Page 104 of Strays
Friday afternoon, we wrap up our review of every report we could get our hands on about the new drug, not just from the Bridgeport office, but from the closest DEA hubs as well: New York and New Jersey.
Still no name for the drug, no form and no confirmed samples.
What we saw on those reports is that overdose deaths have been rising steadily across southern Connecticut for the past six months, but in the last eight weeks, the rate has more than tripled. Two hundred and fifty-two confirmed deaths, all within a 40-mile radius: Bridgeport, Great Sky, Stamford, Norwalk. Victims range from chronic users to first-timers. Some young. One just fourteen. A few looked like suicides, but most didn’t.
The one thing they all have in common is that the tox screens come back clean. No fentanyl, no heroin. Just dead bodies with central nervous system depression, pulmonary arrest and no explanation. Whatever this drug is, it’s burning through people fast and leaving no trail behind.
Toxicology isn't the only dead end. Since there's no recovered product, no one knows even the form, whether it’s a powder, a pill or whatever, and every dealer swept so far has come up clean.
At home, it’s been a week of adjustments. Jo’s back at the hospital, and we’re working crazy hours, somehow even crazier than her schedule as a medical resident. On top of that, our diets are nothing like hers now, which makes cooking a whole new challenge.
Before, we used to make dinner together. Now, by the time we get home, Jo’s already halfway through prepping separate meals: one normal dinner for her, and then a second round that looks like it’s meant to feed a platoon.
We jump in to help, but it’s a lot. We’re eating more than ever, which means more planning, more groceries, more prepping the next day’s meals before we even sit down to eat the current one. Every night turns into a two-hour rotation of chopping, cooking, portioning and packing.
To our relief, Jo seems to be handling her situation at the hospital better, even though the gossip and cruel comments haven’t stopped, and a good number of patients still refuse to be treated by her. Her scent always has a sour edge when we get home, but we chat and listen to music while cooking together, telling her about our day and listening to her curse her coworkers and the patients who walk out on her. By the time we sit down to eat, her lily scent is clear again.
It’s obvious that something has really changed in her. Before, the pressure crushed her, made her shrink and go quiet, like she was the one at fault. Now she’s not only steadier but combative, like she’s ready to fight for herself.
Two days after she was back at work, she decided to change the course of her residency.
“I want to start a pilot clinic for gregalis at the hospital,” she announces to usover dinner. “I’ve been thinking about it, and through all of med school, we barely touched gregalis physiology, and we had no real training in gregalis health. Everything I know, I learned on my own. We’re similar enough to humans that most of their medicine works on us, but when it comes to the endocrine and reproductive systems, no one knows anything.
“The birth control thing was what got me thinking, but with just a little bit of research I found out so much more. And let me tell you, Dr. Bureau is a douche, but the man really made himself useful. I found a study he published two years ago compiling almost twenty years of gregalis deaths in hospitals across the country. Aside from violence and suicide, most cases involved the hormonal system, and it’s clear that it’s because that is what we have different from humans. Gregalis actually died from stupid things such as diabetes and hyperthyroidism because doctors treated them like humans.
“For nyras, it’s even worse. Did you know nyras don’t get any prenatal care? They don’t go to the hospital, not even for childbirth. In Dr. Bureau’s study, there were more than a hundred nyra deaths after a failed home birth. In more than half of those cases, the baby died too. The first thing I want to do at the clinic is make sure pregnant nyras get proper care.”
Pride swells inside me like a balloon, and I can see it on Jay and Shane’s faces too.
The next day, the change in her is even clearer. Before, she didn’t even want to talk about getting a lawyer to defend her against the discrimination at the hospital, but now she is out for blood.
“Dr. Lindstrom called my idea ridiculous,” she tells us, chopping potatoes by slamming the knife down like she wants to kill them. “He said Joseph Monsoon’s is a human hospital, and the gregalis population is too small to justify a ‘waste of institutional resources’. Like there is any other kind of hospital for us to go to. But I am not letting this go. I don’t know yet exactly what I can do, but if I have to drag them to court to open my clinic, I will.”
The three of us grin wide at her.
“Hell yes! That’s what I’m talking about!” Shane says, his voice bright with pride.
In the middle of everything, we’d been avoiding the subject of the criminal charges. Deputy Commander Julius Eneas had said the MAB would assign us legal counsel, but we hadn’t heard a word since. We hadn’t reached out to Jayme either. When I finally admit that to Jo, guilt heavy in my voice, she’s already taken matters into her own hands and invited him and Alice over for Sunday.
On Saturday, we give ourselves one more day of avoidance coping before we let reality crash back in. After another brutal training session at the garrison, we hit the YMCA court for basketball.
When we tell Fontes about the DEA assignment, he grins and says, “Special Agents, huh? Guess I better start calling you ‘sir’ now.” His tone is playful, andhe seems genuinely happy for us.
But Sunday comes, and now we have no choice but to face the problem.
Jayme arrives with Alice and Kate in the middle of the afternoon, and he doesn’t waste time. While Alice heads to the backyard to keep Kate distracted, he sits down at the table with us and Jo.
I can feel the cold settling in my chest.
If it goes wrong, it could shatter everything. We could lose our freedom. Be pulled away from Jo for however long we’re locked up. Lose our jobs. Lose our ability to provide for the life we’ve built with her. That’s why we’ve been avoiding not just talking about it, but even acknowledging that the charges exist. Even thinking about it makes the air feel too heavy to breathe.
“I reviewed the police report, the initial incident statement, and what’s in the court docket so far,” Jayme starts. “The DA’s still building the file. Technically, they haven’t committed to a strategy yet, but realistically? Get ready. This is going to trial.”
He looks at Jo. “I’m not sure if you’ve been following the news, but Kacy Silvester’s already made a few public statements. Nothing formal, but she’s shaping the narrative that Luc was drunk and inappropriate, but not dangerous, and Jay overreacted. At the trial, she’ll be their emotional leverage.”
I bite down hard.
Jayme closes the folder and leans forward. “Look, I know I’m not your lawyer yet, but I want to be. We don’t know each other well, but I care about Jo, and, by extension, I care about you guys. I know how to handle a case like this, so if you want me in, I’ll file a motion to join as counsel of record first thing tomorrow.”
