What next? I mean - I don’t keep a diary, either on paper or online. There’d only be a point in the latter if I wanted people to be able to track my movements. No thanks. I drummed my fingers for a little bit, then started when a notification from Birdman flashed up. It turned out to be an announcement of a track change - he’d worked out how to get that linked up again. Huh. In lieu of something more productive, I opened the folder with my IM conversations in it, but it turned out I’d been somewhat unsocial online in the last week - real-life sociability being more prominent. Nothing after Tuesday. Fuxake.
I ground my teeth a little. Alt-tabbed to Birdman. He was still cogitating, or talking to his missus, or checking out the cost of condos in Alta Rica or something.
Agh. I flicked away, stared at my inbox again. Nothing was tickling my brain, that was certain.
I sighed, fished out my phone again.
Ru ok? Txt me. S_x
Sandra. S_x. I shuddered. Stared at the message again.
Sandra (tp).
Sandra (tp)... TP. Click! Tin Planet. Click! Steve. Click! Interview. Fuck. Fuck my monkey!
With epic timing, Birdman’s tab flashed, then flashed again, then fused to a solid colour. Okay, fella, I’m on it. I flicked back to him.
Birdman says: | I ever tell you about the time I had my tooth taken out?
|
And this he drags me from turgid introspection for?
JJ82 says: | You? A *wisdom* tooth? Srsly?! |
Birdman says: | haha
|
JJ82 says: | ok |
Birdman says: | it was comin in a weird angle which is why it hurt so they had to cut it out like surgery |
JJ82 says: | ok |
Birdman says: | so they had to give me this stuff - like inject this sedative stuff |
JJ82 says: | bet you were glad you weren’t an American all over again |
Birdman says: | actually, you still have to pay for stuff here. |
JJ82 says: | *sigh* yeah, us too. |
Birdman says: | so yeah less expensive than the US but still yeah
|
JJ82 says: | go on |
Birdman says: | so they give me this injection |
JJ82 says: | to knock you out? |
Birdman says: | nah was sedation which is why I remembered it
|
JJ82 says: | wtf? |
Birdman says: | like they knocked out memories or something.
|
JJ82 says: | and after? |
Birdman says: | bitch bastard of a headache couple stitches where my tooth was and these weird memories that had their own |
JJ82 says: | ? |
Birdman says: | their own logic like dreams but not - all weird and flowy
|
Pause.
Birdman says: | u there hun? |
Pause.
JJ82 says: | ggh! |
Oh, fucking hell. I sat there, stunned and agape for a little longer.
Birdman says: | what??? |
JJ82 says: | u may well have hit it. |
There was only one thing for it, really, though I hated to do it.
JJ82 says: | g2g |
Birdman says: | huh?
|
JJ82 says: | ask a woman about a tooth |
Birdman says: | u go girl!! |
The man is a saint. Or really doesn’t believe I actually exist - one or the other, I’ve yet to decide.
Birdman says: | keep me posted k? |
JJ82 says: | ok! |
JJ82 says: | luv u! |
JJ82 is Away
I skidded to my doorway, hesitated about 0.25 seconds, then plunged on to Mel’s door.
Bangbangbang!
Yep, holy crap, that was the side of my fist booming on my flatmate’s door.
“Wzgn. Sht. Wut?”
“Mel!”
“Tsecs.” Bed sounds and cloth sounds. The door came open. Mel peered at me, clutching layers around her.
“J, what, y’ok?” she cleared her throat while I said:
“I’m really sorry, Mel, um.”
“What’s wrong, love?” She was now only about 30% asleep. The long night showed dark under her eyes. What the fuck was I doing?
“I need your help. I really, really need your help.”
“What’s wrong?” She put her hand out, an inch short of my arm. “Are you hurt?”
“Um. Um, I think...” keep it simple, damnit. “I think I may have been drugged.”
“What?! When - now? At the party? Who?!” Her eyes had been raking my face and she paused, her brain visibly kicking up a notch. “Why,” she said, more slowly, “do you think you might have been drugged?”
“Mel, I think we need to go sit down.”
“Just a second,” she said, “just tell me why.”
I sighed. “Look, what do you remember from yesterday?”
She looked at me oddly. “Well, we went to a party at Kira’s, and before that...”
Shit. “No, the other yesterday.” Mental calculation. “Friday.”
“Why?”
“Just anything?”
“Sure. I had lunch with Ian. Read a bit more of that book you gave me.”
Classical Ceramics. Hardbacked, brown and cream dust cover, with a hint of gold on the raised letters. Cost 15p from the Central Library, but it was a present bought specifically for her, which makes 15p go a very long way, really. Got it on 16th February; a cold, on-off rainy day. Published by Khnemu in 1954. 3rd edition.
“Ok.”
“Did some drafting for the coursework, um, had the rest of that pasta cheese thing. Watched some TV. Oh, and had a text from Mandy The Clinger.”
“Heh.”
“Er, had an early night, really. Didn’t hear you get in. Or go out.”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“When?”
“What’s going on?”
“See Friday? I can’t remember Friday, me. Nor Thursday. I know I did stuff, talked to people, all that. I just can’t fucking remember it.”
“Shit. Er. You wanna sit down?”
“Yes.”
“Tea?”
“Maybe.”
In the end, we sat hugging mugs of hot chocolate. Me still in my party clothes, Mel bundled in her usual layers. I’ve known that woman stride through a frigid 2am Cardiff with a biting sea-wind and nought but jeans, trainers and a skimpy teeshirt. As soon as she’s in her own home it’s like she goes Scott of the Antarctic. Anyway.
“So, er.”
“Yeah?”
“Hon, why do you think you got drugged? Maybe you hit your head and...”
“No injuries. And I keep having these flashbacks. Birdman said...”
“Birdman?”
“Internet friend. Canadian.”
“Oh. ’kay.”
“... about when he had this tooth extraction and they gave him something so he was awake but couldn’t remember any of it, like he...”
“Midazolam.” She was nodding, in her right place now. “He had it as an injection?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but...”
“What?”
“I’ve looked. I don’t have any... I don’t think I had an injection.”
“You can give it as a slow buccal... bugger, I can’t remember the word... anyway, you squeeze it into the mouth between the cheek and the gums.” She demonstrated. “The skin’s thin there, so the uptake is...”
“Wouldn’t I have noticed that?”
“Not exactly stealth sedation,” she agreed. “Or, um... yeah...”
“Does it taste of anything?”
She shook her head. “But you’d have to give a lot for it to knock you out... orally...”
I shrugged, overwhelmed and helpless.
But Mel was still thinking. “Could be another BZD,” she said.
“BZD?”
“Benzodiazepine. They’re sedatives, anxiolytics...”
“Anx...? Oh, they redu... er relieve anxiety?”
“Yes. They’re really common. You’ll have heard of, um, like...”
“Valium and that?”
“Yeah...” She was looking off and down, clearly cogitating fiercely now. Took a sip of her cooling chocolate. “Ok,” she said eventually, “one thing - one scientific thing,” she said, looking up at me, “is bugging me.” She took a breath. “When do you reckon this happened?”
“Sometimes on Friday,” I said immediately. “Friday night, most like.”
“Not Thursday or even Wednesday?”
“W- no, I don’t. I mean, I think...” I stopped. Choked down the gathering rage one-handed. Swallowed. Slower: “Obviously I don’t remember Thursday but, far as I can tell I was at work, with friends, all that; business as usual Wednesday, Thursday, but the first time I did anything out of the ordinary was Friday.”
“How do you know?”
“LiveJournal.”
“Oh.”
“Why, anyway?”
“Coz BZDs cause - oh, what’s the bloody word? - anterograde,” she said the word carefully, “amnesia. Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Retrograde being the opposite?”
“Yeah.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning if someone spiked you with midazolam, or diazepam, or alprazolam, and it was enough to - or you reacted really badly to it so it fucked your memory up, it would only wipe out stuff that happened after you had it.” She caught my eyes, nodding. “See?”
I sighed briefly. “So something else is going on.”
“Something else is going on.”
“I need a psychiatrist.”
“Or a psychologist.”
“Bingo.” I stood up. Sniffed. “Ok.”
Mel’s face was grave - eyes big, mouth small with concern and uncertainty. “Are you ok?”
“I will be. But now I’ve got to go wake some other poor bastard up.”
Mel smiled a little at this.
I caught her eyes full-on. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry.”
She flapped a hand. “You’re good. Now go annoy someone else.”
Lucky I knew what she meant.
If I was any normal kind of person I’d’ve hugged her. As it was, I stood there kinda flapping like a penguin, then buggered off to my room to get my mobile.