Free Reverb by J. Cafesin

allegedly close to half an ounce of methamphetamine.
    Sir Edward Whren, a Conservative heredity peer of the House of Lords and a Shadow Minister of State Foreign Affairs, withheld comment in regards to his son’s arrest…”
     
    The article goes on to talk about the arresting officers and that the case was pending trial. It does not shed any light on John’s existing knowledge. He knew of the rumor, of course. Martin had told him ages back, and like Martin, he’d dismissed it. After reviewing several more sites with the same basic information, he rubs his eyes, shuts the laptop, then collects what he needs and leaves the office.
    Air is wet, windy and cold. Fine mist falls from the soaked trees but the rain has stopped. The moon shines brightly on the small wet stones of the gravel drive. John crunches across them, then wipes his feet on the welcome mat as he crosses the threshold into the warm house. He brushes the beads of water off his wool sweater as he walks down the short hallway to the guestroom.
    The bed is empty. He looks around the vacant room as he places the black bag and heart monitor on the end of the dresser. James is gone, and for a moment John feels a surge of anxiety, but then notices the door to the bathroom is ajar. Before he gets to the threshold he can see James lying on the marble floor, slouched up against the shower wall. John kneels in from of him. James stares ahead, focused on nothing. When his eyes finally travel to John's, it's clear he’s totally out of it. “What’s going on? You with me, James?” Then John noticed the amber prescription bottle next to the half empty glass of water on the counter next to the sink. “Oh God, what did you do?”
    John grabs the empty bottle off the counter top. Valium, the prescription John had given  Martin after he’d quit drinking to help him with the transition. There were twenty pills in that bottle, 10mg each, and Martin had only taken only a few, afraid of getting addicted. James has just taken the rest.
    “Goddamn you, James!” John grabs both sides of James’ shirt in fury.
    “Damn me to hell, John.” James whispers.
    “What is going on in here?” Martin stands in the bathroom doorway with his mouth gaping.
    John releases James and stands. “James just ate a bottle of Valium.”
    James groans. “No worries, John. It doesn’t agree with me.” He manages to get up off the floor but has to grasp the sink counter to stay standing. His eyes are half-mast. He’s breathing in quick gasps as he swallows repeatedly, then grabs his side, leans over the sink and vomits starchy white fluid until it turns into dry heaves. He finally collapsed back against the glass shower wall but managed to stay standing. He looks at Martin, then John, then laughs that maniacal, lunatic fringe laugh, then wipes his mouth clean on his shirt sleeve. Then he staggers past Martin from the bathroom.
    From the mirrored wall, John sees him practically fall onto the bed and then curl onto his side.
    Martin still stands in the doorway. “What the hell is going on?” He looks from John to James on the bed, his eyes now closed. “We were just talking ten minutes ago.”
    John picks up the empty bottle he'd dropped on the floor and goes to the sink. “Why didn’t you call me after you spoke with him?”
    “This isn’t my fault, John.”
    “I’m not blaming you, Martin. James did this to himself.” John stands over the sink and runs his index finger though the vomit. Feels Martin glaring at him.
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’m looking to see if all the pills dissolved, gives me a window as to how much got into his system.” The starchy liquid mess has many small round white dots floating in it.
    Martin comes closer to look in the sink. “Is he going to be okay?” He steps back as John faces him.
    “He’ll live, for now, but he’s not okay, Martin. I tried to tell you before. James is not okay.” John turns on the tap and washes the vomit down the