Submerged

When Ashton began to notice the missing Vicodin, Marcus resorted to Tylenol 3s, an easy prescription to get. He broke them down in cold water and separated the codeine, an opiate used for pain relief. The concentrated codeine numbed the pain and had the added effect of making him high. Unfortunately he liked the feeling a bit too much. He tricked himself into believing he was more efficient as a paramedic when he was high. It made him feel more confident, alert, in control.

Who the hell was he kidding?

Over time, his addiction became more demanding. Codeine stopped working, and he returned to Vicodin and Percocet. Occasionally, he’d inject himself with morphine, when the pain became unbearable. Soon his dilated pupils gave him away.

Jane broached the subject one evening, but he walked out of the house, pissed that she’d accused him—a paramedic, for God’s sake—of being an addict. Then Ashton told Marcus he knew about the pilfered drugs.

Within days, Marcus’s deep, dark secret was out. He was exposed, humiliated and ashamed. He was given a choice—rehab or jail.

Wasn’t much of a choice.

Jane had stood by him. She was wonderful that way, always forgiving. She even supported his decision to take off to Cadomin for a week, without her or Ryan. Fishing, he told her.

In actuality, he’d gone there to contemplate his life and the terrible choices he’d made. The box with the insignia had gone with him. It would be his last time using, he promised himself. Then he’d bury the box and be done with it all. He swore he go to meetings, get clean, whatever it took, as soon as he returned home. But he spent most of the time in the cabin high on morphine and sleeping. That was back in the days when he could sleep.

He remembered sitting in the candlelit cabin, a hypodermic needle in his arm. He was dozing, embracing the flow of lightness, when his cell phone rang.

“Marcus, it’s John Zur.” The detective went on to tell him Jane and Ryan had been involved in a serious car accident.

Marcus ripped the needle from his arm and jumped to his feet. “Where?”

“Not far from Cadomin.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Marcus, you should—”

Marcus shifted into autopilot. He hung up the phone before Zur could finish what he was saying, grabbed his coat and ran from the cabin to his car. It was raining, freezing rain, but he barely noticed. All he could think of was his wife and son, hurt and dazed. They needed him.

He sped down the highway until he saw the police cars and fire truck. He pulled up behind an ambulance, parked, then leapt from his car.

Zur strode toward him. “Marcus, I don’t think you should—”

Ignoring the detective, Marcus skidded down the muddy embankment toward the water-filled ditch.

Then he saw it. Jane’s car. It had flipped over and was half submerged in deep, murky water.

“Jaaaane!” he screamed. “Ryan!”

Two rescuers using the Jaws of Life ripped open the side door, the metal grinding and squealing in rebellion, water pouring to the ground. In the driver’s seat a body hung upside-down, water up to the waist.

Marcus recognized Jane’s jacket immediately. “Nooo!”

The remainder of that night was a blur of flashing lights and sirens.

And death.

He had a lot to make up for. Penance was his middle name.

The phone rang, tearing him from his dark thoughts. Over the next few hours he filed paperwork, forwarded a suspicious arson call to Fire and Police and sent an ambulance to a possible home invasion, while doing his best not to think of the meeting he’d promised Leo he’d attend.

There was a brief second when he stared at the computer monitor and thought of why he went to the meetings in the first place. To make amends. To help assuage the guilt.

To be forgiven?

Was that even possible?

Chapter Four

Edmonton, AB – Thursday, June 13, 2013 – 6:24 PM

When Rebecca pulled up to the house, the first thing she noticed was the garage door. It was open. She parked the car on the driveway and muttered a curse beneath her breath.

“You forgot to push the button, Mom,” Colton said.

“Maybe it hit something and bounced back up.”

She jabbed the remote button and watched the door close. It stayed closed. She pressed the button again and watched the garage door open.

“Nope, Mommy was a twit,” she said in a cheery voice as she pulled the car inside and lowered the garage door once more.

“What’s a twit?” Ella asked.

Colton snorted. “It’s what you are, twit.”

“Mommy, am I a twit?”

“No, honey.” Rebecca turned in the seat and pointed a finger at Colton. “Stop teasing your sister.”