Bridge

The consultation room was small, almost a cupboard, with two chairs and a metal desk. A leather doctor’s bag sat on the spare chair, not neatly placed, not respectfully set down, but dropped, the way someone arriving at speed unloads objects just to free up their hands.

Dr Bridge was bent over, head buried in a laptop screen, fingers drumming a restless, happy little rhythm on the keys. His foot bounced under the table like it was trying to escape on its own.

“Dr Bridge?”

He jumped at the unexpected sound of his name, saw that he had a visitor and he shot to his feet with the speed and excitement of a child who’s just heard the ice cream van.

“Oh! Mrs Orpheus! Wonderful! Brilliant to see you again!”

He seemed to have way too much energy for this time of night. If you could bottle his enthusiasm and package it, the label would come with a caffeine warning. “And please… call me Gary. ‘Dr Bridge’ makes me sound like a cartoon character.”

He swooped the leather bag off the chair and tossed it lightly to the floor.

“There we go! Seat unlocked. Take a load off before the chair gets shy.”

She sat, because her body was still in autopilot survival mode. Her mind was down the hall with Magnus.

Gary dropped into the opposite chair with a soft bounce, immediately leaning forward, hands hovering above a folder like he was about to reveal a magic trick.

“Thank you for sprinting down here so quickly,” he said. “I wanted us to talk in private. You wouldn’t believe the number of people who think a hospital corridor is the perfect place to ask me about rashes.”

Gary opened the folder . . . then toned himself down when he remembered this wasn’t festive news.

“So, as you know, we’ve run a bunch of tests on Magnus. Blood work, heart work, tox screen… basically every test except the ones we make up for fun.” He tapped a line on the printout. “And something called diphenhydramine decided to throw a party in his bloodstream.”

Daphne frowned.

Gary held up both hands reassuringly.

“Totally ordinary stuff! Allergy pills, sleep-aid pills, the kind people take when they don’t want to talk to the person next to them on a long flight, or when you’re allergic to dates on the calendar. Harmless in little tiny doses… less harmless when you pop them like candy.”

“I don’t understand… how is this possible?”

“Brilliant!” he said, pointing cheerfully as if she’d won a prize. “That is exactly the question. Love that question. Do you folks have any at home? bottles you use, or bottles you don’t with lots of dust on?”

Her mind churned.

“Yes,” she said. “They’re mine, but Magnus wouldn’t take them.”

Gary’s expression softened . . . still bright, still animated, but with a touch of gravity.

“Kids are astounding creatures,” he said. “They can recite every dinosaur name but still occasionally eat a crayon. Is there even a teensy chance he thought they were something else? Candy? Magical sleep beans?”

“No. He’s careful.”

Gary nodded a few times, his knee bouncing.

“Okay, okay, then let’s check another angle. Has he ever seen you take them?”

She stopped breathing for a moment.

“Y-yes. He knows it’s for sleep.”

Gary clicked his tongue sympathetically. “Gotcha. And does he struggle with sleep? Trouble drifting off? Doesn’t like the dark?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “He thinks the house is… haunted.”

Gary’s eyebrows lifted in an exaggerated ‘ahhh’ of understanding.

“Well there it is,” he said brightly. “That’ll fry anyone’s sleep schedule. When you’re that exhausted, your brain becomes a curious little gremlin. Even the brightest kids reach for whatever solution they’ve seen work.” He tilted his head gently. “If he saw you take something and thought ‘Huh… Mom sleeps… maybe this will help,’ that might explain what’s in his system.”

“He wouldn’t,” Daphne said . . . too fast, too thin.

Gary shrugged with a strangely gentle enthusiasm.

“It’s just one possibility. One puzzle piece. And the diphenhydramine numbers are definitely saying something happened. Think of it as a positive. Magnus is fine, and if this was just a one-off accident then we’ll just keep a record and there’s no need to inform social.”

Above them, the light flickered.

Daphne felt the cold ripple crawl down her spine. Her breath broke. Her thoughts scattered.

He was struggling with sleep. She knew that. If he’d taken the pills because he had seen her take them . . .

Then, she had done this.

She had nearly killed Magnus.

The light flickered again . . . sharper, angry.

Gary scribbled a few notes, then shut the folder with a soft clap.

“The lights are being dramatic again. Ignore them. You would think they had feelings.”

“We’ll keep treating him,” he said, still bright, still maddeningly optimistic. “He’s in good hands. My team is amazing. Honestly, they amaze me and I work with them.”

Daphne nodded because she couldn’t do anything else.

Gary rose and bounced to the door wearing that bright, irrepressible smile. He held it open indicating that the meeting was over, a box had been ticked. 

Daphne stood. Guilt had slid in, it took root and bloomed viciously. By the time she reached the corridor, a horrible thought had wrapped itself around her like barbed wire.

It’s all my fault. 

I almost killed him . . . I almost killed our Moonbeam.

How will I ever tell Max?..