Reagan Economics

Hair of the Dog

My new routine was to drop by the pediatric ward every evening before the start of my shift and visit Daniel. I didn't know who liked or needed these visits more, him or me. He had begun learning how to take care of his colostomy on his own. Cracking jokes about being special by having two poop chutes, he proved to be adjusting well to his temporary circumstances.

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My Sunday night shift started out quiet and remained quiet. Jeremy and I were able to work on my skills for over two hours without interruption. I practiced moving small items like pens and paper clips until I accidentally sent a pencil flying past Jeremy's head, lodging it in the wall a full inch deep. He abruptly decided that was enough tellie practice for the night.

Next, he dropped his shields and had me concentrate on hearing his emotions. He believed if I practiced more at purposefully hearing people, I may be able to get a glimpse of their thoughts. This has only happened by accident in the past, but it was worth a shot.

Although I was able to get a louder reading on his emotions, I never saw a single one of his thoughts. He swears he was thinking about petting a puppy the whole time, but his emotions said otherwise.

Jeremy would be discharged Friday morning and we had the conversation about where he would stay. The hospital social worker had secured him a bed in a local halfway house of sorts. We would work on finding him gainful employment next Monday.

Morning came and I clocked out for a couple of days. The liquor stores didn't open until after ten, and I had a few other errands to run. I called Charley on the drive home. She was headed to her morning classes

She answered her phone, "Hello, Reaganomics, how are you this morning? Save any lives last night?"

I chuckled. "No, but I didn't get any poop on me either. That's a win."

She had a cute little girl giggle, and I loved saying things to trigger it. She got my warped sense of humor too.

We talked until she made it to class. Hanging up as I walked through my front door, I set down the supplies I swiped from the hospital. I took two nasogastric tubes in different sizes, a 60 ml slip-tip syringe, an ammonia capsule, and I replenished my surgical glove supply. I added duct tape, a small bucket, and zip ties to the pile.

Changing out of my scrubs, I head out of town for some reconnaissance. Beth lives in a rural area miles out of the city. Her closest neighbor is a mile away. It's convenient for me. I don't think I could pull this off with her living in a densely populated area.

This is the calm before the storm. My brain is in planning mode now. Later, my thoughts will shift to implementation, better known as revenge mode.

Her home is a modest two bedroom red brick. No fence. No security system. Beth isn't home. I will have to be quick. If she comes back too soon, I will be forced to kill her quickly and that defeats the purpose.

Going through her cupboards, I find her drink of choice. She has two half full bottles of Jack Daniels. Another empty pint bottle tops the garbage bin. Looks like she had a drink before she left this morning. I hope she doesn't kill someone else today.

Although she is the daughter of a rich, powerful man, she seems to be the black sheep of the family, the screw up. She had another driving under the influence charge three years ago that her father made disappear, not to mention the drunk and disorderly charge after a bar fight one year before that. Yeah, my well of remorse for her is empty.

A look around her desolate home doesn't help. She has a few older pictures of her with a man and kids, but she made her choice years ago. She chose alcohol over her family. She probably blames them.