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know, clean
living…environmentalist…he doesn’t believe in putting anything
unnatural into his system. Ever since his mom died, he has
this…aversion…to chemicals…he doesn’t smoke or drink or anything
like that. That’s why I never fill anything for him. He won’t even
take cough syrup.”
    “You found all that out from not filling his prescriptions?”
    “No. I’ve…talked to him.” Jamie’s liquid
brown eyes held the slightest trace of guilt.
    “Oh, really?” That feeling…was that a pang
of…annoyance? Frustration? Jealousy? I snorted. Still, I knew Jamie
was right. Though Emmett and I didn’t exactly run in the same
circles, I’d gone to school with him only my entire life. He was
one of those kids that was always doing animal shelter fund raisers
and volunteering at the community garden. Back then he’d seemed
like the black sheep of his family. Nice work for a future
felon…
    “What is it?” Jamie asked.
    “What would happen to someone if they were
given insulin and they weren’t diabetic?” Goosebumps rose on my
flesh.
    “A blood sugar crash, probably…hypoglycemia,
disorientation, dizziness. And depending on what type of insulin it
is, it could persist in the blood stream for…hours. Do you think
that’s what was wrong with him?” Her eyes widened in alarm.
    Roy had said Emmett had a drug problem. The
argument I’d heard in the station, and all Jamie had just told me,
seemed to suggest something different, something much more
sinister. “I don’t know.”
    “You’re really worried about him.”
    “He was really messed up.”
    Jamie contemplated for a moment before
snatching her cell phone from the console. “You didn’t tell anyone
else about this, did you?” she asked, the buttons beeping as she
pressed them.
    “Well, I sort of told Roy.”
    “He’ll do the right thing…he just needs a
little help.”
    “Huh? Jamie…what are you doing?”
    She put the phone to her ear. When she spoke,
her voice was nasally, accented…unrecognizable. “Yeah, I just saw a
cop kicking the crap out of someone who was unconscious –
looked like an OD victim – and they were dragging him inside the
police station.” Like a ninja, she anticipated my desperate,
exasperated grab for the cell and karate chopped my arm away. “He’s
gonna need an ambulance. Caught the whole thing on my phone cam
too…can’t wait to sell it to the Journal.” Almost as an aside, she
added, “This is amazing…a police brutality story. In an election
year! So exciting.”
    My hands grabbed for the cell again, but her
palm clapped over my face and she gave my head a vehement
shove.
    Her drawl deepened, bordering on ridiculous.
“The victim? White male, 19 years old. Five foot nine, 150 pounds.
My name?” Instead of answering, she ended the call with an impish
grin. “Saw that on TV once,” she giggled.
    “Jamie, what did you just do?!” I was reeling
in paranoia, dizzy with shock.
    “I called an ambulance for Emmett,” she
answered innocently. “Oh, relax.”
    “Relax? You just – what was –” My brain could
not comprehend the preposterousness that had just occurred. “What
if Brad or Roy already took him to the hospital? What if they
figure out we’re the ones that called? Caller ID, hello?! What if
this whole thing is just Emmett trying to keep himself out of
trouble?” There was still that nagging chance he’d gone rogue or
insane, abandoned his former convictions for a try at the more
literal interpretation of the word. It was hard to fathom even
someone as disgusting as Ead trying to kill his own brother. Even
if all the pieces seemed to fit…it was hard to believe.
    Jamie waved her hand and rolled her eyes at
my apparent idiocy. “ None of what you just maniacally
screamed at me is even relevant. I know what I’m doing.”
    “What makes you think even if the ambulance
gets there, they’ll get past Brad? And what exactly are you selling
to the Journal?!” Half-shouting,