Chapter 20 What Goes Up Must Come Down
Play Wake Up by EDEN
As we approach the campsite, the view goes from one of love to terror almost instantly.
“Saint!” Abby screams out, running to us. Saint puts me down, holding onto me until I can find my footing. Sand sprays up with the pressure of my feet, finding its way into my socks.
“Saint please help!” She screams louder, stumbling over herself.
Abigail falls into the sand, the sounds of her sobs reverberate through the beach.
He runs to her, drooping down to his knees to help her up.
Yet I stay frozen in place, fixated on the scene happening over by the fire.
First I take in Jackson, his wild eyes search the area as his hands frantically shake in front of him.
Then I turn my attention to the fire, it blazes almost out of control, consuming some paper plates that had been left on top.
But it’s not until I look at the RV that my heart stops.
A familiar set of legs poke out of the open door, staying completely limp while the other bodies around the sight move as if their lives are on a timer.
“I can’t get him to wake up!” Abby wails as she falls back down into the sand. Saint leaves her there, immediately dashing towards the body. Even then, I can’t move. I watch the disaster play out in front of me like some sort of sick and twisted movie.
Saint barks some orders to Jackson, who looks beyond lost and full of fear. I can’t make out the words, but when he goes to help lift the body, my stomach revolts.
Luke’s vacant eyes feel as though they're staring directly at me. A bloody foam oozing from his mouth as the guys pull him to an upright position. I drop to my knees, copying Abigail’s position.
The vomit rises up through my throat, splattering across the sand underneath me.
My hands search for something to hold onto as the world around me begins to spin.
They claw into the dirt, leaving me with nothing but muddy fingernails.
“We need to go!” Saint screams out at us. His voice carries more panic than anything I’ve ever heard. I do my best to crawl towards the vehicle, having to stop every few feet to spit up more bile.
“Nova!” He screams out again, rushing towards me.
His adrenaline allows him to pick me up from the ground as if I was nothing but a shiny rock one might want to keep.
He throws me over his shoulder as he races towards the car.
I stumble as he places me on the flooring, tripping over my own two feet.
Jackson's arms wrap around me, pulling me until I’m able to sit on the couch.
Before we can even get the door shut, Saint is behind the wheel, turning over the engine.
“Come on!” He yells, startling me. “Fucking start!” His fist slam down against the wheel, the horn blaring as a consequence. “Please…” He sobs out, turning the key once more.
We all let out a sigh of relief as the engine rattles to life.
Saint slams down on the pedal, letting the tires spin out before finding some traction.
We fly through the campsites, finding ourselves on the highway within a couple of minutes.
I don’t dare to look over at Abby, knowing that the sounds I’m hearing are the worst of it.
Luke’s gurgles consume the air. “Lift his head up.” Jackson motions at Abby. Each word comes out full of stutters.
“I can't,” Abby whispers back. “I can’t at this angle.” I turn my attention to her. Luke’s blood is slathered across her torso, some of which has begun to coagulate and dry to her pale sweater. Her entire face is red, burned from the tears that fall subconsciously.
I drop myself to my knees on the floor, shuffling over to their side of the RV.
I look down at Luke, whose head is perfectly set in the center of Abigail’s crossed legs.
His skin is so blue. It reminds me of those babies who enter the world with a cord wrapped around their neck.
Their lives almost cut too short. Please don’t cut Luke’s life short.
I pray, even though I’ve never believed.
My hands push their way underneath his head, raising it enough to allow Abby to maneuver her legs.
Once we have Luke propped up, I stay frozen in front of them, feeling like I can’t move unless ordered to do something else.
Instead I watch the shallow breaths that inflate his chest. Each one seemingly more shallow than the previous.
“He just moved!” Jackson yells from the couch. His fingers point towards Luke, shaking unbearably. “I saw his jaw move!”
I glance up at Luke’s face right as it begins. His body begins to convulse in Abigail’s hold. More spit and blood pouring out of him, staining the old fabric.
“No! No! No!” Abigail screams, holding onto his body tight to keep him from falling to the floor.
“What’s going on?” Saint hollers over the noise.
“He’s seizing,” I whisper with wide eyes.
The red and blue of an emergency vehicle's lights filter in through the back window, pausing the conversation that was being held. They light up the area, dancing off of everyone’s now pale skin. Saint slams on his breaks, immediately hopping out of the front seat.
“Please, my friend!” He screams before getting cut off.
“Hands on your head!” The officer shouts back, raising his gun so it’s directly aimed at Saint.
Saint does as he’s told but doesn’t stop yelling. “You’re not listening!”
Another cop exits the vehicle, keeping his gun trained on Saint. My heartbeat hammers against my ear drums.
“He’s going to die!” Saint tries one more time, his cries falling on deaf ears.
“Get on the ground!”
Play SAN MARCOS by brOCKHAMPTON
Luke’s body finally slows down, the seizure subsiding. More liquids pour from his mouth. The smell is rancid, and it takes everything in me to hold back a gag.
The door is yanked open, the hinges creaking under the painful movement.
“Hands up!” The officer screams as he enters.
Jackson and I both immediately listen, and my life flashes before my eyes as the gun swings my way.
“We have what looks like an OD,” The cop calls out into his radio, his thumb pressing one of the buttons on the side.
“Help him,” Abby sobs, unable to follow orders as her hands stay glued around Luke’s chest.
The cops harsh demeanor evaporates as he takes in the bloodied body splayed out over the small woman. His gun drops as he steps closer to the pair. “What did he take?”
Abigail and Jackson share a glance, coming up completely empty.
“Fentanyl.” I croak out, the word feeling like venom on my tastebuds.
The two of the stare at me like I had just spoken Latin. The minimal color from Abigail’s cheeks fade as the reality sets in.
“What?” Jackson questions, completely blind sided by my answer.
I scrunch my eyes shut, wishing the world away. “Fentanyl.” I say again with more conviction this time. “They’ve been using and dealing Fentynal.”
The truth feels like a betrayal to the two guys who have stolen my heart. I’m letting go of their secret.
“We need Narcan in here!” The cop screams out of the door.
He keeps his head poked out until his partner comes rushing up.
I can see the exhaustion laced through his features through the window.
Even with the clouded pane of glass between us, his dread is evident.
Those feelings match my own as I watch the officer spray the medicine from the device up Luke’s nose.
It does nothing but drizzle back out, carrying snot with it.
There’s no sound, no movement, no sign of life.
The officer curses under his breath before beginning compressions. Abby falls to the floor next to me, reaching out for me like she’s unsure of where else to find comfort. I pull her into me, letting her bawl into me as we listen to the sounds of Luke’s ribs snapping under the pressure.
“Stop!” Jackson screams out, jumping up from the couch. “You’re hurting him!”
The cop ignores him, quickly checking for a pulse before starting up again. The scream of new sirens enters the vicinity. They’re so loud it feels like they could shatter the windows around us.
More men in uniforms come rushing in, shoving the three of us out onto the highway. Bright orange cones surround the RV, each one placed with the precision to redirect the incoming traffic.
I look around for Saint until I spot him sitting on the shoulder of the road. His hands are cuffed in front of him. “Saint!” I scream, losing all my resolve. I run to him, dropping in front of him and wrapping my arms tighter than I ever thought possible around his neck.
“Is he dead?” The question comes out of him so empty. Like he already knows the answer and has gone through the steps of grief.
“I don’t know,” I answer. And while it’s the truth, my voice gives away my doubt. Each word cracks with the pressure of trying to keep it all together. “Why-why are you handcuffed?”
He looks down at them with surprise. As if he only just now noticed the metal rings clasped around his wrists. “Uhm,” he stalls, twisting his wrists around in the restraints.
“Excuse me, miss.” A new cop calls out. She rushes over to us, picking me off the ground in an attempt to lead me away. “You can’t be over here.”
“What do you mean?” I screech out as I attempt to wiggle out of her hold. “Why not?!”
“That man is a suspect of manslaughter.”
“What?” I scream out, ripping myself away from her. “Saint! What is she talking about?”
His eyes stare blankly through me.
“Saint!”
“Miss, I need you to calm down,” the cop says as she wraps her arms around me.
“No! What do you mean? He’s never hurt anyone!”
Even then, Saint does not move. As though he’s become a prisoner, locked inside of the shell that is his body. Completely unable to control it.
“He had an ounce of Fentanyl in his back pocket!” The officer screams at me. Two more rush over to help her hold me in place.
Her words shatter my heart, the pain worse than any hand that’s ever been laid on me. “You told me you were quitting! What did you do?” My screams leave my throat raw as they drag me away from him.
“Saint! Please!”