NECROMANTIC

fifteen.

For a minute, everything stopped. The man frantically saying he was gonna call an ambulance, and his fingers, which had been about to dial 911 on the cell phone he’d pulled out of his dressing gown pocket, stopped. My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. My mind, which had been a grief stricken chaos, stopped. Everything stopped apart from Rob’s gasping breaths, and his wildly blinking eyes.

And then everything started again.

I wasn’t sure whose heart was beating harder, mine, or Rob’s, which I could feel underneath my palm.

His heart is beating. He’s blinking, he’s gasping for breath. He’s alive.

I put my free hand on his cheek, softly, gently cupping it, feeling the warmth of his skin, the movement of his ragged breaths. When I did, his eyes, which had been looking up, startled, wide, turned and focused on me, his brow furrowing, and my heart stuttered.

“Is he…” the guy started to say, just as he had when he’d come outside.

For a moment, I just continued to look down at him, tears sliding down my cheeks, these ones quiet, happy, relieved, and he continued to look at me in alarm and confusion, before removing my hand from his cheek and holding it out to the guy, nodding, and laughing. “He’s fine. He’s ok.”

“Should I… I’m gonna call an ambulance…” the man shook his head, in disbelief.

“No,” I shook my head back at him, looking back down at Rob, who’s grip hadn’t yet loosened from around my wrist. He used his free hand to push himself up, into a sitting position, groaning, clutching a hand to his head. “No, I’ll… he seems alright. I’ll get him inside and if there’s any problems, I’ll call them myself.”

The man didn’t look sure, and like he might just go ahead and dial anyway, but simply gave a small shake of his head. “Ok.” He said, dithering before turning to go back up his path. “Just… get off that road now. It’s too dangerous to keep sitting there.”

“Thank you.” I said, with a tight smile and nod to him, before focusing my attention on Rob, who was now no longer looking directly at me, but as though he was avoiding my gaze, eyes still wide, confused, flickering rapidly as though he was at war inside his head.

“Rob…” I said softly, coaxingly, and cupped my hand back to his cheek. “Rob, look at me.”

He did, but only for a moment, as his frown deepened, before dropping his gaze again. His lips moved a little as though he were about to speak, or mouth something, but nothing came out, and he instead gave his head a tiny shake, wincing.

“Rob… are you ok?” I glided my hand a little up his cheek, to his jaw, which I felt tense under my touch.

His shoulders slumped a little, and his frown became less flighty and scared, and more sad and confused, and after a moment, he gave a tiny nod.

“Do you… do you think you can stand?”

His voice was quiet, scratchy, as he said “I think so.”

“I’ll help you,” I said, pushing myself to my feet, finally slipping my wrist free to do so – wobbling a little, and waiting until I was steady to hold my hand – the one attached to the wrist he’d grasped so tightly – out for him to take.

He looked from me, to the hand, and looked hesitant and reluctant to take it, before reaching out and clasping it, and I half pulled as he half pushed himself to his feet. And then we stood, hands linked for a moment, him looking at me almost as though he was wary of me, and me in concern, before he slipped his hand from mine, and began to walk toward his house.