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Summary
Dr. Mel King has always been good for testing Frank Langdon’s self-restraint, so it figures she should be here now, standing at the foot of his bed in street clothes while he fights his way through a withdrawal sweat.
“It’s important that you know you’re not alone in this,” Mel says, fingers tented together in front of her chest. Her glasses are reflecting the clutter of his shitty rented bachelor pad, which she’s charitably pretending is very nice. He wasn’t expecting company. He wasn’t expecting to fall down a flight of train station stairs like an idiot. He wasn’t expecting to be transported to a Franklin Park hospital and shot up with fentanyl before he could climb out of concussion dreamland and stop them.
OR: Frank detoxes (again) and heals a broken leg. Mel helps. Frank learns a lot about self-restraint and a little about abandoning it for a worthy cause.