After another long week (and I'm sure for you folks a long wait
), here is the next part! Kleenex warning! There is some major angst in this part!
Hunted Part Seven
Rated: R
“We came as soon as we heard,” Pete said, panting from running down the hospital corridors with Nadine. It took him a moment to realize that they were looking at a different doctor, this time a young man of medium height with dark, curly hair. “Where’s the other doctor?”
“She had to attend to an emergency surgery,” the young man said. “I’m Dr. Strobel.” He extended his hand, and Pete shook it absently. “I specialize in victims of drug abuse, and she believed my expertise would be of use in this case.”
“What’s going on? What’s happening to MacGyver?” Nadine asked. “They called us…”
“Yeah, is it serious?” Pete asked.
Dr. Strobel sighed. “I think it’s best if you see for yourself,” he said, opening the door to MacGyver’s room and gesturing for them to enter it.
***
MacGyver felt a tremendous weight dragging him downward into the depths of despair, never feeling more miserable or depressed before in his life. His entire body ached, and he jerked around, his muscles in an uncontrollable spasm. There was something he needed to make him stop feeling this way. He knew it. He desperately wanted it, obsessed with it, the strong desire for its relief crowding his thoughts and overriding the importance of anything else. He would do anything to find it, to have it, to make the unbearable pain stop, to feel good again… Pete and Nadine watched as MacGyver twitched and sobbed, moaning and thrashing around on his hospital bed. His eyes were half open, suggesting he was only semi-conscious or still strung out from the effects of the cocaine.
“Please…more…” he whimpered. “I’m dying…need more…you’re killing me…help…” he released more loud sobs, bawling like a young child, pleading for his relief, his savior, his eyes squeezing tightly shut, tears leaking from them and rolling down his cheeks, his face contorted in a grimace of pain. “Please!” He screamed. “More…must have more…NO!”
He tugged at his I.V. line, trying to yank it out of his arm in his violent struggles, but the nurses in the room held him, trying to restrain him. He screamed, howled, and wailed some more, collapsing into heavy sobs, his body still twitching and cramping, his hands clenching and unclenching in fists, groping blindly, reaching, trying to find the substance that would restore him.
“Please….please…”
Neither Pete nor Nadine could bear to watch him suffer in such a manner, but they couldn’t look away, either, the harsh reality of what had been done to MacGyver something they had to confront.
“So he is addicted,” Pete said sadly, “just as we feared.”
Dr. Strobel motioned for them to come over to him, a distance away from the bed where MacGyver continued to jerk, twist, and flail, screaming and crying, pleading despondently, sweating profusely, the nurses straining and using their best efforts to hold him still.
“Not necessarily, Mr. Thornton,” he said quietly.
“What do you mean?” Nadine asked.
“Look at him! He’s begging for the drug!” Pete said.
“I know it appears that way, but what he might actually be suffering from now is withdrawal,” Dr. Strobel said. “Remember, he’s essentially been poisoned. The pleasure centers of his brain were overstimulated by an extremely high and potent dosage. Having never used or been exposed to cocaine before, it had to have had overwhelming effects on his brain and his central nervous system, creating an exhilarating high that he’d never experienced before, making him feel better than he ever had before. Now, he’s suffering from the ‘crash,’ as they call it in street terminology. He’s depressed, feeling uncomfortable physical effects, all of which he believes can be cured with another dose of the drug.”
“So, what are you saying?” Nadine asked, unconsciously gripping Pete’s arm as if seeking support to prevent herself from tumbling to the floor, her legs feeling weak beneath her.
“That sounds like addiction to me,” Pete said.
“The poison is leaving his body,” Dr. Strobel said. “What he’s experiencing now are the unfortunate side effects of that process.”
“So, will he get better?” Nadine asked.
“Cocaine is highly addictive, as you are well aware, but given that this was his first exposure to the drug, that he was forced to ingest it, and that he has no prior record of habitually abusing drugs, the prognosis is far better than it would be otherwise. However, it was a high and potent dose, something else we must take into consideration. At the levels found in his body, if he had been using the drug freely another dose would likely kill him, not high enough to give him the thrill he would be seeking. This dose was almost lethal as it was. It’s remarkable that he survived it at all, and that he’s actually doing better than predicted. So, the odds of his full recovery are not insurmountable. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours should provide us with better information as the drug continues to break down in his system. We’ll be monitoring him very closely.”
MacGyver retched, spluttered, and gagged loudly, choking and coughing, his lungs sounding congested.
“Whoa…here we go…” one of the nurses said.
The other nurse helped prop MacGyver up and they leaned him over a basin as he vomited again, heaving and trembling. He continued for several minutes before it was finished, filling the basin almost to the brim with a disgusting, putrid soup of sour stomach acid.
“That’s it, it’s okay,” one of the nurses said to the barely cognizant MacGyver, gently wiping his mouth and dabbing his flushed face. “It’s over now.”
Grunting, aware that someone was holding him, preventing him from getting the help he needed, MacGyver squirmed violently in their arms, trying to free himself. He yanked on his I.V. line again, screaming. As strong and powerful as he was, he was still weakened in that state and was easily overpowered by the two nurses, one of whom was a man and the other a rather large woman. They managed to place him back in bed and hold him there as he continued to writhe beneath them, whimpering and sobbing, his face creased in distress and fear, not knowing where he really was, only that he felt he was dying and needed the antidote, images of the syringe tantalizing him, his skin tingling in anticipation of the injection that would end his current state of confusion and pain, bringing him back into awareness and clarity as he had never known.
“Now hon, settle down,” the female nurse said in soothing tones. “It’s all right.”
“Do you recommend restraints?” The male nurse asked, turning to Dr. Strobel.
“No, he’ll just need another sedative,” he said.
“We’ve already given him a high dose for his elevated heart rate.”
“I know, but another dose won’t damage him and will keep his heart rate consistent and low.”
Nadine felt she was reliving the nightmare of when MacGyver was first injected, watching him endure the same torments as before, nothing changing or improving. She wondered how much longer his body could tolerate it. Eventually, it was going to give out, going to exhaust itself…
stop it. Don’t think that way. She had never seen any of James’s cocaine addicts, never seen the devastating effects of what it could do to someone. He never paraded them in front of her, always keeping them separate from their comfortable home life, never mentioning them, giving her the sanitized version of his deadly, corrupt business so that her moral objections would be kept at a minimum. Now, he had educated her, and it was indeed a grim lesson.
Pete hadn’t seen MacGyver when he was first injected, but after what Nadine had told him about it, he knew the conditions were much the same as they were now, the circumstances dire. He had seen MacGyver suffer more than anyone he had ever known, enduring more physical and mental anguish than any single person should have been subjected to in his short lifetime, but he never thought his friend would have to battle the possibility of drug addiction, fighting one of the elements that contributed to violence and moral decay, one of the things he strongly opposed now invading his body and incarcerating and poisoning his mind, making it a slave. James Mondragon and most of his syndicate might have been behind bars, but the damage he left behind could not be easily undone.
“Doctor,” he said. “Can you give us your honest assessment? Is he really going to emerge from this unharmed?”
“I’ve seen many drug addicts and drug overdoses in my time, Mr. Thornton,” Dr. Strobel said. “Some fared better, others far worse believe it or not. I’ve been witness to a few deaths. I believe MacGyver has a chance, but there are so many factors and risks to consider…”
“Just make a prediction,” Pete said, his eyes fierce and moist. “That’s all I ask.”
“I know you want him to get well. So do I. But he’s got a long, difficult recovery ahead of him. I cannot promise anything or deliver a favorable outcome simply because it’s what we all wish for him. We’ll just have to watch and wait, I’m afraid. I can help him, but much of it is, I’m afraid, beyond our control. He has to fight as well. I’m sorry.”
Pete nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Thank you for being truthful. I know you don’t want to give us false hope.”
“Nor do I want you to feel defeated, either,” Dr. Strobel said. “We’ll do our best to make sure he does recover, believe me.”
“MacGyver will fight this and win,” Nadine said, placing her hand on Pete’s shoulder. “He has to. He’s fought before. You and I both know it.”
The steady beeping of MacGyver’s heart monitor became rapid and erratic. He gasped for breath, stretching his arms out, struggling against the nurses that held him. He collapsed, going limp for a moment before he began convulsing again, flopping around on the bed, the heart monitor beeping wildly and quickly.
“He’s seizing!” The female nurse shouted.
“Oh God, not again,” Nadine said, burying her wet, tear-streaked face in Pete’s shoulder. He stroked her hair in a comforting gesture as he looked on, too shocked to move or speak.
MacGyver’s body pulled and strained, his limbs stiffening before he collapsed once again, the heart monitor squealing as his heart stopped.
“Prepare to defib!” Dr. Strobel shouted, pushing hurriedly past Pete and Nadine.
“Charging, Doctor,” the male nurse said, listening to the defibrillator as it whined to life.
Pete and Nadine were in the middle of the chaos, but they felt isolated and helpless, silent witnesses to his impending death, clutching to each other as their only means of comfort and support, hope all they had to offer, all they could do. It seemed that the shrill, urgent scream of the heart monitor lasted hours, drilling into their ears, but MacGyver’s heart actually only stopped for a few minutes. Dr. Strobel was prepared to grab the paddles when the steady rhythm slowly returned to the heart monitor.
“Wait Doctor! He’s stable again,” the female nurse said.
Pete and Nadine exhaled deeply when they heard those reassuring words as if holding their breath, deprived of oxygen as if it had sucked out of the room in those frightening few minutes and had only just returned. Dr. Strobel watched his patient carefully for awhile, monitoring him and making sure that he would remain stable. When it seemed certain to him that he would, he turned back to Pete and Nadine, the brief but harrowing crisis making his fresh, youthful face age, looking tired, beaten, haggard, and beleaguered as if he had just fought on the frontlines of a battle or had endured several bouts in a boxing ring in a title match.
“It was close there for a moment,” he said to them, his voice also sounding tired, hoarse, and strained. “It was quite a scare, but I think he’ll be fine now. We’ll administer sedatives and anticonvulsants as needed, but I believe the worst is almost over. His body’s resistance has been tested to its limits, but he’s stable now. We’ll work hard to make sure he remains that way and continues to improve.”
“Are you suggesting that he might actually get better now?” Nadine asked.
Dr. Strobel raked his hand through his curly hair. “I believe so,” he said. “He still has a tough fight, but…yes. For now it appears that way.”
“Oh, thank God,” Pete sighed, embracing Nadine tightly.
“You can see him now if you’d like,” Dr. Strobel said. “Go talk to him. Comfort him. Maybe he can hear you. You never know. Anyone recovering from any drug problem always needs support. That’s the most important part of their recovery.” He nodded at the nurses, silently telling them it was safe for now to leave the patient and allow his friends to visit him.
Pete and Nadine watched them leave and approached MacGyver cautiously as if worried they might startle or wake him. He remained perfectly still, almost looking peaceful after hours of agony. Pete instinctively grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently. Nadine stroked his forehead, brushing back his hair, wet with sweat from his exertion.
“It’s going to be all right now, Mac,” Pete said softly. “You’re going to get well. Don’t worry. Nadine and I are here for you. We won’t leave you.”
Nadine’s thoughts once again returned to that night when she tended to his bullet wound. She was soaked in his blood, but she didn’t become squeamish, didn’t care or barely notice, all her energies focused on saving his life.
When I get my new life, that’s what I want to do, she thought.
I’ll be a nurse. I watched their valiant efforts today to save him once again. I wanted to be in the middle of the action, I wanted to help him again. I want my life to have purpose and meaning. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll enter the medical profession. I always wanted to. MacGyver has now given me a chance to fulfill that dream. If I can’t be with him, at least I can remember him through saving others, through my new career. He has given me something I can take with me, that I can keep. Maybe I will see him again in a hospital when he gets injured, then I could see him again, tend to him again…no, don’t be foolish and engage in more Florence Nightingale fantasies. Be serious. You’ll never see him again and you know it. You don’t ever want to see him hurt again, either, if he can avoid it. He doesn’t deserve it. He deserves a new life as much as I do. Give it to him. Let him go… “I’m so glad I got to know you,” she whispered, kissing him on the forehead, then lightly on his closed lips. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Pete looked up at her, knowing that soon she would never see him again. “I can…I can leave you alone with him for awhile if you’d like,” he said.
“No Pete,” she said, stroking his hair again. “No, you love him as much as I do. You have every right to be here. Please stay.”
“All right,” Pete said. “Then I’ll stay.”
They were silent for awhile, listening to the heart monitor, its steady tone the most beautiful piece of music either of them had ever heard, MacGyver’s life now safe.
“It’s all right,” Nadine said to MacGyver, choking back more tears. “You’re going to be all right.”
In the darkness, in the turmoil, pain, and confusion of his mind, MacGyver heard a familiar, comforting voice, a voice that projected strength and encouragement. When he heard it, he truly knew he would be fine without any drug assisting him. He didn’t need it. He could abandon it and allow his body to heal. He could rest and relax, allowing that soft, pleasant, calming voice carry him away into oblivion.
“Shh, it’s all right…you’re going to be all right. Help is coming soon…it’s all right now…it’s over…”To be continued…
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."
--Henry David Thoreau
brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver
(I already said I was evil) 
Great work, MacsChick!
) 
make sure you don't get my floors all bloody, okay? Blood is hard to clean.
