Part 2: I think Doyle might have more than just a drug problem (Part 2) : nosleep (reddit.com)
The next thing I remember was slowly waking up in the basement. It was a dingy concrete room, filled with miscellaneous tools and supplies. I saw many white masks in a stack, a small collection of weapon prototypes, and a medicine cabinet filled with syringes. The only light came from a few dim bulbs on the ceiling. I tried to move and noticed both my hands spread out to either side of me, shackled in place. I was standing up, but my feet were restrained as well.
To my right, I saw Jenna crumpled next to me, both of her feet also shackled, and her hands cuffed behind her. She was still asleep. I began to panic and thrash, but there was no give in my restraints.
“JENNA” I tried to scream, but a muffled gurgle came out through the gag I felt in my mouth.
My fear and panic began to rise.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS PAT” It came out as another inaudible gurgle.
Off towards the other end of the room, the Pale face and curly black hair of someone chained to the floor.
“TRACY”
He was awake but wasn’t able to respond due to his own gag. He made a few sounds and pointed to his left.
Out from the shadows of another room crept a man. His imposing frame was almost tall enough that he needed to crouch. He wore black pants and a long-sleeve black shirt. His face was wrinkled and grey with razor thin lips. His black eyes, small and downturned, reflected a life of suffering.
Though he wasn’t wearing his signature white mask, I had no doubt in my head as his ominous presence washed over me: This was the Needle Man.
An indescribable sensation of dread filled my core as I looked down to see a small medical cart at his side. It had several full syringes, saline solution, alcohol wipes, and many other supplies.
My thrashing grew violent at this point, blood spilling down my ankles and hands.
He tore open a small square labeled ‘Purell’ and wordlessly walked towards me.
I felt a slight cooling sensation as the alcohol touched my arm just below my left bicep. Tears started flowing down my face. I began to hear Tracy scream vaguely in the background.
I attempted to break my wrists as he returned with a small syringe filled with a cream-colored liquid. There was no chance, they were bound too tightly.
I began to pray to any god that would listen, ‘Please, someone help me. Dad, the cops, anyone. I did nothing to deserve this’
“PLEASE DONT” I screamed through my gag.
I started sobbing uncontrollably as I felt the small pinch of a needle piercing my flesh and the slight rush as the heroin flowed in my veins.
It was amazing how quickly my grief began to evaporate. A euphoric peace replaced it. The best feeling I had ever felt in my life. I couldn’t even remember why I was so upset in the first place as I happily tilted my head forward.
I noticed that Jenna had begun to stir as I started to nod off.
My fear returned tenfold when my eyes opened. Jenna had begun to repeat exactly what I was doing when I woke up.
Her eyes were wide as saucers, tracing between me, the medical cart, and the Needle Man who had been sitting on the basement floor, waiting.
He got up again and went to grab another syringe.
I was almost too dazed to think at this point. My head bobbed towards Jenna. My love for her was still there but my protective instinct to defend her was fading. I felt completely powerless and even apathetic. Part of me even wished she could feel how amazing it was.
To my surprise, he walked over to me again. I heard Jenna unleash a guttural scream but there was nothing she could do.
He injected me again. And then went back to sit on the floor of the basement.
By the time the third injection came, I understood exactly how heroin could destroy so many lives. It felt unbelievable, but not as euphoric as the first time. My only desire was to feel the same bliss I had just experienced. I started to hear a heavy banging on the door. Jenna and Tracy both screamed as loud as their gags would allow.
Through my half-closed eyes, I saw the Needle Man walk over and unlock both of the cuffs that held Tracy in place. He quickly jumped up and backed away to the opposite corner, but the Needle Man made no attempts to chase him. He simply produced Tracy’s handgun and slid it towards him on the ground.
Tracy picked it up with trembling hands…
And shot the Needle Man in the temple.
Tracy took a few steps forward and shot the Needle Man’s crumpled mass again.
I heard another loud bang from up the stairs and then fell unconscious.
I awoke to sunlight streaming out of a hospital window, the ache of the worst hangover ever drumming in my skull.
Jenna and my parents saw me wake up in an adjacent room and quickly walked in. I saw their eyes were red and puffy. I could also see Tracy in the waiting room. His face was much more taut than when I last saw him.
“Are you feeling okay?” My mom sniffled. Her sniffles then turned into full on sobbing.
For a brief second I didn’t remember why I was there- until the events of the previous night came flooding back.
“Are you okay, Jenna?” I croaked as I tried to get up.
“Whoa easy, take it slow” My dad said in a hoarse voice. I looked up to see the grief on his face. This was the first time I had seen him cry in my life.
“I’m fine,” Jenna replied. “He didn’t even touch me.” I could hear the guilt in her voice.
After a few hours, I was cleared to leave the hospital. I waited until the five of us made it back to my house before I began asking questions.
My dad began, “So you knew about Celia Duff, right? So Percy’s mom was her doctor many years ago. And Rebecca’s mom was her pharmacist. We dug up some hospital records to see that they overprescribed her opioid drugs after an accident. and neglected all signs of her spiraling drug problem. ”
I nodded as I began to understand.
“She died the next year from a heroin overdose”
“So the Needle Man was-”
“Her son, Allistair Duff” my dad finished.
“Then who did you guys catch off of Hampton Street?”
“His brother, Danial.”
“And Pat?”
Tracy answered this time “Patrick Casey was his cousin”
I gasped, “That son of a bitch planned this whole thing? I brought him into our house. How much of our friendship was a fucking setup?”
Tracy replied again, slowly “Allistair wanted me to believe that Danial and Pat had very little to do with his actions. I know that can’t be true, but I think he was preparing for the legal aftermath here. The amount of evidence they could probably collect on either of them is minimal”
My dad growled in anger but remained silent.
“He let you kill him!? What did he kidnap you for?”
“They knew I was getting too close to exposing them and wanted me out of the picture. Allistair promised me that after his final plan unfolded, he would let me be the one to take his life. He didn’t even mistreat me when I was down there. I was given enough to eat and a little mattress pad to sleep on.”
“So it was some kind of Vendetta against the doctors who let his mom die? Why go after Percy and Rebecca, not their parents?”
“All he would say is that ‘That is the only way they could understand my pain.’”
“And…why me?”
Jenna, who had been silently observing the conversation, began to cry.
Tracy pursed his lips and shook his head. “I don’t know”
The following trial of Danial Duff and Patrick Casey was one of the most convoluted and publicized in Doyle’s history. I was told that Patrick was found in his dorm room and did not resist arrest.
I stared at him with malice as he sat next to me on the defendant’s side of the room. After setting me up for an entire year, I didn’t want to sit here and watch some lawyers and a jury deliberate his sentence. I wanted him dead.
He never made eye contact with me once.
The lawyers that had represented the defendants were sharp and decisive. When they broke down the timeline of the Needle Man attacks over the last 18 months, there was little definite proof of Danial and Patrick’s involvement in the crimes. Even my dad’s best lawyers were struggling to make a good case.
When Allistair attacked Percy: reports claimed there was another person with him. That made Danial a co-conspirator.
When Rebecca was attacked: It appeared that Allistair acted alone.
Tracy’s disappearance: Tracy and I tried our best to make the case that Patrick was involved in his kidnapping. He was with us that night, and conveniently ‘went home’ with just enough time to alert his cousins. Again, He happened to have an airtight alibi. With no concrete evidence, the full blame of the kidnapping fell, once again, on Allistair.
Impersonating the Needle Man: Danial’s lawyers made a strong argument that it is not illegal to carry a white mask and carrying heroin was hardly punishable by law. The only charge that could be made was obstructing justice.
Finally, Jenna and my kidnapping. The lawyers argued that Pat was coerced into setting us up. This made him a co-conspirator, but the kidnapping charge fell once again on Allistair.
After weeks of trial, the final charges were:
Danial Duff: Accessory to assault with a deadly weapon, obstruction of justice, harboring a fugitive. 27 years.
Patrick Casey: Accessory to kidnapping, obstruction of justice, harboring a fugitive. 19 years.
And that was it. The National media attention died down after the mystery was solved. Everyone went about their lives. For good this time.
Well, everyone but me. The trauma from that night stayed with me. The curse of addiction too.
“What did you do to him, Dad?” I asked on our drive from the courtroom, “The other guys directly played a part in ruining his family. You haven’t done anything like that. You didn’t even know him or his mom”
My dad turned to me, a look of compassion and grief in his eyes. “I…don’t know. Whatever his motive was won’t change anything now. We will get through this, Christian. I promise.”
I wouldn’t wish my next few years on anyone… well maybe Patrick. I didn’t return to school the following year. I began working a part-time job instead, making just enough money to afford my next fix. I was a ‘functional’ addict for some time. I tried my best to hide my drug use from everyone and continue on as if nothing ever happened. Jenna found out within a few days after she noticed my attitude change. My parents found out soon after that too.
Unable to hide my drug use any longer I began to distance myself from everyone close to me. I eventually ran away from home for a while.
I overdosed twice after that and miraculously survived both times. I distinctly remember seeing my dark, sunken eyes in a mirror at the rehab center. That moment was when I decided enough was enough.
…
I stared into the black pool of weak coffee in the styrofoam cup I was holding. In my peripheral vision, was a circle of black plastic chairs around me. About 15 people. All of their eyes were fixated on me. Some displayed horror, some pity, one of them, a blonde woman with wrinkled skin, was looking down at the floor.
“For years, contemplating my revenge was the only thing that kept me sane. I had counted down the days until Patrick’s release so I could… I guess I didn’t know what I would do. That seething rage somehow dissipated more and more as each day passed. For some reason, I just couldn’t handle the burden of it anymore. I made the conscious choice one day to leave that part of my past behind me and focus every ounce of strength I had on getting clean. Quitting heroin was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’ll never be free from addiction nor will I forget the circumstances that made me an addict…But with the support of my loved ones, and after years of failure,” I stared down at the enamel ‘VI’ on the small bronze coin in my other hand.
“I’ve been sober for six years as of today”
The group clapped lightly as we ended the session of narcotics anonymous.
“I’m so proud of you” Jenna smiled as she picked me up.
I kissed her and reminded her “I couldn’t have done it without you”
“Yeah I know,” she laughed as we began our drive out of the medical center and to my parent’s house for dinner.
It had been 10 years since I was attacked by Allistair, but Doyle felt radically different from what it was like before. We passed through Hampton street. Gone were the rows of tattered tents, it now held a small elementary school.
Seeing the struggle I went through did something to my dad. His outlook on addicts changed almost overnight. In fact, he did exactly what he promised in his 1-on-1 interview with Sandra Meyers. ‘Create and implement a pragmatic approach to rehabilitation’
By the end of year 2 of his second term, the construction of the world-class Keith Medical Center was complete. It was designed from the bottom up to help those in recovery with a mix of behavioral therapy, methadone treatment, and City funded rooms to help keep users off the streets.
By the end of year 3, The city of Doyle implemented the ‘Recovery Rooms’ program at every major hotel in the city. This program helped homeless people transition from living on the streets to living in hotel rooms across the city.
As unpopular that idea initially was, it worked extremely well. People recovering from homelessness were given a warm, safe place to stay. They had a much better chance at recovering when away from other users. Hotel guests didn’t even notice them since there was only about one in every twenty rooms.
By the end of his term, regulations were passed that strictly limited the ability of doctors to prescribe opioid drugs. NSAID pain relievers and cannabis were positioned as replacement options.
My parents greeted Jenna and I warmly as we arrived.
“Hey guys, so nice to see you! Congratulations, Christian!”
“Thanks guys, check out my coin” I pulled the bronze anniversary coin out of my pocket.
We ate and talked about the past few years, reminiscing about days gone. Everyone was excited to hear I had begun going back to school part-time for engineering. My dad told us how he had started volunteering at the hospital, helping recovering addicts find their best treatment options.
We finished our dinner and said our goodbyes.
Jenna was quiet for several minutes on the ride home.
As we passed the revamped Hampton street again, she finally pointed out the window and asked me: “Christian…do you think this was what Allistair wanted?”