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“We have Rafe and Tyler calling all hospitals in the area. So far it doesn’t seem like he was admitted to any. There weren’t many accidents on the road this morning.”
“Then where is he?”
Audrey moves away from the phone, speaking to someone, presumably Ash. Then she’s back. “Ash is saying he’s going to try and break down the door of Zane’s apartment.”
A different kind of fear twists my insides. “What does he think happened?”
Audrey sighs. “Just come over, will you? We’re heading that way now.”
“Yeah.” I stumble as I head back inside. “I can be there in half an hour.”
I hang up without saying goodbye, too stressed for social niceties. I run through the hospital, lose my way again and end up calling Dad to tell him I have to go. I barely hear what he says before I hang up and ask for directions. Then I’m running through halls and down more corridors, finally stepping out into another lot where my car is parked.
Praying the engine will endure one more trip back to Madison, I step on the gas and gun it down the highway. I don’t bother with music. Can’t bear it, my head’s too full of noise as it is.
The scars down his arms. The shadow of pain in his eyes. Please, let him not have done anything to himself.
His sister died, and I wasn’t there for him. I didn’t know. But it doesn’t matter. I frigging wasn’t there.
Fear is a cold hand between my shoulder blades, digging sharp nails into my lungs.
Please let him be okay.
I hear the sound of sirens as I approach Zane’s building, and the claws of fear tear into me deeper. A coincidence, I think, as I turn into his street, and park. Please let it be a coincidence.
The ambulance rolls down the street and parks not twenty feet away, its lights flashing.
Holy shit.
By the time I throw my door open and step out, paramedics are rushing into the building, and I run after them, my heart in my throat. Their boots pound up the stairs, and I hurry to keep up. Maybe it’s not for Zane, I think vaguely, even as I put in another burst of speed. Maybe it’s someone else in the building. Doesn’t have to be for Zane.
But then I find his door bashed in, wide open, and voices drift through. Ash, I think. Tyler. Erin and Audrey.
Swallowing my fear, I rush inside, only to be stopped by a scene of post-apocalyptic disaster. Broken furniture, the window smashed open, shards of glass everywhere. Zane’s drawings, torn and ruined.
And then I see him, lying on his side on the floor—limp, his eyes closed. I barely recognize him. His Mohawk is mostly gone, cut unevenly, close to the scalp. He has an oxygen mask strapped over his mouth, and he looks deathly pale.
No.
The paramedics lift him onto a stretcher and roll him on his side. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move.
My knees turn to water, and I grip the doorjamb not to fall. The air is heavy with the sharp stench of vomit and alcohol.
“Hey, girl.” Audrey appears at my side and puts an arm around me. “You made it.”
“What happened?” I can’t see any blood, and oh God, I’m so thankful for that.
“Not sure.” Audrey’s voice is faint. “He’s not breathing so well. They think it may be alcohol poisoning.” She shivers. “We had to break down the door. Took a while.”
I watch numbly as the paramedics take Zane’s pulse, their faces drawn into masks of worry, and I start to shake. My eyes burn like fire.
“He’ll be okay,” Audrey says and pulls me in closer. “He could have choked on his vomit. He was lucky.”
Lucky. I tear myself free of Audrey’s hold and stumble toward the stretcher. “How is he?”
The
paramedic shrugs. “Dehydration, low sugar levels.” He nods at his colleague, who’s inserting a needle into Zane’s hand. “We’re working on that.”
