Finding Jaime

Chapter 93

Jaime spent the next three days mostly sleeping on the bus. Don was keeping an eye on him when I was busy but otherwise I was beside my son, or not too far away.

Tonight we were just finishing up in the dressing rooms and I was packing my stuff as quickly as possible to get back out to the bus where Jaime was.

"Pete?" Patrick said. "Do you think maybe Jaime should be at home? Is he okay to be out here?"

I looked at Patrick and tried to keep the anger out of my eyes. How dare he think he knows better than me about my own son?

"He's just tired. This was a rough week's treatment for him. He's fine," I said.

"Okay, okay," Patrick said, his hands up in defense. I felt a little bad but I should be the one making decisions for and with Jaime.

I grabbed my bags and went out to the bus without saying another word to anyone.

On the bus I went straight back to Jaime's bunk and looked in on him. He was fast asleep. I checked and he was breathing fine.

"Jaime?" I whispered. He grunted. "I'm back on the bus. If you need anything, I'm here."

"Mmhm," he groaned and rolled over. I was more worried than I'd let on. Meagan had mentioned she was getting concerned, too. He'd promised Marvel he'd read her bedtime stories and he'd been asleep for three days. Mostly.

I sat on the bunk across from Jaime and watched him sleep. I didn't like how much he was sleeping. Something was brewing, I thought.

I lay down on the bunk and eventually, I fell asleep.

I was woken up by shouting.

"Jaime! Stop!" I heard. I opened my eyes. Jaime's bunk was empty. Completely. His bedding was pulled off. The shouting was coming from the front.

"Where is it?" Jaime shouted. I got out of my bunk and saw Patrick and Andy trying to calm Jaime down.

"What's happening?" I asked, coming into the main area at the front.

"We don't know," Patrick said, dodging a box of Pop Tarts Jaime threw out of the cupboard. "He's just been throwing stuff around. He says he's looking for something but he won't tell us what."

"Jaime!" I shouted, grabbing his shoulders. "Jaime, look at me."

He looked almost feral. His eyes were glassy. Heat was radiating off him again. He had an infection, I thought.

"Call over to the other bus. Find out where they are. We need Don. And we might need to find a hospital," I said, holding Jaime.

"I have to find it," he said to me. "I have to. I have to find it!"

"What are you looking for, Jaime?  Maybe I know where it is."

"You know. You know what it is. Where is it?! Did you take it?  Did you?!" He lunged at me. Andy pulled him off of me. This was not my son. This was not Jaime.

"Where is it!?  Give it to me!" He screamed at me.

The bus pulled off the highway and stopped in the empty parking lot of a hardware store. Another bus pulled up and I saw Don come running off his and onto ours.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"Something's wrong with Jaime. He says he's looking for something, but he hasn't said what. And he's radiating heat. He's really sick, Don."

Don nodded and went over to where Andy was holding onto my flailing shouting son.

"Jaime, it's Don.  What's going on, my dude?"

"I can't find it. I can't find it," he started weeping.

"What can't you find?" Don asked, checking Jaime's blood pressure and temperature.

"You know what it is. Did you take it?!"

"Nope," Don said. "I can confidently say that I did not. Follow my finger."

Jaime's eyes were unfocused. He wasn't following Don's finger. Suddenly Jaime stiffened.

"Dad!" He screamed and then started having a seizure. Don started timing it and was calling for emergency services. Jaime was going to the hospital, like it or not.

The seizure lasted a minute and a half and Jaime stayed unconscious after it. I held his hand while we waited for the ambulance.

"Pete," Patrick said, getting my attention.  "Go get dressed. Or grab shoes, anyway. Go with Jaime."

I nodded, threw on a pair of Uggs and a t-shirt and grabbed all of Jaime's medical info and our insurance info.

The ambulance pulled up moments later and Don was talking with the paramedics. Patrick and Andy were sitting nearby, along with Joe, who'd been awoken by the commotion.

"He's gonna be okay, Pete," Andy said.

I didn't respond. I wasn't so sure. I was terrified I was losing my son. I was scared he was dying. He's only 15. I've only known him for a few months. This isn't fair.

Tears fell from my eyes despite my desire to keep them in.

The paramedics came on the bus, assessed Jaime, loaded him up and put him on the stretcher outside. I followed and climbed into the back of the ambulance.

The trucks and buses of crew would continue on to San Diego. Our bus would wait until we had some more information. Don would travel on our bus from here. I thought we'd have to move him onto our bus. Just to be safe.

When we got to the hospital, Jaime was taken for tests, scans, assessments. They put a cooling blanket over him and a cooling cap to put cold on his head. His temperature was 106°. Dangerously high.

I cried by his bedside when they brought him back and admitted him into a proper room. I called Meagan and filled her in.

Neither of us said out loud what I know we were both thinking.

Jaime was dying. He'd lost his will to fight. And this infection was what might take him. 

I didn't want to confront the truth. I didn't want to face the very real possibility I was losing my son.