The ThreatDr. Salmon dosed Tony with a purgative, yet it was many hours before he felt safe to leave us.
I couldn’t sleep. I might have killed Tony, and it haunted me.
The doctor stayed in a guest room, returning every few hours to listen to Tony’s heart. Tony woke with a terrible headache, dreadfully ill, and little memory of the night before.
“You must never drink alcohol when you take opium,” Dr. Salmon said. “I told you this before. And no extra doses. Do you hear me? If your wife hadn’t been awake, you’d be dead now.”
We sat in Tony’s room. Tony, bent over his tea table, leaned on one elbow. He nodded, his face pale and sweaty. But his breathing was normal, as were his eyes. I never wanted to see them look that way again.
Dr. Salmon got up and paced around the room, stretching hi
