L. A. Mischief (12 page)

Des was in bed, half covered by the tangled bed clothes, naked. His skin, normally a rich cafe au lait color was wan and gray. His eyes were shut and his breathing was shallow. More alarming, a half empty glass of wine and two vials of empty medication sat on the bedside table.

Chris swiftly took in the room, and the body on the bed. “Des!” He bent over the horribly still body and felt for a pulse along his neck. It was there, slow but steady. His lips were parted and a bubble of air escaped along with a heavy sigh. “For God’s sake Des, what did you do?”

He grabbed for the pills, hitting the wine glass and sending it crashing to the carpeted floor where it spilled its contents on the richly colored Aubusson. He ignored the mess. The pills were the two subscriptions Dr. Weiser had written for Des. One was the Ativan, the other a mild sleeping aid he knew Des had requested when sleep began evading him and he needed to escape from his waking nightmares.

Had he wanted to escape permanently?

For the first time the thought that maybe Des had done this deliberately crossed Chris’s mind. No, not Des. Des might be feeling on edge, might be in the throes of a severe clinical depression but Chris couldn’t believe he would kill himself.

It had to be an accident.

He grabbed Des’s shoulders and hauled him upright. “Des! Wake up! How many pills did you take?” Another glance at the pill vials revealed they were both two weeks old, so it didn’t mean there had been a lot in either bottle. Des could have taken one or two extra or he could have taken a handful. How long had he been out? How long did he have?

Without thinking Chris grabbed his BlackBerry. He stared stupidly at the device, blinking as though he’d forgotten what it was. Belatedly he smashed his fingers down on 911 and was breathing fast by the time an operator came on the line.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“My friend is... sleeping...” He refused to say dying. Didn’t want to mention his suspicions. “He won’t wake up.”

“Is he conscious?”

“No, I just said that. He won’t wake up. Send somebody. I think... I think he may have taken too many sleeping pills.”

“EMTs will be dispatched to your location,” the woman rattled off Des’s address

“Yes, that’s it. Come quick. Please—”

“They’re on their way, sir. Please stay on the line and tell me if his condition changes...”

It seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes before Chris heard the wail of an approaching siren. He hurried to unlock the door and fretted while the EMTs bustled into the house carrying equipment and a portable stretcher. They pushed him aside as they worked on Des, calling in the details on the prescriptions, asking Chris if he knew how many the victim had consumed.

“I don’t know!” Chris wanted to scream, but that wouldn’t help Des. He shook his head, his vision fading in and out as panic assailed him. “He was like this when I found him. I wasn’t here when he took the pills..”

“What made you come over?”

“I called and he sounded... off. I rushed over.”

“Has he done this before?”

“No! He didn’t do anything. It was an accident—”

He knew from the questions that the two thought Des had tried to kill himself. No doubt they saw it all the time. He tried to tell them it wasn’t like that. Des wouldn’t do that.

“Where are you taking him?” he hurried after the medics as they scurried out the door to the ambulance.

“We’ll transport him to Cedars Sinai.” Then they were gone, refusing to allow Chris to accompany them to the hospital.

It took forever to get a cab to come out to the house. While he waited he packed a few of Des’s clothes, plus a razor and his favorite after shave. Chris regretted his earlier drinking. This would be a whole lot easier if he had his car.

He locked up and urged the cabbie to hurry. Even so, it took forever to reach Cedars, where he eventually found Des in a private room. He set the suitcase he had brought on the floor beside the bed and sat on the edge, taking Des’s cool hand in his.

After a couple of hours the nurses came in and told him he had to leave, visiting hours were long over. He left and snagged a cab outside the hospital’s main entrance. This time he went straight home. He checked his email and didn’t even bother looking at Man2Man. Suddenly it all seemed very trite and trivial.

Whatever he was looking for wasn’t going to be found online.

CHRIS GOT UP early. He called the car dealer and postponed picking up his new car until Friday. Today was all about Des. He got yet another cab to take him back to the Nosh Pit where he picked up his Lexus.

Then it occurred to him he needed to call David. He’d want to know about Des. Chris refused to think that he was using this as an excuse to talk to David. He put the thought out of his mind and speed dialed David’s work.

“Detective Laine, Northeast division,” David snapped. He had to have seen the caller ID.

“Hi, David. It’s me.”

“Yes?” David kept his voice cool. Chris’s chest tightened.

“I’m sorry to bother you. It’s Des...” He trailed off. Not sure how to say it. David was being so cold.

“What is it, Chris? I’m working and I’m too busy for this.”

“It’s Des,” he blurted. “He’s in the hospital. He ODed.”

“What?” It was as though an electric charge had gone through David. Chris could almost see him bolting upright, alarmed. “Suicide?”

“No, he says it was an accident. I believe him.”

David didn’t speak for several seconds, then: “What hospital is he in?”

“Cedars Sinai. I’m heading there now.”

“How long are they going to keep him?”

“He was held overnight. They’re springing him today. No psych exam.”

“That’s good then.” David cleared his throat. “Thanks for calling. Listen, I can’t talk. We’re heading out into the field to do some canvassing. You’re sure Des is okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris sighed. “He’s fine. Go see for yourself.”

“Sure, sure. I will.” Already David was drawing away, shutting down. “I’ll go talk to him later.”

“Sure. He’d like that.” He disconnected and sat in his Lexus, his head resting against the steering wheel. Then he shook himself and drove back to Cedars Sinai.

He stopped in the gift shop and browsed for something whimsical. He saw the crimson crystal roses with silly faces and knew they were perfect. That and a box of Godiva chocolates should cheer Des up.

Des’s eyes opened when he entered the room. He smiled tiredly when he saw the tinkling cartoon flowers. “I thought I was dreaming. You did come.”

“Of course I came.” Chris’s voice dropped. “What happened, Des. What were you thinking?”

Des shook his hairless head. He looked puzzled. “I don’t remember. I was watching TV. I had a glass of wine... I was hoping it would help me sleep.” He sounded plaintive. “But it wasn’t helping.”

“So you took your pills?”

“I only wanted to sleep. You don’t know what it’s like. I just wanted to sleep for a few hours. Is that so horrible?”

“No hon, it’s not. You just need to be more careful.”

“I know...” Des whispered. Then he started crying.

Sorrow tugged at Chris. He sat down on the bed and took Des into his arms, awkwardly patting his gown-covered body. Des’s tears stained his Lacoste shirt. “It’s going to be okay, hon. I promise.”

“They called my parents. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

Des’s parents had moved out of Bel Air years ago and bought a chalet in Switzerland where Des visited, usually in the summer. He had been talking about Chris joining him on his next trip, but that had been before the Carpet Killer and Kyle’s death. Des had put his whole life on hold since then.

“I’ll talk to them, hon. Don’t worry. They love you, no matter what.”

“I know,” Des sniffed. They both looked up when a woman in a white coat entered the room. She smiled when she saw the two on the bed.

“Mr. Hayward? I’m Dr. Markland. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Des said warily. “When can I go home?”

“Soon. I just need to ask you a few questions.” She looked at Chris who stood up and would have left but Des grabbed his hand.

“Don’t go. He can stay, can’t he, Doctor? He can hear anything we might say.”

“If you like.”

Chris sat down again. Des never let go of his hand.

“Can you tell me about what happened, Desmond? Did something happen yesterday to upset you?”

“Upset me? No, nothing. There was nothing special about yesterday...” Suddenly a look of pain crossed Des’s beautiful face. “No...”

“What? What are you thinking of, Des?” the physician urged.

Chris felt Des tremble under his touch. He wanted to tell the Dr. Markland to shut up, that if Des didn’t want to talk, no one had the right to force him. But another, saner part of him, knew Des had to face his demons if he was going to heal. He had to stop hiding behind his drugs and his evasions.

“Tell me what happened,” she pressed.

Des looked at Chris with despair. “I was cleaning up my studio. You know what it’s like in there, don’t you Chris? All the junk I can’t throw away. You always tell me I’m such a pack rat...”

“Yes, hon, I know the place.” Compared to the messes Chris sometimes left in his office Des’s ‘mess’ was nothing. But Des was such a fussbudget.

Des plucked at the sheets pooled in his lap. “I found an old photo album and thought I might go through and label them. You know how I hate coming across pictures that don’t tell you who or where they were taken...”

Even before his voice broke Chris knew what was coming.

“I came across some pictures we took on that picnic in Griffith Park last summer. You remember, don’t you, hon?”

Chris nodded, wishing he could tell Des to forget that day. He remembered it all too well. Kyle had been in one of his particularly snitty prima donna moods, whining about bugs and sun and overall how life outdoors sucked, ruining the day for everyone. Chris had no idea what pictures Des had managed to take that day that would trigger this kind of response. But clearly it had. The why no longer mattered.

“When we go home later today—” Chris shot a glance at the doctor who remained silent, “we can go through the photos together. You shouldn’t be alone and doing that sort of thing.”

“I’d like that.”

“Can he go home today, Doctor?”

“Dr. Weiser, who I believe has been handling Desmond’s therapy, has been informed of Mr. Hayward’s presence and will no doubt drop in to see you before you’re discharged. I’d prefer to wait for his visit before we talk about discharging you.”

Chris was surprised and a little dismayed when Des agreed quickly, a look of relief on his face.

“Des?”

“It’s okay, hon. It’s a good thing, right? They’ll help me.”

Admitting that had to be hard. Was Des also admitting that his actions had been premeditated? It seemed like the physician might be wondering that too.

“What were you thinking when you looked at those pictures?” Markland asked.

Des stared into the far corner of his room. “I wasn’t expecting to see them...” His voice broke. “I still miss him so much. It’s not fair that he’s gone.”

Chris couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to know. He forced Des to look at him. “Did you do it deliberately, Des? Did you try to make the pain go away forever?”

“You mean did I try to kill myself?” Des shook his head fiercely. “No, I swear. I don’t want that. I swear. I just want to go home.”

Chris believed him. Apparently so did Markland. She nodded. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” To Chris, “You’ll be staying with him?”

“As long as I can.”

“I’ll see you’re not disturbed.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

She left after conferring with the nurse who came into the room.

Chris and Des sat quietly for several minutes.

“Thanks for coming around to check on me.”

Chris shrugged. “I was worried.”

“Good thing. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I forgot I’d already taken my meds.”

“But the drinking, Des. You know you can’t do that with those pills. What was that all about?”

“I wasn’t thinking.” He stared down at his hands. “It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t want you doing something stupid on me, Des,” Chris said.

“I won’t. I promise.” Des’s gaze left Chris. He stared over his shoulder toward the door and his eyes widened.

Chris spun around.

David stood in the doorway, a Starbucks coffee in one hand, a large stuffed tiger Chris recognized from the gift shop in the other.

“Oh,” David said. “I didn’t think you’d still be here. Hi, Des. How are you doing?”

“Good.” Des looked from Chris to David. “Great, in fact. Is that for me?” He looked at the tiger, which David promptly put in his arms. “Thanks. He’s cute.”

David offered the coffee and Des took it. “Thanks hon,” he said, using the endearment as effortlessly as he did with Chris. He gave Chris a mock glare. “All you brought me was candy. You trying to make me fat and unattractive?”

David laughed and Chris blushed. “I thought it was getting too late for coffee,” he muttered.

Des brightened. “Listen, you guys want some lunch? I can order us up something.”

“They have room service?” Chris laughed. “I guess it really is the hospital to the stars.” He glanced at David. “I’d love some lunch. Vichyssoise or a nice French onion soup.” He grinned, knowing the French onion was David’s favorite.

“Sorry, I have to get back to work. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Sure, he’s good,” Chris said. “Well, thanks for coming by. I’m sure Des appreciates it.”

“I do,” Des said, smiling. “Listen, I’ll be home later today. Maybe we can do lunch tomorrow or maybe this weekend.” He hugged the stuffed tiger to his chest. “Maybe we can go back to the Mariasol and I’ll buy you that drink.”

“Sure. That would be nice.”

Chris glanced at both of them, wondering about the reference to the Mariasol but not saying anything.

After a pause... “Can you tell me why you did it, Des?” David asked stiffly.