She wandered out, then detoured to the bathroom to freshen her makeup.
There had been some talk about winding down at a local club. Tired or
not, she was going to go along, and keep an eye on her father.
When she opened the door, she could only stand in speechless shock. The
pristine white tiles were streaked with blood. The smell of it, cold
and metallic, mixed with the raw stink of vomit, had her throat slamming
shut so that she reached up with her hand, pressing and squeezing to
clear it. She backstepped quickly, nearly tripping before she managed
to turn and race back into the studio.
"Daill
He was finishing up his drink with one hand while struggling into his
coat. The flush of success was on his face, but the laughter at
something Johnno had said died when he saw Emma.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"In the loo. Quick." She grabbed his hand to drag him with her. "It's
all over the walls. I don't-I can't go in."
She stood back, gripping Johnno's arm as Brian pushed open the door.
"Goddamnit." After one quick glance, he slammed the door again. "Get
somebody to clean this up," he snapped to Pete. Taking Emma's arm, he
started to haul her back into the studio.
"Clean it up?" She pulled away from him. "Dad, for God's sake, there's
blood all over the walls. Someone's been hurt. We have to-"
"Get your coat, and let's go."
"Go? We have to call the police, or a doctor, or-"
"Ease down, Emma," Pete murmured. "There's no need to call the police."
"No need?" She spun on him, then her father. "We have to call them."
"NW're not calling anyone, and you're to forget it."
"But-"
"It's Stevie." Furious, Brian took her by the shoulders, and turned her
to where Stevie had nodded out in a corner. "He's using heavy again.
You can't jam a needle into any available vein and not lose some blood."
"My God." A horrible afterimage of the red-streaked walls flashed into
her mind. "He's doing that to himself? He's killing himself"
"Very likely."
"Why aren't you doing something about it?"
"What the hell am I supposed to do?" Snatching up her coat, he dragged
it over her arms. "It's his life."
"That's a despicable thing to say," she whispered.
Stepping in as peacemaker, Pete touched her shoulder. "You can't blame
Brian, Emma. He's tried, I promise you. We've all tried. As soon as
the album is finished, we'll convince him to go into detox again."
"As soon as the album's finished," she repeated. "The bloody album."
Revolted, she swung back to her father. "He's your friend."
"Yes, he's my friend." He didn't bother to tell her of the times he'd
begged Stevie to get help, of the times he'd covered up the problem by
disposing of needles and mopping up blood. "You don't understand,
Emma."
"No, I don't." After one last look, she turned away. "I'm going home."
"Emma-" Torn, he turned back to stare helplessly at Stevie.
"Go on along," P.M. told him and half lifted Stevie to his feet. "I'll