The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

I fumble in my pocket and call my dad but he doesn’t answer. Uncle Bo’s phone just rings and rings too. Then I remember that they are hosting a party for clients at Dad and Aunt AnnMarie’s office. Scrubbing my hand over my mouth, I rifle through a bunch of options. Calling 911 seems extreme. Charlotte would be so pissed at me if I dragged EMTs to break up Claudia’s party. But fuck, fuck, fuck. She’s nonresponsive.

Giving her another chance, I shake her lightly. Nothing. There’s a bathroom attached to the room. I race inside, gather water into my hands and, leaving the faucet running, run back to drop the water onto Charlotte’s face. Still nothing. My heart in my throat, I type in the emergency number. But I wait. A second. Then two. Charlotte lies there, her heart racing, looking like a waxen doll.

Hesitating only one second more, I press send and make the call. I recite my location, Charlotte’s symptoms, and am told someone will be there shortly.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte, but I’d rather have you hate me than for you to be dead.” I kiss her cold cheek and then run out to get Nick.

“Charlotte’s sick. I’ve called 911—” Before I can get the rest of my words out, Nick runs into the bedroom. I hear him shout Charlotte’s name. I pull Varner, a friend of mine and a defensive lineman on our team, aside. “Charlotte’s sick. EMT is coming. Make sure they get up here ASAP.”

Varner claps me on the back and says, “On it, brother.” I don’t waste another minute and head back to Charlotte. Inside, Nick has her in his arms. His eyes are wide and a little red. “Has she said anything?” But I can see it’s a useless question. Charlotte’s arms hang down by her sides like there is no life in them.

“No,” he answers and hugs her closer. I want to be hugging Charlotte too, but I need to keep an eye out for the EMTs. Each minute seems to drag by, but the EMT services arrive quickly. Claudia’s address is a wealthy one, and there are no delays for rich people.

The EMTs won’t allow either Nick or I to ride to the hospital in the ambulance. Nick has to hold me back when I almost deck the EMT driver when he bars me from the back of the ambulance. We catch a cab, and it is on the way to the hospital that I finally get Dad on the phone.

“What’s wrong?” he barks into the phone.

“Charlotte,” I choke out. The emotions of the evening are catching up to me, and my throat is thick with them. My dad doesn’t hesitate.

“Where should we meet you?”

“Hospital,” I say.

This time there is a moment of silence before I hear my dad curse. “Which one?”

“Rush U.”

“We’ll be there.” He’s gone before I can say another word.

“She going to be okay?” Nick asks, his voice sounding small and scared. I put my arm around him and that he allows it, that he actually puts his head on my shoulder like he used to when we were younger, makes me feel horrible. Guilty and sick inside.

“Yeah,” I say trying to overcome those feelings, trying to put on a good front. “Charlotte is a fighter. Stronger than both of us.”

Because Charlotte can’t die. She can’t die and leave us. I won’t allow it to happen. Charlotte belongs in this world, with me. With all of us but mostly me. Inside my head I’m screaming and praying and bargaining. Please, please, please, I plead silently, I’ll do anything. Anything.

By the time that we arrive at the hospital, Charlotte is nowhere to be seen and no one is telling two teenagers anything. We wait in the lobby for our parents and hers to arrive. They burst through the doors. AnnMarie and Bo run past us to the desk. Dad stops in front of us.

“What happened?” he commands. Bo turns toward us. He looks big and menacing.

“We were at the party, and she looked tired. I thought she needed to lie down so I took her to the guest room, but by the time we got there she must’ve passed out.” I ran through the next events. “I tried to rouse her, but she wouldn’t come to. I called you both, but there was no answer.” I hear AnnMarie’s voice catch and then a cry which brings my mom to her side immediately. My gaze swings back to Dad. “I called 911.”

Uncle Bo steps forward and squeezes my shoulder with his big hand. I’m almost as tall as him, almost as tall as my dad, I realize absently. “You did good, son,” Uncle Bo says and gives Dad a chin nod.

Dad leads both Nick and I away, but we don’t want to go. We drag our heels, anxiously trying to overhear something, but Dad is implacable and we do what he says. Mom comes over and holds our hands. It’s a little comforting but not much.