THE SLOWEST BURN ~ wally clark x oc

~ 57 ~

WALLY

"Wally! Oh my god, is he okay?? Wally!!"

I've never heard Heather freak out like this before. She's screaming bloody murder and full on sprinting toward me, right onto the field. I don't know why she's overreacting like this. I'm sitting up just fine. I smile almost sheepishly at her. It was an embarrassing tackle. I'm already dreading Mom's reaction at home later. Ugh, I was so close to scoring!

Wait... What the fuck?

Heather runs right past me and pushes through a group of players and coaches huddled around something. After she's forced her way in, a gap in the small crowd allows me to see what they're gathered around.

It's someone... who looks like me? But laying on the ground, a few feet from where I'm sitting. My brain can't make sense of it at all, and I just stare for a long moment, speechless, heart pounding. Then my stomach turns to ice when I see the 57 on the back of the dirty jersey. In a burst of panicked energy, I find my voice again.

"What's going on? What the fuck, guys??" I'm frantic now, trying to get everyone's attention. "Coach! What is this?" He doesn't even notice I'm there. "CJ! Dude! Come on, is this a joke??" My best friend on the team has a look on his face I've never seen. Is he... going to cry? What the hell? I'm practically hyperventilating as my racing thoughts fail to keep up.

"Make way! Everyone, move!" A medic brings out a stretcher and the person on the ground is turned over and strapped onto it. I'm struck with a feeling I can only describe as pure terror. This is a nightmare. It has to be.

Because that body is definitely me. How is it me?? I'm lightheaded, dizzy, nauseous, crazy. Maybe I got knocked out, or I'm in a coma? Heather is crying hysterically and trying to stay close to the stretcher. I see my parents now too; they've pushed their way through the spectators on the bleachers. Dad runs to the stretcher, and Mom makes a beeline for Coach. She's screaming at him, accusing him of abuse for putting an obviously injured player out there. She doesn't seem to recall that me playing while injured was her idea.

I follow behind the group rushing off the field and hear someone ask, "Is he breathing?" Coach mutters quietly, "Let's just get him inside." But there's less urgency in his voice for some reason.

///

The locker room is empty and dark now, and I'm sitting on the bench in a daze as the truth sinks in. Tonight I watched a paramedic zip me into a body bag and take me away. Dad was actually crying, for fuck's sake. Mom wouldn't quit screaming at anyone she could find to blame, and eventually Dad had to physically pull her away.

I don't know where they went, because I discovered right away that I can't go with them. Whenever I try to leave this place, I'm transported to the spot where I... I...

Where I died. I'm dead. No one can hear me. No one can see me. And I'm trapped here at school. Completely alone. I look down at myself in my muddy uniform. I always come back to the locker room after games to shower and change. I didn't know where else to go tonight after everyone finally cleared out. But now that I'm here, I'm scared to do my post-game routine because I have no idea what happens next.

"I thought you might be in here."

Fuck! All of a sudden a voice breaks the silence. I whip around and see a person. And he's talking to me, holy shit.

"You can see me?? What is this? Who are you? Why are we here like this??"

The man steps closer. In the dim light, I can just make out his face. He looks like he's dressed up for 1950's day during Spirit Week, down to the slicked, parted hair and black, thick-framed glasses. What the hell is going on?