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“It’s okay,” Maddie says. “You don’t have to talk. But good news, the concert?—”
He jerks upward in bed and then winces in pain.
“Dragon—” Maddie says.
“Concert. I’ve got to get to the concert.”
“No, you can’t.” Maddie tries to calm him. “They got a backup drummer. Everything’s fine. The concert is going on. All you need to do is get better.”
“I don’t understand. What happened?” He falls back down on the bed.
“Relax. Everything’s going to be fine.” I walk out of the ward and find a nurse. “Excuse me. Mr. Locke has woken up.”
She nods. “Someone will be in right away.”
I return, and Maddie is patting Dragon’s hand. “I promise. It’s okay. Jesse would be here if he could, but he has to prepare for the concert.”
Dragon’s eyes are closed again.
“Did he fall back asleep?” I ask.
“I don’t think so.” Maddie tilts her head. “Maybe he did. It’s probably best for him.”
“All right, what do we have here?” A nurse walks toward us, picks up Dragon’s chart.
“He woke up for a few minutes,” I say.
“Yeah, he was kind of agitated,” Maddie says.
The nurse touches his shoulder. “Mr. Locke? Are you awake?”
His eyes slide open. “What happened?”
“You ingested a large amount of fentanyl last night,” she says. “You’re lucky to be alive, Mr. Locke.”
His eyes widen. “I didn’t… I would never…”
“It’s okay, Dragon,” Maddie says. “We think you were probably drugged by those two women.”
“What two women?”
The nurse grabs a pen and flips through some papers on a clipboard. “What’s the last thing you remember, Mr. Locke?”
Dragon closes his eyes and winces. “Oh yeah. Two women. We got into the limo. But there were four of them, and Jesse…”
Jesse? My neck prickles.
“I don’t remember getting back to the hotel.”
“Retroactive amnesia,” the nurse says. “It’s common in instances like this. His toxicology results show fentanyl and Rohypnol.”
“You mean roofies?” I ask. “The date rape drug?”
“Yes. Rohypnol, which is probably what’s causing the retroactive amnesia. But if that were the only thing he ingested, he would’ve been just fine. It was the fentanyl he overdosed on.”
“Someone fucking drugged me?” Dragon asks, his voice no more than a whisper.
“If you’re sure you didn’t ingest it yourself, then yes, someone drugged you. But Mr. Locke, if you have no memory of the time, you could’ve ingested it yourself.”
