Closer Page 4

  “You don’t look like one,” I respond with the first words that come to mind.

  “I’m off duty.” The EMT pulls shards of glass from my hand. She nods toward the crowd. “And you don’t exactly look like a doctor, but that’s what they’re saying.”

  “I need to get over there. Those are my friends.” I scramble to my feet. “He’s drunk, but stable. Stay with him until the ambulance arrives.”

  Pushing myself through the mass of onlookers, nothing I’ve witnessed in the hospital prepared me for what it feels like to see the people I love so helpless. Terror lifts the hair on the back of my neck, and utter panic turns my blood ice-cold. My feet are cement-block heavy, and no matter how hard I try, the mangled vehicle feels out of reach.

  Emerson stands ten feet back with both hands in his hair, gasping for air like he can’t get a decent lungful. He paces with tears streaming down his face.

  “Go to the house with the girls,” I order, pushing him away. “You don’t need to be here.”

  “What the fuck happened, Teller?” he asks. His tone staggers on the rim of hysteria. “How did this happen?”

  “Go!” I say, leaving him behind.

  If I hadn’t witnessed the accident myself, I wouldn’t believe this disaster is Joe’s car. It’s an unrecognizable wreck of twisted steel and broken metal, upside down to expose the undercarriage. The passenger side took the initial impact, crushing the entire section of the vehicle, creating a concave void where Kristi sat. The Acura was tossed like it weighed nothing, and the car landed on the hood, nearly flattening the sedan.

  A wail of sirens splits my head open as the entire block brightens with red, blue, and white lights from police cruisers and emergency vehicles. Massive diesel engines roar when fire trucks arrive on the scene, rattling and hissing to a noisy stop. Ambulance doors open, and stretchers collapse to the pavement. In minutes, the scene will be controlled and no one will let me near Joe and Kristi.

  Husher’s on all fours beside the wreckage with his head dropped between his shoulders, dry heaving after he empties his stomach onto the grass.

  I fall to my knees beside him … beside the car.

  “Don’t, Teller,” Husher cries out, pulling me back by the arm of my shirt.

  Shaking free from his grip, I lower myself onto my stomach to inspect what’s left of the car. At first glance, it’s impossible to make anything out. What I’m confronted with doesn’t resemble a car anymore; it’s a maze of battered metal, broken plastic, and exposed wires. The back seat has been pushed to the front, propelling the driver’s seat where the dashboard once was. It’s as if the whole thing has been turned inside out.

  “We need everyone to please take a step back,” a deep male voice announces. “Make room for the paramedics. Feel free to return home. Someone will be by to take statements soon.”

  My eyes adjust to the low light, and I finally see Joe, blanketed by a deflated airbag. His head’s bent at an unnatural angle against the compressed hood, trapped between the seat and engine of the car, barely visible beneath the debris. His face is coated in a thick layer of dark blood, veiling any exposed skin. It drips from his chest, where the steering wheel’s embedded, and his legs are complexly crushed and not within sight.

  “Joseph,” I say, extending my arm toward him. “Joe, say something to me.”

  I’m met with silence.

  No cries for help. No gasps for breath. Nothing.

  I cry louder, grasping the airbag and tugging. “Joe—”

  It pulls free in my hand, unattached to anything, protecting no one. I shove the airbag to the side and motion for Joe again, when Kristi’s arm falls across his face. White skin laced with blood—it’s a beautiful disaster amongst utter waste, and the only visible part of her body.

  “Baby,” I choke out, stretching to reach her.

  The muscles in my arm extend to their full ability, tearing and splitting and raw, but it’s nowhere as excruciating as the pain caused from this scene being burned to memory. I dig my feet into the ruined lawn and exhaust all the strength I have to give to lunge forward, but my body doesn’t fit between the remains of the car.

  “Kristi,” I sob through clenched teeth, squeezing the very tips of her fingers. “Answer me.”

  Her skin’s warm and her blood’s sticky, but she’s lifeless and unresponsive. Unable to tighten my grip and incapable of crawling any closer, I push away from their metal prison and run to the other side of the car. I claw at warped steel and razor-sharp slivers of glass, and kick the frame, jarring the vehicle.

  “Somebody help me!” I shout, cutting chunks of skin from my hands and jamming my foot. “They’re still inside. They’re trapped.”

  I fall in front of the wreckage, where the windshield once was, to find some of Kristi’s sandy blonde hair visible between the lawn and front end of the car.

  “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” I say through thick tears, weaving blood-caked strands between my fingers. My girl’s crushed under the weight of the vehicle, out of reach and voiceless. I yell, losing all composure, “Somebody help them!”

  “Sir, you need to step away from the vehicle.” A large hand bears down on my shoulder. “We can’t help them until you’ve cleared the site.”

  Dropping my head to the palms of my hands, I press my face into Kristi’s hair and breathe in. Under the heavy copper scent of blood are traces of the floral perfume she wears mixed with cigarette smoke from being with me all night. Soft blonde tresses caress my lips and sweep across my cheeks, and I cry against what’s left of the girl who hated it when I smoked around her.

  People move in a frenzy, barking orders to gain control of the situation, readying for a rescue mission. Ambulances, hospitals, and surgery rooms are on standby, firefighters dressed in full gear gather around the wreckage, and my neighbors are thirty feet back. Too shocked to go home, they stand around, stunned silent.

  But no one will be rescued tonight.

  “Let go of me, you son of a bitch!” Ella screams. The panic in her voice rattles my bones. “Teller!”

  I stand to find her struggling with an officer behind barriers set up to keep people from getting too close. Ella pounds into the man’s chest with mighty fists and screams until her voice gives out.

  “That’s my family,” she cries. Her eyes are wild, and her long dark hair is crazed.

  “Let her go,” I say, rushing past the officer trying to get me to leave. “Get your fucking hands off her.”

  “Teller, please!” Misery lunges for me, confined by law’s arms.

  Grabbing the cop by the front of his uniform, I shove the motherfucker away and take a step forward to make sure he doesn’t lay another finger on her again. Ella throws herself into my arms before the patrolman corrects his footing, preventing me from doing something I’ll regret later.

  Her embrace is a vise, and her sorrow is a living nightmare, pledging to haunt me for as long as I live. We cling to each other, searching for ease but succeeding in only shattering the night with our grief, murdering starlight and damning the moon.

  “Tell me this isn’t happening,” she cries, climbing onto my body until she’s wrapped around me.

  Close is not close enough.

  I turn my face into her neck and shut my eyes, unable to bring myself to utter the truth. We melt into the crowd of wordless bystanders swallowed by a sea of faces as the car is broken apart piece by piece. A firefighter shakes his head and the coroner van arrives, confirming what I already knew.

  There’s no one to save, only bodies to recover.

  Subtle blue peeks over the horizon when the last patrol car packs up and drives away. Huddled together on the curb, Ella and I watch it slowly pass, crushing broken pieces of bumper and glass under its tires. Both bodies, both vehicles, and the drunk driver are gone, leaving behind a street corner with a broken stop sign and rubber marks on the pavement.

  “It’s like nothing happened,” Ella says, wiping tears away on the sleeve
of her black hoodie.

  Ruptures of orange, reds, and yellows lighten the sky, silhouetting palm trees and kissing contrail clouds with a touch of sun. The temperature rises, and exhaustion settles deep within my bones as my skin warms. Heavy eyelids fall over dry eyes, stinging with every blink. As morning air fills my lungs, it becomes harder and harder to stay awake.

  “Come on, you two,” Maby says softly. She has a blanket draped over her shoulders and a mug between her hands. “Come inside now.”

  Walking hand in hand, we follow her across the damp lawn into the dark house. All the curtains are closed, and the air conditioner already blows cool air from the vents, intensifying my fatigue. The rich, comforting aroma of coffee loiters from the kitchen to the living room, where Husher’s fallen asleep on the couch.

  “Want some?” my sister asks, sitting at his feet. She offers her mug.

  I shake my head, standing in front of the doorway. The rest of the house is silent. “Where are Em and Nic?”

  Maby settles into the oversized sofa, nearly disappearing under the large blanket and cushions. Her eyes are red, and her hands tremble. “They took one of the guest rooms upstairs a few hours ago. I was going to head home, but Husher fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake him.”

  “Stay as long as you want, Maby,” I utter, guiding Ella toward the stairs. “I’m going to put her to bed.”

  Shock wears off, returning sensation to my sore muscles and the gashes in my hands and arms. Each step feels more impossible than the last. The stairs are never-ending, as if we’re walking up the same step over and over again. Panic crushes my insides, and dread robs oxygen from my lungs, strangling me.

  “Teller,” my sister calls before we reach the second floor.

  Ella continues to my room, but I pause. “What?”

  “I am so sorry.”

  My heart pounds hard enough to rattle my teeth. It thuds under my fingernails, in the bend of my arms and behind my eyes, chopping at the small amount of composure I maintain for sanity’s sake.

  Unlike the rest of the house, my room’s sharp with Saturday morning sunshine streaming through the open shutters. It glimmers past messy brown hair and pours over Ella’s shoulders, pooling on her lap. She’s on the edge of my bed, clutching on to the comforter, wrapped in golden light that trembles around her unsteady frame.

  “How am I supposed to fall asleep?” she asks. The tip of her nose is red, and her full lips are swollen.

  “I’ll help you.” I close the bedroom door and walk over to the window, pushing out the light and forcing it to shine somewhere else.

  “How the hell am I supposed to do anything, Teller? They’re dead, and we’re going to what, go on living our lives like it never happened? Tell me how I’m supposed to do that.”

  I kneel and untie Ella’s left shoe, and then her right. I set them to the side and slip my fingers under the hem of her hoodie and tug it over her head, dropping it to the carpet. The neck of her shirt is stretched out, and her knees are scraped. She’s helpless, hopeless, and beautiful.

  “Let me help you,” I whisper, easing her fingers from the heavy blanket.

  She circles her arms around my neck and lets me lift her to pull the bedding back. The tips of her bare toes brush the carpet before I carry her across the mattress. We face each other against the pillows, silent in the blank space, accompanied by nothing but dread—the breath that we breathe.

  “Stay here,” I say, pressing my lips to her forehead. “I’ll go in one of the other rooms.”

  “No,” she answers immediately, clutching on to the front of my shirt. “Don’t leave me, too.”

  Her hair breaks as I brush my fingers through knotted strands, pushing them away from her face. Ella lifts a shaky hand and wipes my own heartbreak from under my eyes, brushing salty tears across my lips. She scoots closer, tucking her head under my jaw, against my throat. I take her hand and place it against my chest, where my heart beats the truth.

  I’m glad it wasn’t her.

  “This is how we sleep,” I say, pulling the sheets over our bodies and holding her tight. I listen to her steady breathing beside me; it’s a song that finally pulls me under.

  There’s a gap between sleep and consciousness where nothing exists. The void brought on by the end of a dream and the beginning of awareness, where commitment, stress, and obligation melt away. It’s a mercy, a sip of bliss, a miracle—dark around the edges and cozy. If death’s anything like this weightless space, Joe and Kristi are the lucky ones.

  Somewhere in the house a door opens and closes, and my eyes flicker behind thin lids. I squeeze them shut, striving for that last second of reprieve, but it’s pinched from me as reality sinks in, hammering against temporary ease. An onslaught of images from the night before fill me with dense anxiety and piercing pain, pushing air from my lungs.

  I sit up, sweat soaked and gasping, clawing at my chest, because I’m still here … I am.

  “Teller.” Maby knocks on the door and peeks her head in. “Can I come in?”

  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I search my nightstand for my pack of cigarettes and mumble, “Yeah.”

  “You’ve been asleep all day,” my sister whispers, looking past me toward Ella. She’s curled up, dead to the world. “Do you need anything? Do you need me to make any calls for you?”

  I slip a smoke between my lips and shake my head. “No, I’ll take care of it later.”

  “A detective came by asking questions. I asked him to come back later. He left his card.”

  Rummaging for a lighter, I knock my wallet and a two-day-old glass of water to the floor. Ella stirs beside me, stretching her arms above her head and turning over to her back, but she doesn’t wake up.

  “Is everyone still here?” I ask, standing to sore feet.

  “We are. Come downstairs.” Maby takes a step forward, but stops when I move toward the balcony that extends from my bedroom.

  “Later, Maby. I’ll wait until Ella’s up.” I open the set of French doors to the warm summer evening. The sky’s streaked with pinks and purples, and the sun, deep orange and yellow, hangs low. Time passed outside my dark space, moving despite my life sliding to a standstill.

  “Mom and Dad called three times.” She follows me outside, careful to keep distance between us. “They’re going to come over if you don’t reach out, Tell. They’re worried. It was in the newspaper this morning. The accident’s being covered everywhere.”

  Leaning against the railing that overlooks my backyard, I light a cigarette and take a deep drag, filling my lungs with toxic smoke that immediately takes the edge off. Green leaves float on the surface of my pool, gathering around the edges. Twenty-four hours ago, before anyone showed up, I watched Kristi dive into the deep end. Her long legs moved with grace through the blue water, and her long blonde hair stuck to her back and shoulders when faithlessness came up for air, unaware I knew the truth.

  The red towel she used to dry herself hangs over the back of a chair.

  “I’m not dealing with this shit right now,” I say, flicking ash and inhaling another hit.

  “Okay,” she replies in a soft tone. My younger sister closes the doors and disappears behind them.

  The sun sets before I’ve smoked my second cigarette, and I’m not ruling out a third when I hear Ella move around the room. Exhaling gray smoke into the night sky, I flick the butt into the neighbor’s yard and go inside. The sheets and blankets are tossed completely to the floor around the bed, but the mattress is empty. Yellow light seeps from under the bathroom door, and the overhead fan is on.

  “Are you okay?” I ask with my hand on the door handle.

  The toilet flushes, but not before the sound of Ella emptying her stomach straightens the hair on the back of my neck. Ready to break the fucking door down, it pushes open and slams against the wall, swinging back at me. Gabriella doesn’t flinch at my intrusion. Her arms rest across the white porcelain, and her head leans against the inside of her el
bow. Agony’s on her knees, and her pink painted toes curl as she turns her head and heaves.

  I stand behind her, gathering her spit-damp hair in one hand and rubbing her back with the other. She’s nothing more than noises and pleas, white-knuckling the side of the toilet. Yesterday’s mascara runs down her light freckles, and her lashes clump together.

  Once her stomach settles and she gasps for air, I sit alongside the bathtub and pull her between my legs, against my chest. I reach over my shoulder, blindly searching for the faucet and start the water.

  “Come on, Smella,” I say lightheartedly, stepping into the bathtub. The water’s freezing, so I adjust the temperature and close the drain before I lift her in after me.

  “Our clothes are still on,” she whispers, sitting between my knees. Hot water warms her bones, and the trembling stops. She lets me help her out of her ruined shirt, leaving Ella in a pair of olive green shorts and a black bra.

  “It’s okay.” I pull off my own shirt, then rest her against my bare chest. Our skin touches, dosing me with a taste of rapture that licks my veins and detains my heart. “We’re going to be okay.”

  Before

  “Snap out of it, girl.” Maby takes my shoulders and shakes me, loosening tense muscle and all over edginess. “She’s been dating your brother for six months. You can’t miss her birthday party.”

  I roll my eyes. “Nicolette won’t notice if I’m here or not. She’s said three words to me the entire time I’ve known her.”

  The small blonde takes my hand, lacing our fingers together before she leads me toward the Hadden residence. Nicolette’s parents’ house is a Spanish villa inspired mansion tucked in the corner of the Hollywood Hills. Week after week, more of her things show up at the apartment, to the point where I brandished her toothbrush, asking Emerson if she moved in. She’d taken mine out of the holder and replaced it with her own. The countertop’s cluttered with face creams and curling irons, and she leaves her clothes everywhere.