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Once Diana came to, she couldn’t remember. Whatever had affected her had given her retrograde amnesia, and she didn’t even remember being at the bonfire.
I should have stayed.
I should have taken care of her. That night I failed as a brother.
The Carlton doesn’t have any suites available, so Callie and I check into a deluxe room with two king-size beds.
I do love this woman, and just looking at her and a king-size bed makes me think of all the luscious ways those two things go together.
But I’m determined to be strong. We need to talk this out.
I open the minibar and pull out a Diet Coke for her.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, unscrewing the lid and taking a deep sip.
I take a water for myself and drain it halfway. I’m not sure where this thirst came from, but it’s begging to be sated.
Callie sighs and sits down on one of the beds. “There’s a lot more to my story.”
“I know.”
“But Rory and I were wondering… Do you know what was in that punch? I heard Pat say it was angel dust. I don’t know anything about angel dust or any drug, but I watched both Rory and Carmen get completely stoned on it.”
“Neither of them ended up in the hospital.”
“No, they did not. I’m so sorry for what happened to Diana. But I heard the next Monday that she had already been released.”
I nod. “She recovered quickly. She was young and healthy.”
“Still…she should have never had to go through that.”
“True enough.” I take another drink of the water, draining the bottle.
“So…are you going to answer my question?”
“Sorry. What question?”
“Did you ever find out what was in the punch?”
“Yeah. It was PCP. Angel dust. But there was also some crystal meth in it.”
“Methamphetamine?”
“Yes. Diana showed traces of meth in her blood as well as PCP and alcohol.”
“Oh my God.”
“You know,” I say, “I went to that school. I knew what the bonfires were like. Someone always spiked the damned punch. But this went beyond spiking. Somebody drugged this punch. That’s why we were offering a reward for information.”
“I get it. Diana could have died.”
“Yes, she could have. Many others could have as well.”
She nods. What else can she do? “A lot of people probably got very lucky.”
“We could have prosecuted Pat Lamone,” I say.
She nods again. “I know that.”
