The rain falls, but I don’t feel it.
The flashing lights arrive, but I don’t see them.
The paramedics scramble down to us, shouting questions, but I don’t hear them.
I am numb.
I stare unseeing at the body of my friend. There are twin streaks of red on his eyelids from where my bloody fingers closed his vacant eyes, unable to bear looking at them anymore. Unable to see them staring lifelessly at the sky.
The first responders pull me to my feet and shine a light into my pupils. Their words make no sense. They are unrecognizable. Another language, another place.
Their nonsensical syllables belong to a world that still makes sense. A world where good men don’t die for no reason and your best friend gets to live happily ever after with the man she loves.
A world I no longer exist in.
A paramedic is examining the wound on my head, mouthing words at me. I watch his lips, their funny shapes forming vowels and consonants, articulating and annunciating. Like a game you play in the pool on a hot summer day, shouting at your friends beneath the surface, trying to get them to guess your meaning. If you’re lucky, you might catch one word out of a dozen.
“He’s DOA… in shock… possible head trauma… contusions… glass… stretcher…”
They move Masters’ body onto a stiff board and carry him up the embankment, to the waiting vehicle. I start to trail after them, my strappy heels sinking into the mud with each step, now that I’m on my feet. I quickly find my progress halted by a steely grip.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?”
Sluggishly, I glance at him — the brave paramedic. He’s young. My age, maybe. Twenty-two and invincible. A whole life ahead of us.
There’s no rush,Harper’s voice says inside my head.We have all the time in the world.
A sound slips from my lips. A hysterical, horrible sound I cannot contain. Not a laugh, not a sob, not a scream. Some terrible mix of all three.
“Ma’am, I need you to sit, okay? They’re bringing down a stretcher for you. Can you sit? I promise, it’s all going to be okay.”
My throat closes abruptly, cutting off the noise in an instant. I blink at him.
“He’s dead.”
My voice is empty.
My heart is shattered.
“Masters. He’s dead.”
The paramedic nods. “I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am, but right now we need to take care of you. You might have a concussion and you’re bleeding pretty profusely.”
“I am?” I ask, looking down at myself. In the light of the SUV high-beams, I see the pretty coral shade of my dress is drenched darker red down the front and along the hem.
“That’s not my blood,” I murmur, feeling light headed. Suddenly, sitting down doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. “It’s not my blood,” I repeat softly, as he lowers me to the ground.
“Where the hell is that stretcher?” the paramedic yells up the embankment. “She’s fading!”
I hear a ripping sound and look down to see the young medic has sliced my dress wide open with a pair of razor-sharp shears. He’s feeling my legs, running his hands up and down my flesh, muttering to himself.
“Where is all this damn blood coming from?”
And then…I know.
“I—” I start, but can’t get the words out. “I think—”
He looks up at me, concern etched on his features. His face alternates red then blue then yellow as the world flips between the steady SUV headlights and flashing ambulance strobes.