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I grabbed my tote, hurried out, locked up, and then scurried over to the entrance of the next-door building. Roberta was right there to let me in.
“Thank goodness you called. I didn't know if you had a date with Leighton or not. I need you to help me with him.”
She was frightening me. “Roberta? What's going on?”
“Genevieve is still out. He’s acting weird and I don’t know whether to call 911 or slap him around.”
What an odd comment! But I saw what she meant when she took me to his workroom.
I’d never been in here. He was sprawled at an oversized work table. Jumping sharply in his chair every few seconds as if suddenly spooked. Then slumping as if passing out.
Holy hell, what was wrong?!
I rushed to him, “Leighton, baby? It’s me, Sammie. Look at me, baby.”
He jumped as if in fright again. His eyes had gone odd, too.
Oooh, I’d seenthisbefore!When, when? Culinary school! That student.
Hallucinating due to dehydration …
Think! Think! What did we do that time in class for that student?
Control what I can. I can.
“I can do this, Leighton. I’ve got you, baby.”
I kept my eye on him as I dug into my brain for what we’d done for that student.
Dehydration test! I pinched his skin lightly in a couple of places. Yes. Dehydrated. I grabbed a pen off the table and pressed it into the meaty part of his palm. Yeah. That’s what it looked like.
“Roberta, does the office have a first-aid kit?”
She shouted out, “Fielding! McManus! Is there a first-aid kit anywhere?”
Fielding called out that she knew where it was and seconds later skidded into the room with a box in her hands.
I told her, “Open it. Look for paper packs of electrolyte powder.”
She yelped, “Got some! Uh, about ten of them. They’re pretty little.”
I instructed her, “Go get two big glasses of drinking water and bring them here.”
I had to get Leighton to drink loads of fluids, starting now, to hydrate and replenish his electrolytes—and hoped that would do it to resolve his hallucinations. That he’d be himself again without going to the hospital.
I called out, “Find a straw, too!” He wouldn’t find it easy to drink anything. Getting some electrolyte-filled water down his throat would kick-start it for him.
In the minute it took the receptionist to get that for us, I looked at Roberta and asked her, “What the hell, Roberta? How did he get this dehydrated? To the point of hallucinating?! He’s this close to me sending him to the ER, you know! I mean, I saw him two nights ago for dinner, and this morning for breakfast. He seemed fine.”
But even as I said this, I thought back to all our meals together. He hardly ever drank anything. And now that I considered it, I don't believe I ever saw him finish a plate of food.
She was wringing her hands, “He gets so involved in his inventions that he doesn’t eat. It’s quite possible, unfortunately,” and she looked at me sort of guiltily, “that he only ever eats when he’s with you. I’ve never seen him drink anything on the job. He rarely ever drinks with meals—he never did, even as a kid.”
Oh, boy. My brain went into overdrive. Control what I can. Control what I can.
I decided, “Okay, here’s what we should do. Do you have an employee here that you can send down to the grocery store? You know the one? About three blocks down the avenue? Then to the pharmacy?”
She nodded, “I can ask Fielding or McManus to go.”
