Only this time, the life can be saved.
I feel my lungs constrict with every breath, each coming quicker, trying to get any ounce of oxygen I can, but it’s like my body forgot how to breathe.
My chest tightens, and a ringing sounds in my ears, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might explode. My mind spins in a fog of overwhelming fear—fear that I’m going to lose him.
No,her.
Everything around me blurs—the dark forest beyond the car, the pink material of Rumi’s nightgown, the red lights comingfrom around the corner. All of it distorts my reality, and my mind warps the scene in front of me to the one that’s haunted my dreams for the last six months.
A screaming mother, looking for her daughter.
A daughter she thinks is still in the house.
The house that is up in some of the biggest flames I’ve seen in my career.
I see Bennett.
He’s running.
Running toward the fire.
I’m shouting his name, but he doesn’t turn around.
I’m trying to go in after him, but my body is stuck in place.
I drop my phone, the small thud in the gravel barely registering in my mind as I feel my body falling to the side, catching myself on the car door before my knees hit the gravel.
I can’t feel my limbs, my body aching from the lack of oxygen, my skin prickling like I have a fever.
My eyes are wide open, but I can’t see straight.
Ambulance sirens, the rush of the hoses trying to put out the fire.
Screaming.
And if it wasn’t for the burn in my throat, I wouldn’t know it was coming from me.
The house crumbling on top of Bennett.
His body buried.
Hours—minutes?—passing before we find him under the debris.
More ambulance sirens, the squeaking wheels of the gurney, the chatter from the paramedics. They can’t find a pulse. His right arm is twisted, his left leg crushed. He’s unresponsive. Severe head trauma. Multiple contusions. Third-degree burns. They need to get him in the rig. They’re hooking him up. Flatline.
“Ow.” A calm voice registers in my ear, but that doesn’t make sense. Bennett is dead. I couldn’t save him.
He didn’t make it.
The scene in front of me fades, but I can’t take in a full breath. The sirens are louder, and I see the white exterior of the car in front of me, a red hue falling over it as the ambulance stops on the road in front of us, three people jumping out and coming toward me.
I think I’m having a heart attack.
Can you have a heart attack at 35 years old?
That has to be what this is.
I scramble to my feet, holding on to the car door for support, ready to tell them to save him. Save Bennett. Save my best friend. He’s not dead. He’s alive.
