Rejoice (27 page)

Not that it mattered.

Peace had finally found him and now—after so many nights of restlessness and dark evil voices, he was finally falling asleep. Sleep was a good thing, the one bit of respite he hadn’t been able to find, right? It had to be good. But still, as he closed his eyes and gave in to the almost violent pull toward oblivion, he had one thought. One that didn’t seem to make sense in light of the relief he was feeling. Or maybe it wasn’t so much a thought as a knowing, a knowing that filled his waning consciousness.

God.

That was all. God was real after all. He was real—yesterday, today, and tomorrow. God would always be real. Real in the person of Jesus Christ. And somehow, Peter needed that same God now more than ever before.

But sleep was closing in fast and he was out of time, out of chances. He had one more thing to say, something he wanted to tell God, since God was real and he’d missed that fact while he was alive. But he couldn’t remember, couldn’t make the words come. Couldn’t formulate even a thought.

And with that, Peter’s eyes closed—still, silent, dark.

Forever dark.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was Monday night, well into January, and Ryan Taylor was watching a late-night college basketball wrap-up, when the phone rang. Kari had a modeling job the next day and was already asleep upstairs. Ryan had no idea who’d be calling so late.

He grabbed the receiver and clicked the On button. “Hello?”

“Ryan Taylor?”

“Yes?” Ryan sat back down in his recliner and looked at the TV screen again.

“I’m Dr. Williams from the Bloomington Mental Health Hospital. We admitted Peter West on Friday, and this evening we finished our most intensive session.”

The man paused and Ryan leaned forward. Peter West? In a mental hospital? A rush of realities flooded his senses. How long had it been since he’d talked with Peter? Before Christmas, at least. He’d called him twice since New Year’s, but both times he’d left a message and heard nothing in response.

Now Ryan understood why. Things were worse than he’d thought. He waited for the man to continue.

“Mr. Taylor, I’m sorry about the late hour, but Dr. West is asking for you. We thought . . . if you were willing to come now . . . Dr. West might be close to a breakthrough.”

A breakthrough? Peter West was one of the most respected doctors in Bloomington. How had he plummeted so far without someone stepping in and helping? Ryan realized the man at the other end was waiting. “Definitely.” He used the remote control to flick off the television and headed into the kitchen for his keys. “I can be there in ten minutes.”

Ryan wrote a note for Kari in case she woke up, and then he drove to the facility. It was a shaded two-story building, discreet and set back from the road, not far from the medical center. The place where people could hide and find help when their world was caving in on them.

People like Peter.

Ryan used an intercom to gain entrance and then filled out a form and passed a simple interview with a security guard. Finally, he was allowed in, where he met up with Dr. Williams in the hallway.

Dr. Williams clutched a clipboard to his side. “Mr. Taylor, your brother-in-law wanted me to tell you why he’s here.”

Ryan pictured Hayley, drooling from her wheelchair. “Okay.”

“Some time ago he became addicted to painkillers. The addiction got out of hand, and last Friday he tried to kill himself. He tells us it wasn’t the first time.”

The information slammed across Ryan’s soul like a tidal wave. Peter had tried to kill himself? Why hadn’t he called . . . Ryan or John Baxter or Kari? even Brooke? Someone would’ve been willing to meet him, talk him down off a ledge before it was too late. Ryan raked his fingers through his hair. “How’d he get here?”

“Apparently he overdosed and then had second thoughts. He called 9-1-1, and they found him passed out in his bedroom. Doctors pumped his stomach and stabilized him. The next day he was brought here.” The doctor pursed his lips. “He’s in our most secure detox lockdown area.”

“Detox lockdown?” The entire scene was surreal, happening to someone off the street or to a man with nothing to live for. But not to Peter West—definitely not. “Okay . . .” Ryan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, he studied Dr. Williams’s face. “Could you explain detox lockdown?”

“Yes.” The man nodded. “We admit people to that unit when they come from the hospital. It means we take away belts, blow-dryers, electric shavers. Anything with a cord. Also anything that can be used as a weapon.”

Ryan shook his head. “Peter isn’t dangerous, Doctor. You’ve got the wrong man.”

“He’s dangerous to himself.”

The idea shot through Ryan’s gut and knocked him back against the wall. It was one thing for Peter to take too many pills. But to be considered a danger with a belt or a blow-dryer cord? “You said he’s been here since Saturday. How . . . how’s he doing now?”

“He was very addicted.” Dr. Williams stuck one hand in his pocket. “We’re past the hardest part, but his body is still screaming for relief. Obviously we’ve helped him through the process as much as possible, but at this point he can’t leave without permission from the admitting doctor.”

Ryan stared at a spot on the floor near his feet. What would Brooke think when she heard the news? And how was she supposed to deal with Hayley
and
Peter? He remembered the offer he and Kari had made to Peter and Brooke back when Hayley first had her accident.
Lord, we’ve asked you for opportunities like this. Use me, use us to bring healing to Peter’s family. Please, God.

I am with you even now.

The jumbled thoughts in Ryan’s head cleared and he gave a slight nod.
Thank you, God . . . I feel you.
He lifted his head and looked at Dr. Williams again. “What can I do?”

“Well, as I said, we had an intensive session, and he talked about God. We’re not a religious facility, Mr. Taylor, but when one of our patients expresses a faith, we try to involve the person that patient trusts the most with spiritual matters. In this case, that person is you. It took hours to reach a place with Dr. West where he wanted to see you, Mr. Taylor. We didn’t want to lose ground by waiting until tomorrow to call.”

“Is he—” Ryan pointed down the hall—“can I see him now?”

“Yes.” The doctor motioned for Ryan to follow. “This way.”

The hallway was quiet, most of the patients in the lockdown unit asleep. Dr. Williams led Ryan to the last room on the right. He used a key to enter and the two of them walked in.

Ryan stopped short the moment he saw Peter. The man was a shrunken replica of his former self. Ryan tried not to stare. He must have lost thirty, forty pounds since the last time Ryan had seen him. His skin was a lifeless gray, his eyes hard and empty. The hollows of his cheeks sank way in, accentuating his cheekbones and the fact that he’d lost weight.

“Peter . . .”

Their eyes met, but Peter said nothing. He was sitting in one of two chairs, part of the sparse furnishings that included only a bed and a small nightstand. His hair—which had always been short and neatly cut—hung unkempt an inch past his ears. He clutched the armrests, his knuckles white. He wore blue sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and his entire body vibrated with what looked like a constant tremor.

Dr. Williams took a few steps closer to Peter and cleared his throat. “Mr. Taylor has agreed to meet tonight.”

Peter let his eyes fall to his lap and worked his mouth open and shut several times before finally saying, “Thanks, Ryan.”

The shock was beginning to wear off, but Ryan was still too surprised to say anything. How had this happened? The last time he’d seen Peter, the man was still pretending to be fine, acting as if Hayley’s drowning and his decision to move out were mere speed bumps on the road of life.

“Let’s go ahead and begin.” Dr. Williams pointed to the other empty chair a few feet from Peter. “Mr. Taylor, if you could sit there. I’ll sit on the edge of the bed and monitor, in case the discussion needs direction.”

Direction? Ryan stared at the doctor. “I think we’re okay alone, Doctor.”

“I’m sorry.” The man took his place leaning against the end of Peter’s bed, his feet planted on the floor. “At this stage of detox, conversations need to be monitored.”

Ryan looked at Peter. He was staring out the darkened window, as if he hadn’t heard the discussion. Ryan nodded at the doctor and took the chair near Peter. “Hey . . .”

In a slow, discouraged way, Peter turned toward Ryan and met his eyes. “They won’t let me die.”

A chill passed over Ryan’s spine at the words of his brother-in-law. Dr. Williams was right; the situation was worse than anyone in the Baxter family had ever imagined. Ryan tightened his hands into fists.
God, give me the words
. “You don’t want to die, Peter. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called for help.”

Peter’s eyes went vacant.

When it was clear Peter wasn’t going to say anything, Ryan continued. “Come on, Peter. Tell me what happened.”

Peter’s eyes grew more distant, glazed even. “Everything hurt.” He shrugged and his bony shoulders poked up through his T-shirt. His expression changed. “I couldn’t stand the pain.”

“So you took the pills.”

Peter hung his head and did a barely noticeable nod.

“And on Friday . . .” Ryan slid his chair closer and glanced at Dr. Williams. The man nodded, giving him silent permission to continue. Ryan looked at Peter again. “What happened Friday?”

“They stopped working.” Peter kept his head down but lifted his eyes. “No matter how many I took, it still hurt.”

Ryan was quiet, letting God give him the words to continue. “What, Peter? What hurts?”

Slowly, one feature at a time, Peter twisted his expression until his face mirrored all the pain in his heart. He covered his eyes with his fingers. “Hayley.” He uttered a single moan, a cry that was without tears or sobs or anything other than raw, unbridled pain. “I miss Hayley.” He peered through the spaces between his fingers at the ceiling. “God! I miss my little girl.”

The lump in Ryan’s throat made it impossible for him to speak. Instead he leaned over and hugged Peter, hugged him hard and tight.

Peter stayed that way for a while, pressing his forearm into Ryan’s back as if he might not survive if Ryan let go. Finally he drew back and hung his head again. “I didn’t watch her.”

Of course it would come to this. The reason for his pain was Hayley, and Ryan couldn’t imagine any kind of pill that would take away the ache. The picture of Hayley at the bottom of the pool. The memory of pulling her limp body from the water, and the knowledge that she would probably never be the same again, never look at him with a sharp-eyed alert smile, never be like the other kids in school or on the playground.

The pain was deeper than all the oceans combined. Ryan leaned back but kept his hand on Peter’s knee. “No pain pill could take away that kind of hurt.”

“But it did.” Peter sniffed. “For a while it did. And when it stopped working . . .”

Dr. Williams uttered a small cough, and the sound surprised Ryan. Things had gotten so intense he’d almost forgotten the doctor was in the room. Ryan focused on Peter again. “It stopped because it never really worked in the first place, Peter. It masked the pain, but it didn’t take it away. Only God can do that.”

“Not this.” Peter shook his head. “God can’t take away this pain.”

Ryan’s heart sank. “You’re wrong, Peter.” He pictured himself at college, getting the news that his father had died of a heart attack, imagined himself lying paralyzed on a football field, his playing days over, and later getting the news that Kari was engaged to someone else. “Pain like you’re feeling is part of living. The solution for it will never be found in a bottle of pills.”

Peter twisted his face again and gave a single shake of his head. “I want her back, Ryan. I see her . . . dropping rose petals at your wedding, and that’s all I want. Hayley . . . Hayley whole and well again.” His features relaxed some. “I can’t live without her.”

“You don’t have to.” Ryan’s answer was quick and filled with a peace that surprised him. “Hayley’s alive, Peter. She’s getting a little bit better every day. No, she’s not the same, but she’s still Hayley.” Ryan felt his eyes grow wet. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

Dr. Williams shifted, and the movement caught Peter’s attention. He looked from the doctor back to Ryan, his mouth half open, eyes wide. “I can’t.”

“You can.” Ryan wasn’t sure how hard to push, but Dr. Williams would let him know if he stepped out of line. “You can because God will walk beside you. Remember, Peter? The Twenty-third Psalm says he’ll walk with us through the valley of the shadow of death.” Ryan’s words were slow, and something in Peter’s expression changed.

“I don’t know how to do it, Ryan. I’ve never hurt like this.”

“You’re not supposed to know how. God says he’ll lead the way; he’ll walk beside you through the valley.” Ryan squeezed Peter’s knee. “It doesn’t say he’ll take us on a detour around the valley of the shadow of death. It says he’ll stay beside us while we walk through it.”

“What if I can’t?” Peter’s voice was broken, racked with unresolved pain.

“That’s the problem, Peter.” Ryan slid closer to the edge of his chair. “For you, the valley is this pain you’re feeling. You have to walk through it to get past it, to the next place along the road of life. You can’t mask it or run from it. Or even die to escape it, Peter. You have to walk through it, and the only way to do that is with God.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “My little Hayley!” He moaned again, agonizing, louder than before. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been watching you, baby. I didn’t mean it; really I didn’t.”

Ryan swallowed.
Stay strong. For Peter, stay strong.
“God knows that. He’s here. Right now, ready to walk the valley with you. But you have to be willing . . .”

“Willing?” Confusion joined the other emotions ripping at Peter’s expression.

“Yes.” Ryan felt the corners of his mouth lift. “Willing to take the first step.”

Brooke took the phone call at work the next day.

She was between patients when the receptionist found her. “Your father’s on line three.”