I sigh in relief.
“He’s been shot.”
My veins fill with ice instantly, and I freeze.
“Ryan…someone shot your brother.”
I tear myself away from her, and this time I don’t try to sneak between the crowds. I shove people left and right, my eyes on the yellow tape. I kick, push, and deliberately step over other people’s toes.
I only stop when I see Ryan’s figure on the ground.
His eyes are still open. He is staring at the sky. He looks surprised more than anything else. More than scared. More than sad. More than anything.
He is lying on the road, and blood trickles from his white wifebeater. Wisps of his blond hair still dancing in the air. He can’t be dead. Paramedics are rushing around him, but they don’t try to save him.
“Why aren’t you saving him?!” I scream, pushing my way through the horde of people in my way. I feel people pulling at my arms, trying to keep me back, but I can’t be stopped.
“He’s my brother! Let me go. He’s my brother!” I manage to get to Ryan, and then I’m falling to my knees, lifting his head to my lap, and hugging him for dear life.
“Please no, please no, please no.” It’s all I can say, over and over. “Please don’t let this be real. Please don’t let this be real.” I hear officers yelling about not touching “the body”, and I want to fucking kill them for reducing him to just the body. He’s my brother. My best friend.
“I love you, Ryan. And I’m proud of you. So proud. Rem and Ry forever.” I sob into his hair. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.
I feel two strong arms lifting me away, so I kiss his face one, two, three times. And then they’re covering his body and taking him away while I stay frozen in place, oblivious of my surroundings.
I watch the local news in the background as I make dinner. I’m chopping potatoes and onions when I raise my head to look at the dancing image on TV.
“The victim died of his injuries before arriving at St. John’s Hospital. His family has been informed. Police are looking at the suspects as we speak.”
“Drug connections.”
“Dealing weapons.”
“Four prior incidents.”
“Rich criminal history.”
This could describe most people in Las Vegas, but I don’t need to see his mug shot on the screen to know that it’s him. I just know. I grab my jacket and leave.
An hour later, the police show up at my doorstep. By then, I’ve already informed Dad, who cut his drive short and is coming back home immediately. By then, I’ve already packed a bag. I agreed with Christian to meet him on the corner of Main Street so he wouldn’t have to wait in another traffic jam caused by the incident. We don’t even know if his parents will let me stay.
“Yes?” I ask. Janice is holding me. She helped me into the house earlier.
The two police officers clutch their hats in their fists as they talk to me. I don’t let a word seep into my brain. The words just kind of float around me in the air, almost visible.
Janice nods a lot.
Christian’s car appears at the end of the street.
I walk over there after I’m done with the police, watching Pierce James standing on the other side of the street, saying so many things with one look.
I get into Christian’s car and leave.
The first night, I cry in Ryan’s bed until I pass out from sheer exhaustion. The second night, Christian’s folks let me stay until my dad gets back in town, but they’re not happy about it. I don’t sleep a wink all night. All I can think about is how Ryan is dead and now I’m really alone.
That night, I smoke.
I drink.