The WayStation by Michelle Bryan

  ***

 

  By the fifth drink, he knew something was terribly wrong. A bottle of whiskey he could easily down without as much as batting an eye, but these few drinks have his head swirling and his gut rolling in protest. Felt like his head was stuffed with straw and he shook it, trying to keep himself awake. The glass dropped out of his hand and as soon as it hit the floor the girl jumped to her feet, dropping his foot from her lap like hot embers.

  Tater peered at her through the fog clouding his eyes and brain.

  "Duchess?" he questioned in disbelief, knowing instinctively the girl had laced his drink with nightweed.

  "I'm sorry!" she cried, as he tried to stagger to his feet. "She made me do it! I'm sorry little man."

  Tater's hard face plant on the wooden floor was his only response.

  ***