Euphoria

The clouds rolled overhead as the night breeze wiped between the spires of the Chicago skyline. I could smell the rain coming in. We needed something major, a cleansing downpour that would flush out all the toxins that had overtaken the streets in the wake of recent chaos.

The puddles on the street started to dimple and splash. I turned my collar up around my neck; the clouds broke loose, and rain pelted my fedora and ran down the brim.

I picked up my pace, sprinting to my office. Grasping the door handle, I flung open the entrance to my sanctuary.

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Removing my hat, I shook the rainwater out onto the entryway with a flick of my wrist.

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Maggie would give me grief about the water on the hardwood floor, but she was always finding something to complain about.

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I carefully peeled off my coat, feeling the weight of the rain-soaked fabric in my hands. I hung my coat, resulting in a sudden clatter echoing off the walls. My umbrella rolled on the ground, just beneath my coat rack.

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I shook my head; Maggie told me to keep it on me, but what do dames know?

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My bottle of Jack beckoned from the top drawer of my oaken desk. I moved to it and pulled my old friend and a glass from the right side drawer. The clink of glass enticed my taste buds. I poured myself a generous portion, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. I took a long slug from the glass; the warmth spreading through me, a comforting shield against the chill of the rain.

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My eyes roamed the top of my desk. News articles chronicling the rise of the new designer drug Euphoria were haphazardly strewn atop it. In the two years since this drug hit our city streets, homelessness, vandalism, and petty larceny tripled.

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In the past, Chicago was no den of angels, but now hell itself seemed to open its maw, spitting out demons and specters to torment the once decent people. Shortly after the National Guard barricaded the bridges, O’Hare and Midway turned to temporary shelters, and the local fuzz had opted for early retirement.

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Something about this drug was different, and it gnawed at my mind like a dog on a bone. Despite my best efforts, all I could conjure was a swirl of questions, fears, and doubts. But no one wanted answers; despite a little extra coaxing and twisting of the law.  

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I took a seat. My solid wood chair creaked and groaned, welcoming me home. I cleared a space for my glass. Underneath the pile of papers, the first headline about Euphoria resurfaced.

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BIOTECH INC. ANNOUNCES A MEDICAL MIRACLE!

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Reneuvia was what they called it, but it quickly became Euphoria as people abused it.

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“Isn’t that always the way? We’re promised progress only to be handed our own destruction?” I lamented to my old friend Jack before emptying the glass, then reached to refill it.

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Maggie didn’t like it when I had more than one, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me.

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I poured myself three more fingers of Jack, letting it settle while I looked through more articles. They transitioned from doctors shaking hands and winning awards to junkies and vagrants smashing windows and looting stores.

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You could always tell when someone was really into Euphoria. Their eyes were a glossy pale mix of joy and sadness. They would gaze through passersby, talking to themselves–or maybe something else. Once someone hit that level of stupor, there was no road to recovery.

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I moved around a few more articles, and suddenly, my mouth went dry, and my breathing became ragged. Maggie’s beautiful face stared back at me from her obituary.

I pulled from my glass of Jack and ran my free hand over her portrait. I sniffed at the air, holding back my tears. But the pain was too much.

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It seemed so long ago now, but the memories still burned fresh. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, suppressing the visions of her twisted car and contorted body.

She had swerved to avoid one of those damn junkies. He just stood there, mumbling in the street. I watched the city’s surveillance footage a thousand times, willing her to stop. But the result was always the same.

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My dear, sweet Maggie flipped her car, trying to avoid him. I wish she had just plowed the motherfucker down! She was worth so much more than that scumbag.

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I shook my head, attempting to clear my mind like that old toy I got when I was 10.

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I slid open the lefthand drawer of my desk. My pistol gleamed in the dim light of my office, but I wasn’t that desperate. Another object rolled around next to it.

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I retrieved a compressed disc; the word Reneuvia was laser-etched across the top side. I confiscated this from some bum last week while trying to get answers.

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My eyes wandered over its smooth red surface. What made this junk so good? Why were people throwing away their entire lives to get more? I had to know, and my months of searching hit a dead end.

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Maybe just a hit would give me some insight—or at least numb my pain.

I raised the dispenser to my lips. My common sense drowned out by Jack and memories of Maggie. I depressed its small button and breathed in the aerosolized medicine.

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I inhaled deeply. Rainbows of color playing across my inner eyelids. As the darkness returned, my ears filled with strange chatter and noises. The high was unsettling.

 

I opened my eyes slowly. The drug had amplified the light in the room, and hues of blue and white assaulted my pupils. As my eyes came into focus, an ethereal figure sat on my desk, smiling at me. It reached out a hand to caress my cheek.

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“Maggie?”