but…

There’s not a single thing I can do to help my friend. I can’t even offer her one of the cookies I baked.

Friend.

Is that what she is?

I’m not supposed to be here – it’s way outside visiting hours. But the advantage of turning up at a hospital with snacks is that you can bribe the nurses. And besides, I don’t think an Army could have kept me away. A couple of nurses gave me the stink-eye, but so far, no one’s moved me – maybe due to Tanner’s influence, I don’t know.

Tanner. Christ. I haven’t even thought about how I’m going to deal with her. With everything. It’s all a problem for tomorrow.

Right now, I just want to sit in this chair, in this private hospital room, and be with Annie.

It’s all I can do.

Drawn curtains. Dark, silent TV. The lights are up, but there’s no sound other than the gentle beeping of the machines keeping Annie alive. The chair I’m in is on the window side of the bed, pushed up against the corner of the room. It’s old, but comfy. I’m half expecting to fall asleep, because surely it has to happen at some point. But the meth has plugged my body into a nuclear reactor. There’s too much energy, and nowhere for it to go. My teeth feel electrified, like they’re actually vibrating in their sockets.

The very last of the meth is still in my pocket. A tiny pile of it, no bigger than the hole between finger and thumb when you make the OK sign. It’s kind of amazing that the little baggie survived… Well, everything. But it did. I was adamant that I was going to throw it away, or leave it at home. I didn’t.

I don’t plan on taking this goddamn drug ever again. That’s the truth.

It has to be.

“Whooooo,” I say, tilting my head back, stretching my arms overhead. “What a day, man. What a fucking day.”

Yes,