Encino-M.J

Ties That Bind

"He's going to be okay,"

Althea breathed a deep sigh of relief and clasped her hands together as the doctor turned off the flashlight she'd been shining under Michael's pupils.

Her husband lay in bed completely motionless. He was so still and quiet that Althea rested her head on his chest every half hour just to make sure he was still breathing.

Michael had never been the deepest of sleepers letting her know that whatever he'd ingested was strong as hell.

After Michael's unexplained passing out at the barbeque, Althea took him straight home, put him to bed with the help of Bobby and Pamela, and called a doctor. The medical emergency coupled with Hazel and Whitney's fight had succeeded in cutting the party short with most guests leaving.

The phone had rung several times since she'd arrived home, but Althea was far too anxious to talk to anyone. All she wanted was to know that her husband was okay and to get some answers about his state.

"When will he wake up? Why is he like this?" Althea asked frantically.

The doctor adjusted her stethoscope around her neck and pressed it to Michael's chest before answering.

"His heartbeat is pretty stable. I'd give him eight to ten hours but if he doesn't wake up by tomorrow morning I'd take him straight to the emergency room. Does your husband use any drugs, Mrs. Jackson?" She asked.

Althea's eyebrows furrowed deeply, her lips twisting into a scowl.

"Drugs? Absolutely not. We were just at a family barbeque,"

Althea couldn't help but find the question incredibly offensive. She knew Michael well enough to know if his mood was changing or if he'd picked up any strange habits that'd raise suspicion for drugs. When he wasn't working they spent all their time together.

"I'm sorry, I had to ask," The doctor replied. "So many people are indulging in cocaine these days and using Rohypnol to calm themselves down during trips,"

The young woman folded her arms across her chest, arched eyebrows furrowing once more in confusion.

"Rohypnol?" she asked, the word rolling off her tongue in a prickly, uncomfortable way.

"The young crowd calls it roofies. There's a whole epidemic of young men slipping those tablets into women's drinks at nightclubs to lower the inhibitions but this is the first time I've seen a man with it in his system,"

The revelation made Althea feel sick to her stomach. She'd heard stories in college about girls who'd gone to parties, had a few drinks, and had woken up the next morning in bed with strangers having no memory of how they'd gotten there. Althea figured those girls had just partied too hard and nothing like that would ever happen to her- let alone her husband.

She stood up from her chair with a shaky sigh, her bare feet sinking into the soft carpet.

"That can't be true," Althea retorted. "I prepared the drinks. I'd never try to drug my own husband. I love him,"

The doctor smiled sympathetically before retrieving a notepad from her coat pocket.

"All it takes is one moment to leave a drink unattended and anyone can be a victim, even mistakenly," She scribbled something on the pad before tearing the page off and handing it to a worried Althea. "I've prescribed some medicine for nausea and vomiting just in case. You're very smart to have sought out immediate medical attention. Not everyone is as lucky,"

As she took the prescription and led the doctor to the front door, Althea's brain was racing to make sense of the past few hours. She simply couldn't understand how the drink had become contaminated or why anyone would want to drug Michael.