Chapter Text
He felt lightheaded. His hands were slick with blood. Pain lanced through his stomach. He fought the spinning of his head to heave himself up to his knees. The street light filtered through the rain and gave the whole night a hazy glow.
Lights and sirens ebbed into his consciousness. No! I can’t go back! A knife sparkled in the dim light about ten feet away from him. He crawled forward, arm extended. His entire body felt wrong, like he was trudging through molasses. Six feet. He clinched his teeth against the pain in his bones. He felt his breath hitch against his shattered ribs.
Four feet. “Do not reach for that weapon, or you may be shot!” The order rang out from his left. The officer’s voice rang out in Pope’s head like the crack of a whip. He collapsed in a puddle as nausea overcame him. Bile mixed with blood, rainwater, and the sludge of this unknown city. He dry heaved as the officer approached and took the knife.
“Do you have any weapons on you? What happened?” The officer’s voice was still loud. Still commanding. His gun was still pointed in Pope’s direction. Pope heard the bee deep of a handheld radio keying up. Voices muffled with rain and pounding in his head. He heaved again and growled in pain that shook through his body.
“Hey, man,” The officer’s voice was softer or maybe a different person entirely. “My partner is running to grab a first aid kit. An ambulance is on the way. Stay calm for me, okay?”
Pope’s vision was narrowing. He could only see the rain beating down on the pavement in front of him. When did the rain start? Had it been raining the whole time? He started to shake. Or just noticed that his hands were shaking. Was this because of the adrenaline? The drugs? Or the cold that was sliding under his skin with every drop of water?
A person kneeled in front of him, and shouting could be heard. He saw a gloved hand reach out for him, and he fell backwards. He looked around again for the knife. The knife. He was so close to it. Where did it go? No! I can’t go back! I’m not going back.
He was surrounded by people now. All of them are talking and pulling things from bags. One of them reached for him, “My name is Lainey, I’m with the Pittsburgh Ambulance Service. I’m here to help. What’s your name?” Pope stared at her. He looked her up and down. Lainey’s face alternated red and blue as lights flashed from the truck. Then, to the other people surrounding him. They all wore dark pants and light blue shirts. No body armor. No tasers. No guns.
“Not police? No police. Hey, it's got buttons!” Pope tried to swat away a hand that sliced the front of his shirt all the way open.
“Sir, we are trying to make sure you're okay. You’re bleeding a lot, and we need to get you to the hospital. Do you have any allergies to medications?”
Pope tried to stand but couldn’t even get his legs under him. They were putting him on a gurney. His head swam again as they rolled him to the ambulance.
“Have you taken any drugs?” The paramedics were still asking questions. Still probing him.
“The stuff from Folsom. It was something like that.” His tongue fought against him with every consonant. He tried to reach into his pocket for the pill bottles Smurf had given him. It wasn’t working. His hand felt so heavy and cold. “Pocket. Some are in my pocket.”
The medic, Laura? Lucy? Felt his pockets and worked the pill bottles out of his sopping wet jeans.
“When was the last time you took this?” Lainey asked.
He felt the prick of a needle in his left arm and roared with anger. “NO! No! Don’t make me like Julia! I don’t want it!” The medics piled onto him as he thrashed against the IV. They pulled back, and his arms were restrained to the gurney. Other straps held down his legs and torso. Those had been there for a while, right? Since they put him on the gurney in the first place?
He tossed his head and yelled at Smurf standing by his side. “I don’t want it! I miss her! You killed her!”
He was barely conscious as they rolled into the ambulance bay. The bright lights of the hospital sent him into another nausea tailspin, but not enough to vomit. He didn’t have anything left in his stomach anyway. Smurf was standing in the corner, watching and waiting. More people surrounded him. They moved him from the gurney to the hospital bed and jostled his ribs. He cried out again.
“I’m Dr. Robinavich at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Can you tell us your name?” There were too many people to pinpoint who was speaking. His eyes were closed against the bright lights anyway.
“Pope. ‘m Pope.” words were ever harder to say now than they had been in the ambulance.
“Okay, Pope, looks like you took quite a beating out there. Looks like you’ve been stabbed too, which means you’re losing a lot of blood. We're going to do what we can to help you out.” They were sticking things to his chest, touching him, cutting his clothes away. The computer was beeping nonstop. His hands were free. He covered his ears and clenched his eyes.
“Pope, the paramedic said you took some psychiatric medications and that someone gave you some other stuff. What did they give you?”
He couldn’t answer. His vision had narrowed completely, and the rushing in his ears overwhelmed him. Heat now smothered him as his body and mind went slack. The darkness that took him now felt peaceful and quiet.