The Campus Killings {#LGBTQ #HORROR}

Epilogue

Jake sat quietly in the ambulance as he took in the aftermath of all that had occurred — Fisk was asking him questions, because of course he would, but it was all a distant mumble as he zoned in and out of concentration from both the blood loss and shock.

Part of him wanted to punch the ignorant man square in the face for abandoning them as bait, but he was too weak to act on it.

He watched as the paramedics collected Willa's body, wincing at the crunching noise produced from her body being lifted off the vane and loaded into the body bag outside — before they zipped it up, he caught a glimpse of her dead, staring face and it sent a shiver down his spine.

She barely even looked human anymore, the once comforting warmth in her blue eyes glazed over, blood trailing from her mouth which hung slack.

In his mind's eye, he still saw her the way he had the night in the city, her arms moving as she swayed to the karaoke cover of I Think We're Alone Now, face alight with joy and warmth as he finally opened up to the possibility of having a friend.

It seemed impossible for him to reconcile that version of her with the one who had loomed over him with a knife, stabbing and slashing at his arms.

She truly had been an actress and had played him for a fool.

Fisk spoke distantly, "I'll follow this up when you're feeling better."

Jake rested his face against the wall of the ambulance — feeling better, as if he could.   This wasn't something he could heal from so easily, even if the painkillers he'd been provided had numbed the physical agony.

Almost everyone he loved, sans his father (whom he wasn't even talking to), was dead, there was no possible way for him to heal from this.

His eyes stung with tears, the sinking gut feeling that had once been so familiar beginning to rear its ugly head once again.

It would all have been much simpler if he had died too, had allowed Willa to take him out because then, he wouldn't be faced with this empty, meaningless existence, where he would once again be seen as a pitiable, poor victim of a heinous crime but would have nobody around to make life matter.

It was just how it was before, the crushing loneliness, the fear, the shame and guilt because how dare he survive and make it someone else's problem?

Everything hurt, if not just physically, emotionally and spiritually, he was simply exhausted.

Suddenly, one of the paramedics called something out that broke through the wave of misery, "We've got a live one!"

Jake's head snapped upward, making his world blur a little from the effects of the painkillers and despite Fisk's instant protestations, he clambered off the stretcher and out of the ambulance to rush over to the medics, who, to his instant relief, were wheeling out Raleigh.

He still looked half-dead, bloody and wearing an oxygen mask but there was a small twitch to his body that signified life.

"He was in the old gym." the medic explained, "He must've crawled there himself."

Jake was overcome with tears, grabbing Raleigh's hand desperately and kissing it as Fisk came up behind him to pull him away, which he refused to accept, struggling.

"He needs urgent attention, and so do you." he stated simply, trying to calm Jake as he moved.

Jake sobbed, watching as Raleigh was bundled into one of the other ambulances, "He's my boyfriend! Raleigh! I— I can't—"

He was quickly becoming incomprehensible, blubbering and stumbling over words as the detective ushered him back to the vehicle.

"I have to know he's alright!" he cried out, body wracked with violent trembles and sobs.