Chapter 11
Her lips are blue. But they’re black too.
I take my phone out of my pocket, my fingers shaking so hard I can barely press the buttons.
“My sister—” My voice cracks. “I just got home. There’s a fire, and she’s… in the yard.”
“Is she awake?” the operator asks, her voice calm.
I shake my head before remembering I need to talk. “No.”
“Okay.” There’s some clacking of keys, and then, “Is she breathing?”
I glance around, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. “I—I don’t know.”
“What’s your name?”
Why is she asking my name? That seems so stupid. “Jasper.”
“Okay, Jasper. I’m Kara. I’ve tracked your phone, and fire and EMS are on their way to you, but I need you to help your sister until they get there.”
“Sarah,” I say. “Her name’s Sarah.”
“Jasper, I need you to lean down and put your ear right by Sarah’s mouth and let me know if she’s breathing. You should be able to hear it.”
Putting the phone on speaker, I drop it on the grass and lean over Sarah’s body. I don’t hear anything. I listen harder, trying to hear over the sounds our house is making. It’s loud. And it’s hot. I can feel it on my back from here.
“I… I can’t hear any breathing.”
“We’re going to do some compressions together, Jasper, okay?”
“I don’t know how.” My eyes burn, tears blurring my vision.
“That’s alright,” Kara says softly. “I’m gonna walk you through it, alright?”
“Okay,” I choke out, staring down at Sarah.
She looks so small. Smaller than she did when I left her here. I’m so stupid. Why did I leave her alone? What’s wrong with me?
“Okay, I need you to put the heel of your hand on the center of her chest.”
I do what Kara says. “Now what?”
“Place your other hand on top of it, locking your fingers together, then push hard and fast, okay? And count out loud for me.”
I press down a little bit, counting. “One, two, three, four, five…”
“Hard, Jasper. You have to do it hard, okay? Keep going.”
Tears spill down my cheeks, blurring Sarah until I can barely see her.
I listen to Kara, pushing harder as I count out loud. Something cracks under my hand, and I pause. “What happened?” I choke out. “Something cracked.”
“That’s okay. That means you’re doing it right. Keep going, okay? Help is almost there.”
I take a deep breath, my shoulders burning. Pushing and pushing and pushing on Sarah’s chest until there’s another crack.
A sob rips from my throat as I pull my hands off her chest. “I can’t do this. I’m hurting her. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“You’re not.” Kara sounds harsher now. A little less calm. “Keep going, Jasper. You have to. You’re not hurting her.”
Her hair is singed, burned along her hairline. I can’t believe I left her alone. I’m the worst brother ever. This is all my fault.
“Don’t stop, Jasper.”
I press my hands back on Sarah’s chest, counting again as sirens start blaring in the distance. They sound wrong. Distorted. Right on top of me and also too far away.
Lights flash across the yard. Someone’s running toward me.
Push, push, push. One, two, three.
“Okay, let us take over,” someone says, grabbing my arms and gently pulling me away from Sarah.
People surround her. So many that I can’t see her. Someone is trying to put out the fire. I’m sitting on the grass, staring at her.
“Let me check you over,” a man says, kneeling beside me.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
My voice comes out hollow and empty.
“You might have injuries we can’t see. Let me just check.”
I shake my head again. “I wasn’t here. I wasn’t in the fire.” They start loading Sarah up, trying to take her away from me, and I jump to my feet. “What are they doing with her?”
“Going to the hospital.”
I rush after them on wobbly legs. She can’t go by herself. “I want to go with her.”
I’m not leaving her again. This is all my fault.
“Hop in,” one of the people says.
I scramble into the back of the ambulance.
I’m pretty sure I’m still crying, but everything feels kind of numb and strange.
There’s a tube sticking out of Sarah’s mouth with a big bag attached that someone keeps squeezing. They’re pushing on her chest. Then stopping. Looking at a little box. There’s a flat line across it.
“Is she… Is she dead?” I sob. “Is my sister dead?”
“We’re doing everything we can,” the bag guy says, hands gripping and squeezing firmly.
He looks at the girl doing compressions, his eyes intense and focused. She shakes her head the tiniest bit.
I drop my head into my hands, breathing through my nose so I don’t throw up as the ambulance flies down the street, sirens blaring.
“Please be okay,” I whisper. “Please, please, please.”
I don’t usually pray. I’m not sure I believe in God, but I bow my head and close my eyes. Please help my sister. Please. Please let her be okay.
“Talk to her.”
I snap my head up, looking at the guy holding the bag attached to Sarah’s mouth. “What?”
He nods toward her. “Talk to her. She might hear you. It might help. Hold her hand.”
I reach out, cradling Sarah’s small hand in mine. It’s cold. She feels cold. “I’m here, Sarah. I’m sorry.” My tears spill over again, my words getting stuck in my throat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, but I’m here now.”
Sniffling, I wipe my eyes and nose with the back of my free hand. “Please wake up. If you wake up, I’ll take you to the movies. I’ll watch whatever you want—I promise.”
More tears drip over my lashes, catching on the corners of my lips. I can taste the salt. “I’ll buy you whatever candy you want. And a slushy.” My voice cracks. “I know you like slushies.”
I drop my forehead to her hand, sobbing. “Please, Sarah.”
I keep whispering the words over and over as we pull into the hospital.
“Your mom is on her way. Go sit in the waiting room, okay? We’ll have someone come out and sit with you,” Bag Guy says. Then they’re taking Sarah out of the ambulance and rushing her into the side doors of the emergency room.
Nobody comes to sit with me. But it doesn’t matter because I barely even know what’s going on. Mom comes in, and she cradles me to her chest as she cries.
I cry too. We cry and hold each other. I break down in her arms like a toddler. I sob against her chest until my stomach hurts and I can’t breathe through my nose.
We cry and cry until they take us to a room.
We sit on a couch, holding hands.
We’re still sitting together when a doctor comes in, his hair messy and his glasses askew on his face.
I can tell it’s bad news before he even talks, and I can barely hear his words over the sound of Mom’s screams.
“I’m so sorry. We did everything we could, but despite our efforts, we weren’t able to get a pulse.”