2
Danny is subdued as we walk him out to the car and settle him in the back seat with Roscoe. I strap Danny in, and Roscoe stretches out on the seat beside him, his head in Danny’s lap. I don’t have the means to strap Roscoe in but given the short drive and the fact that we won’t be going much over twenty-five miles an hour, I think it will be okay. Hopefully, Allie is a good driver.
As soon as Allie and I are strapped into our respective seats in the front, she starts the car, backs out of her driveway, and pulls out at a nice, leisurely pace.
“How often do you ride around with the cops?” she says, once we’re on the street.
“For now, I’m doing four shifts a week, Thursday through Sunday, from eleven at night until seven in the morning. My hospital hours got cut back some, so I don’t work Fridays there now. Overall, the two jobs mesh well. It’s going to be a little dicey on Thursdays because I have to work my regular hospital hours and then in the evening, when I could potentially sleep before the cop gig, I have my grief support group. By the time I get done with everything on Friday mornings, I will have been up for over twenty-four hours.”
“Yuck,” Allie says. “That must be hard to do.”
“I’m hoping it will get easier,” I say with a chuckle. “Last night was my first Thursday into Friday shift and I managed okay, but I was also excited about starting the new job and I think that gave me a bit of extra oomph. Once the newness wears off, I might have to rethink things. Maybe my grief support group will be willing to change the night we meet to Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“Well, I’ll say it again. I think it’s a great idea to have you riding around with the cops. I know they mean well, but they just don’t get Danny and his illness. There have been some difficult and scary confrontations in the past.” She flips on her turn indicator—something I’m starting to think is a rarity among drivers these days—and takes a shortcut down a road that backs along the river and skirts along the length of the city cemetery.
I hear a whine from the back seat and I’m not sure if it came from Danny or Roscoe. When I turn to look, I see Danny’s eyes widen with fear as he stares out his side window at the cemetery. Crap! Clearly the drive past the cemetery wasn’t a good choice given Danny’s issues, but it didn’t register with me at first, and obviously it didn’t register with Allie either.
Danny starts breathing faster, and shallower, moaning slightly.
“Danny, it’s okay. There’s nothing there,” I say, twisting my body around so I can see him.
Roscoe pushes his head higher onto Danny’s lap, but there’s no comforting him at this point.
“Look!” Danny whispers, pointing toward the cemetery. “There he is.” His voice breaks and he is practically whimpering. One hand reaches for the door handle. I sense he’s ready to whip that door open and jump out of the car, an insane and illogical move if he thinks the ghost is here. His chances of escape are far better in a car, but logic isn’t putting in much of an appearance for Danny right now.
I reach back and take hold of the wrist closest to me, knowing that if Danny makes up his mind to bolt, I won’t be able to stop him. But I’m hoping my touch will have a steadying, grounding effect. “Danny, look at me,” I say in my best commanding voice. “Right now! Look... at... me.”
He doesn’t. His eyes are glued to the cemetery. Allie has slowed the car down to nearly a crawl and I fear she’s about to pull over. Part of me thinks that’s a smart move in case Danny does try to jump out, but another part of me realizes that we need to get as far away from the cemetery as we can, as soon as we can.
Behind us, Devo turns on his lights.
“Danny, look at me!” I say again, more sternly this time. I squeeze his hand hard to try to break his concentration on the cemetery. This works. He turns and looks at me, his eyes wide with fear. Beads of sweat have broken out on his forehead, and his color is so pale he looks like a ghost himself.
“Allie, drive.” I say. “Get us past this cemetery.”
She does what I tell her, hitting the gas and making the car lurch forward. To an outsider watching all of this, it would look like Devo is trying to do a traffic stop, and we, the culprits, have just decided to run. Fortunately, Devo doesn’t make any other maneuvers to stop us, though he does keep his lights on. At least he isn’t using the siren. Not only might it attract unwanted attention, I have a feeling the sound of it would escalate Danny’s panic.
“It’s okay, Danny,” I say in my best soothing voice. “You’re completely safe here. Roscoe is with you and he’ll protect you.”
Danny stares at me but I don’t think he sees me. All he sees are the frightening images playing out in his head. But at least the hand that was on the door moves away from the handle.
“You’re safe and you’re okay,” I repeat. “We’ll be at the hospital in another minute or two and then we can get you checked out, look at your meds and make sure everything is the way it needs to be, okay?”
Danny doesn’t answer, but his breathing slows and a hand settles on Roscoe’s head and begins stroking the soft fur there.
I glance off to the side and see that Allie is turning into the parking lot of the hospital. She pulls up to the entrance to the ER and shifts the car into park.
“We’re here,” I tell Danny. He seems calm, so I undo the latch on my seatbelt and turn around to face front. I’m out of the car in seconds and opening the back door beside Danny. Devo has pulled up behind us and he’s already out of his car standing next to me. I take Danny’s hand and give Roscoe a sideways head nod. Roscoe backs off Danny’s lap, rising to a sitting position beside him. I tug gently at Danny’s hand and he climbs out of the car.
“What happened back there?” Devo asks.
“Just a moment of panic. We got through it fine. Can you put Roscoe back in your car?”
Devo hesitates, frowning. I’m not sure if he’s put out by the fact that I’m giving him directions and not filling him in on exactly what happened, or if he’s worried about not accompanying me when I take Danny inside.
“Everything is under control,” I tell Devo. I look up at Danny, who is standing beside the car’s back door, staring off into space, chewing on the side of his thumbnail. “Ready to get things straightened out, Danny?” I say.
He nods, still chewing, his eyes scanning the surrounding area.
Devo hesitates a few seconds longer, his scowl deepening, but then he sighs and turns to the inside of Allie’s car. “Come on, Roscoe,” he says, and my dog obediently hops out of the back seat and follows Devo to his car.
I breathe a sigh of relief, whisper “good dog,” under my breath, and then Allie and I steer Danny inside to the registration area of the ER.
* * *
An hour later, Danny is lying on a stretcher in a glass-walled room, sound asleep. The curtains to the room are open so the ER staff and anyone else in the area can see him clearly. He’s been given a shot of medication to relax him and it’s working like a charm. Allie and I are seated in the hallway outside his room and the doctor on duty, Susan Finnegan, is listening to a brief history of Danny’s mental health
