The Black River

CHAPTER ONE CHANEL It was in the early hours of the morning when the city was stirring with party-goers, drug addicts, and the homeless who were looking for a place to sleep. Except for a few travelers on their way home, the streets were filled with police cars and ambulances looking to salvage another night in the city. An ambulance raced down the streets with lights flashing and sirens blasting, hoping to make it to the Mount Rush Hospital in time. The paramedic in the back of the ambulance told the driver to go faster; the woman might not survive. "We have a female patient suffering from a drug related overdose, believed to be heroin," the paramedic said as the patient was being moved from the ambulance to the emergency room. A doctor entered the room and flashed a light into the woman's eyes to determine if they were dilated; a common symptom for a drug overdose. "Get an I.V. going. I need her vitals asap. Start the reversal drug immediately," the doctor ordered as the medical staff went to work, knowing that there was a small window to save her. While the woman's pulse was faint, she was still alive. Her name was Chanel Rosenthal. "Chanel, how much did you take?" the doctor asked. "I need to know." As the nurse added the solution to her I.V., Chanel responded in gibberish. She then leaned over the bed and vomited onto the floor. This was a typical day for Chanel. She frequently found herself in the Mount Rush Emergency Room where the doctors and nurses knew her well. Chanel found these roller coaster rides to be exhilarating. She cherished the altered state of mind, shifting from one reality to another. For her, the drug overdose was mind blowing; releasing the beatitudes that opened the path to a spiritual awakening; and being on the edge, the place that society deemed to be life threatening. Chanel wasn't naive, she knew her chosen path was destructive and insanely suggestive. She asked only for the freedom to be herself. Hours passed before Chanel opened her eyes. She scanned the room as memories of the night flashed through her mind. While only fragments, they began to tell a story: Chanel had gone to one of her favorite clubs, listened to music, had drinks topped off with coke, followed by a heavy dose of heroin. She was no stranger to blackouts or being strapped to hospital beds after drug overdoses. Although she had teased death on multiple occasions, killing herself was not a conscious choice. She just loved being high, drunk, and the short bursts of ecstasy driven by emotional orgasms. The thought of death had never discouraged Chanel from her chosen lifestyle. While she barely survived many life-threatening experiences, there were no regrets. Circumstances had always returned her to the living. Her mind had been plagued with so much trauma and torment that an adjustment of her brain's wiring was an escape. Except for the fact that they had been killed, Chanel knew nothing about her parents. The man who raised her was a father figure, providing her with a different perspective on fatherhood. When he died, Chanel was placed into foster care, another life experience gone amiss. This was where Chanel's young mind was introduced to the ugly side of life. The poverty-stricken slums of Chicago catered to degenerates and the altered minds of most adolescences. The child-care system was the equivalent to a prison for children. Chanel embraced her rebellious ways and became the epitome of a destructive, unpredictable teenage menace; possibly the worst case in the group home. When Chanel turned 18, psychologists and psychiatrists considered her to be socially disconnected from reality. As time passed, Chanel became engrossed in drugs and sex while chasing that first high; a high that she could never match no matter how hard she tried. Despite the drug abuse, Chanel was a beautiful woman. Her appearance was the ultimate bait in convincing men to play out her lifestyle. While it was a reflection of her behavior, she never thought of it as being repugnant. Sex was only a deflection allowing her to dissociate from her conscious thoughts. Chanel's five-foot five-inch frame, shoulder-length hair, and thick lips added to her sex appeal. Perhaps her dark-colored eyes accompanied by an alluring gaze were the ultimate mystery that grabbed your attention. "Chanel Rosenthal, I guess you must like us here at the Mount Rush Hospital?" Nurse Jamie asked as she and the doctor walked into the room. "I'm thinking that you have a thing for me, Doc. We can't keep meeting like this," Chanel joked with a half-hearted smile. "Are you trying to kill yourself or are you just in dire need of some attention?" the Doctor asked. "Now you sound like Doctor Phil. Dying isn't easy for me. I've tried more times than you can imagine," Chanel replied. The Doctor proceeded to make his case for survival. "Maybe self-sabotaging isn't for you. I can tell you next time you try to kill yourself, you may succeed. Here's something you need to do for yourself, stop using. Look at this x-ray." The Doctor held the film up to the light. "If you look near the heart, you'll notice a dark area the size of a golf ball. That's called an aneurysm, which is a blood-filled bulge in your blood vessel. If this were to erupt, you'd die from eternal bleeding. It's a miracle that it hasn't already killed you. You don't need surgery. It'll go away on its own if your heart isn't forced to do unnecessary work. When you shoot drugs, it forces your body to regulate the body temperature, heart rate and other things. So, if you want to live, no more drugs. I can give you information on where to find help, but you already know these things." "I didn't know it was that bad," Chanel answered with a measure of concern. "Yeah, it's very bad," the Doctor replied. "You're young and beautiful with your entire life ahead of you. Make something of it and do yourself a favor, stay alive." With that said the doctor left Chanel to think about her mortality. She closed her eyes and explored her thoughts. She didn't want to die. While she didn't have a lot to live for, maybe one day that would change. She at least owed herself that. She'd never attempted to quit, but the stories she heard from recovering addicts was something she wasn't ready to experience. It's a shame how people don't get the chance to choose who brings them into this world. Her mother was dead, and her father was a piece of dysfunctional shit. When Chanel felt a tear fall from her eye, it became real. Only Chanel could save herself.