"Christ," Jake said, stepping into the room. Things were a little messier in here, with a few articles of clothing strewn about the carpet, a few cigarette butts and overflowing ashtrays sitting next to the bed. Darren was lying on his side in the middle of the bed wearing nothing but a tattered pair of Calvin Klein underwear. His skin was pale, almost ashen, and he looked as if he'd lost ten or fifteen pounds since the last time they'd seen him. His eyes were closed and he was breathing raggedly.
"Look at him," Nerdly said. "That doesn't look like influenza to me."
They walked closer to the bed and Jake reached down and grabbed Darren's shoulder. He had to shake him for the better part of twenty seconds before the bass player's eyes creaked open and he looked at them. He didn't seem to comprehend for another thirty seconds or so but finally the eyes seemed to focus.
"Hey, Jake," he said. "Wassup?"
"What's wrong with his voice?" Pauline asked before Jake or Matt had a chance to. His words had been slurred almost beyond comprehension.
"It's been like that all day," Cedric said. "He says it's hard to swallow and that his tongue doesn't seem to work right."
"How you doing, Darren?" Jake asked, keeping his distance in case whatever Darren had was contagious. "You don't look so good."
"Been really fuckin' sick the last few days," Darren croaked. "The flu sucks, man."
"Yeah," Jake said. "Are you hurting?"
"No, just really fuckin' weak. I don't have no energy at all. And my arms..." He shook his head. "I think that's the worst."
"What's wrong with your arms?"
"I can't hardly move 'em," Darren said. "It takes everything I got just to lift them off the bed. And my breathing."
"Your breathing? What about it?"
"It just feels... you know... really hard to breathe. Like my lungs don't wanna do it for me."
Matt and Jake both turned murderous glares toward Cedric.
"What?" he asked, defensively.
Matt was the one to speak. "His speech is all fucked up, he can't lift his arms, and he's having trouble breathing? Is that what you think the fuckin' flu is, asshole?"
"It's not the flu?" Darren asked, having to take a few breaths first. "What is it then?"
"Is he hot?" asked Nerdly. "Maybe he's got an infection."
"He didn't feel hot when I touched him," Jake said.
"I really don't feel good," Darren said. "This is even worse than those burns that time."
"I think we need to get him to a hospital, guys," Pauline said. "He's pretty sick."
"Yeah," Jake agreed. "I think that's a real good idea."
They managed to get a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt on him and drag him downstairs to the waiting limousine. In doing so, however, they seemed to have sapped the last of his strength. As they made the ten minute drive Darren was no longer able to hold himself up and his consciousness waned until even vigorous shaking wouldn't bring him around. Most frightening was his breathing. It became even more ragged and irregular, each breath shallow and weak.
They pulled up in the ambulance entrance of Good Samaritan Hospital just west of downtown. Pauline went inside and explained the situation to the nurses on duty at the front desk. Soon they came back out with a gurney and dragged Darren out of the limo. He moaned a little as the transfer was made but otherwise didn't seem to notice.
"One of you come in with us to explain what's going on here," one of the nurses said. "The rest of you go to the waiting room."
"I'll go," said Jake before anyone else could volunteer.
Nobody argued with this.
They took Darren into a large room in the emergency department and began stripping his clothes off. A doctor came in, blinked a little when he recognized Jake, and then began asking questions. Jake told the story as best he could, leaving nothing out, including the heroin use.
"When was the last time he used?" the doctor asked.
"According to his servant he hasn't shot up since yesterday," Jake replied.
"Hmmm," the doctor said. "Okay, I think I got the general idea. Why don't you go out into the waiting room for now and I'll let you know what's going on as soon as I can."
"Right," Jake said, watching as one of the nurses shoved a thermometer up Darren's ass. "I'll do that."
He joined Matt, Nerdly, and Pauline in the waiting room. It wasn't long before throngs of curious patients out there with them started drifting over to beg for autographs or to ask what was going on. One of them even asked Jake if he'd beat up another girl. Finally the charge nurse took pity on them (or at least wanted to restore order to the hospital) and moved them to a small room that was labeled "Quiet Room". There were two couches, a telephone, and a coffee maker in here. They sat down and waited. Soon a clerk came in to ask them about billing information but after that, no one.
It was almost an hour before the doctor made an appearance. He was in his early forties but going gray around the temples and bald up on top. Aside from that, however, he looked like he was in good shape. He was not smiling as he entered the room.
"I'm Doctor Bradford, one of the ER physicians," he said. "I talked to Mr. Kingsley here earlier but I didn't get a chance to introduce myself. You're Mr. Tisdale and Mr. Archer, right?"
"Right," Matt said.
"Yes," said Nerdly.
"And you are?" he asked, looking at Pauline.
"Pauline Kingsley," she said. "I'm Jake's sister and the band's manager. Now that we all know each other, what can you tell us about Darren?"
"Of course," he said, grabbing a seat at one of the empty chairs. "Your friend is very sick. It took me a few minutes to actually figure that out despite what Mr. Kingsley told me about the arm weakness and the speech difficulties. I assumed at first that I was just dealing with an overdose of heroin. The slow and shallow respiratory rate and the decreased level of consciousness that he was exhibiting are classic signs of that."
"So you gave him Narcan?" Matt asked.
The doctor blinked. "Why yes," he said. "That's exactly what I did. Narcan is a narcotic antagonist drug. It basically goes in and binds to the receptors in the brain that an opiate uses to have its effects on the body. Narcan itself has no physical effect but it's presence keeps the opiates in the body from acting. Generally, in an overdose situation, it works within seconds and the victim resumes normal breathing and normal consciousness."
"But that didn't happen with Darren?" Jake asked.
"No," Bradford said. "It didn't. It had no effect whatsoever. That was when I started to realize I was dealing with something a little more than a simple overdose. In the meantime, however, Darren's breathing slowed even further and got to the point where it wasn't providing enough oxygen to his bloodstream. I was forced to put in a breathing tube and attach him to a ventilator."
"So he's on life support?" Pauline asked, her eyes widening.
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Bradford said. "And if what I suspect is wrong with him turns out to be correct, I think he's going to be on a ventilator for awhile."
"What is it that you suspect?" Jake asked.
"I think he has an advanced case of botulism," Bradford said.
"Botulism?" Matt asked, his eyes widening. "Ain't that the shit you get from canned food?"
"Yes," Bradford confirmed. "Botulism is rare but most cases are caused by improperly canned foods. There is another way to get it, however. It's called wound botulism. What happens here is that anaerobic bacteria — which mean they don't require oxygen in order to reproduce — become trapped in the subcutaneous tissue as a result of a wound or abscess. They reproduce there and release the botulism toxin, thus poisoning the body and inhibiting nerve transmissions in the muscles, including the muscles that control respiration. This form of botulism, until a few years ago, was almost unheard of in developed countries. But these days it is starting to crop up more and more, usually among people who use black tar heroin."