how.
***
The sound of retching, followed by splashes into the toilet, from inside the bathroom kept disrupting Beth's concentration on her work. She sat at a small, round table made of some composite material and worked on her laptop. Her blouse and skirt were finely pressed, and her blond hair was pulled back tight in her signature bun.
Jake sat in the corner. He was scrolling through his phone, checking Congressman Smith’s messages.
Beth's long nails clicked against the keyboard, and her eyes darted to the closed bathroom door once more after another long moan from Dr. Carlson.
“Not everyone in this hotel room is a recovering alcoholic, so if you could try and keep the griping to a minimum, it would be greatly appreciated,” Beth said.
More plunks sounded from Dr. Carlson's puking, and Beth shuddered with frustration. She slammed the laptop closed and almost ripped the bathroom door off its hinges. The smell that flew up her nostrils was warm and sour. It felt as though a wave of death consumed her, but she stood firm.
Dr. Carlson had his arms wrapped around the toilet bowl and was curled up in the fetal position, with bits of vomit on the corners of his mouth.
“Are you done yet?” Beth asked.
“Woman, if there were a reincarnation of Lucifer himself walking around in our world, even he would have more sympathy for me than you do,” Dr. Carlson answered.
“You'll have plenty of time with the devil in your next life, but in this one, we need you dried out and working. We've already lost an entire day with you whining about how hard this is.”
“I need to go to the hospital.”
“Congressman Jones is looking for you, and you can bet he'll have people watching hospital admissions and every other corner of this country to make sure you're dead.”
“If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it already.”
“Well, should I give him a call, then, and let him know you're here?”
“Go for it. At least he'll put me out of my misery so I don't have to listen to your incessant yapping.”
“The clock is ticking, Doctor.”
***
After another hour of vomiting, he was dry heaving. Despite his stomach's persistence, the only thing that came out now was hot bile.
Dr. Carlson pushed himself off the bathroom floor. His arms shook, and his legs wobbled. He grabbed the towel rack and used it to help steady himself.
The pounding in his head was extravagant. His entire body felt as if it was under the weight of a semi truck. He took a few shuffling steps forward and then stopped, leaning up against the cool wall of the bathroom for support.
If he could make it to the bed, he would consider it a victory. His entire body was covered in sweat. His muscles twitched from their eager cries for more alcohol.
He landed his feet on the soft carpet of the bedroom and shuffled forward another few steps. He swayed back and forth, using every bit of strength left in him not to collapse.
Another couple short strides and he finally grabbed the thick comforter of the queen-sized bed and pulled himself on top. His face rubbed against the slightly scratchy fabric.
Dr. Carlson felt the weight of sleep crush him, and as his eyelids shut, the only thought that entered his mind was that he didn't think he'd ever wake up.
***
The first instinct that Dr. Carlson felt when his eyes opened wearily was that he wanted to inhale the biggest steak that he could find. But he wasn't greeted by the filet mignon of his dreams. Instead he was surrounded by two men dressed in well-tailored suits and the succubus who had dragged him here.
“Dr. Carlson?” Smith asked.
He didn't respond. Maybe if he pretended he was dead, they would go away.
“Dr. Carlson, it's David Smith. I'm the congressman you worked with three years ago, trying to get your formula passed in the House,” Smith said.
“Well, you did a shit job,” Dr.
***
The sound of retching, followed by splashes into the toilet, from inside the bathroom kept disrupting Beth's concentration on her work. She sat at a small, round table made of some composite material and worked on her laptop. Her blouse and skirt were finely pressed, and her blond hair was pulled back tight in her signature bun.
Jake sat in the corner. He was scrolling through his phone, checking Congressman Smith’s messages.
Beth's long nails clicked against the keyboard, and her eyes darted to the closed bathroom door once more after another long moan from Dr. Carlson.
“Not everyone in this hotel room is a recovering alcoholic, so if you could try and keep the griping to a minimum, it would be greatly appreciated,” Beth said.
More plunks sounded from Dr. Carlson's puking, and Beth shuddered with frustration. She slammed the laptop closed and almost ripped the bathroom door off its hinges. The smell that flew up her nostrils was warm and sour. It felt as though a wave of death consumed her, but she stood firm.
Dr. Carlson had his arms wrapped around the toilet bowl and was curled up in the fetal position, with bits of vomit on the corners of his mouth.
“Are you done yet?” Beth asked.
“Woman, if there were a reincarnation of Lucifer himself walking around in our world, even he would have more sympathy for me than you do,” Dr. Carlson answered.
“You'll have plenty of time with the devil in your next life, but in this one, we need you dried out and working. We've already lost an entire day with you whining about how hard this is.”
“I need to go to the hospital.”
“Congressman Jones is looking for you, and you can bet he'll have people watching hospital admissions and every other corner of this country to make sure you're dead.”
“If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it already.”
“Well, should I give him a call, then, and let him know you're here?”
“Go for it. At least he'll put me out of my misery so I don't have to listen to your incessant yapping.”
“The clock is ticking, Doctor.”
***
After another hour of vomiting, he was dry heaving. Despite his stomach's persistence, the only thing that came out now was hot bile.
Dr. Carlson pushed himself off the bathroom floor. His arms shook, and his legs wobbled. He grabbed the towel rack and used it to help steady himself.
The pounding in his head was extravagant. His entire body felt as if it was under the weight of a semi truck. He took a few shuffling steps forward and then stopped, leaning up against the cool wall of the bathroom for support.
If he could make it to the bed, he would consider it a victory. His entire body was covered in sweat. His muscles twitched from their eager cries for more alcohol.
He landed his feet on the soft carpet of the bedroom and shuffled forward another few steps. He swayed back and forth, using every bit of strength left in him not to collapse.
Another couple short strides and he finally grabbed the thick comforter of the queen-sized bed and pulled himself on top. His face rubbed against the slightly scratchy fabric.
Dr. Carlson felt the weight of sleep crush him, and as his eyelids shut, the only thought that entered his mind was that he didn't think he'd ever wake up.
***
The first instinct that Dr. Carlson felt when his eyes opened wearily was that he wanted to inhale the biggest steak that he could find. But he wasn't greeted by the filet mignon of his dreams. Instead he was surrounded by two men dressed in well-tailored suits and the succubus who had dragged him here.
“Dr. Carlson?” Smith asked.
He didn't respond. Maybe if he pretended he was dead, they would go away.
“Dr. Carlson, it's David Smith. I'm the congressman you worked with three years ago, trying to get your formula passed in the House,” Smith said.
“Well, you did a shit job,” Dr.
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