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I entered the room and called him softly, “I’ve been looking for you.”

No reply. His filthy shirt sleeves had ridden above his elbows; I saw something I missed before, but wished I had never seen it-minute blue-black marks on his veins. That explained everything. I carried on in an undertone, “I’ve been looking for you”.

This time the reaction was violent. He screamed, “ you! I hate your lousy guts coming to “look for me”. The Good Samaritan on his rounds! Why don’t you go somewhere else for your obliging guinea pigs, you-why the hell don’t you get out of here?”

“Easy Sonny……”

“You’ve got to be joking! My dear, dear brother, who always cared for me, who saw me phasing into a junkie all because of his friends. Who never bothered to do anything about it and now he comes to ‘look for me’! You phony! Pusher! You got rid of me so no one would catch you peddling. GET LOST!” he screamed, tears rolling down his face.

“Give him time”, I thought. With the passage of time they mend themselves, become whole again. But I know what I thought was futile; he was gone, finished with the life he had known, all because of me. My conscience wouldn’t let me rest; it had forced me into trying to bring him back to the world. I had failed. I could never rest, be in peace.

I turned and walked out of the room, my footsteps echoing hollowly, reminding me of my loneliness.