Breathe

Chapter 14

Lucie

The road stretched before me, long and clear in the sweltering heat. As usual, the Subaru's air conditioning was failing me, so every few moments I had to lift a sweaty hand from the steering wheel and fan myself to keep from overheating. Temperatures were in the high nineties today, and I sure as hell was feeling it.

I'd just gotten off my shift, and, as I almost always was after work, was headed for the Hornes' place. I was beginning to think that I spent possibly too much time there; my parents complained that I was there more than I was at home. But what could I say? I was comfortable with Vinny and Cian; they were my home, as far as I was concerned. Even if their parents and I didn't get along so well.

I was drawn up at a red light, at least three or four cars in front of me, when my phone began to buzz against the car console. I squinted at it until I made out Cian's face on the screen. Glancing at the traffic light to make sure it was still blaring crimson, I picked up the device and answered. "Hey, you."

He sounded like he was almost out of breath. "Lucie? Where are you right now?"

"I'm on my way to your house, actually. Why?"

"How far away are you?"

I took a second to read the street sign. "Not more than a few blocks away. Cian, is everything okay—"

"Well, hurry. Please. And...and don't hang up."

Now he was starting to make me worry, and I hated worrying. My stomach was flip-flopping inside of me, my heartbeat beginning to race. There was something wrong, but somehow I knew I didn't have time to ask questions. So when the light turned green, I stepped on it.

When I could see the white brick of Cian's residence coming up on the right side of the road, I said into the phone, "You're not at home?"

"No. I was at Whole Foods, but now I'm—" He cut off when he heard me snort. "What?"

"What were you doing at Whole Foods? I thought you hated Whole Foods."

"I don't," he fired back, defiant. "I went because I wanted a cookie, thank you very much."

"Did you buy some orange lemons?"

He paused. Then: "Ha, ha. You're hilarious."

"I'm at the house," I told him then, snatching my keys from the ignition and holding the phone to my ear with my elbow. I hurried my pace to the front door. "Do I want to know what's got you—and now me—so freaked out?"

Again, Cian hesitated for a moment. Then, his voice sharp and on the edge of harsh, he replied, "Just...get to Vinny's room. I'll explain everything after I know he's okay."

My heart dropped out of my chest. I was in the foyer then; Mrs. Horne called to see who'd came into the house, but I ignored her. "What do you mean when you know he's okay—"

"Lucie, just go!"

I went.

I thundered up the stairs, calling Vinny's name. When I didn't get a response no matter how many times I called, the anxiety I'd been feeling reached an all time high. I knew this had something to do with Nick, with what had happened at Felix's house. If that bastard touched one golden hair on Vinny's head, I was going to tear him apart, limb by limb, swear to God—

I opened the door, and felt all the tension flood out of me. Vinny was there, standing with his back to me, his eyes trained out the window. The ceiling fan softly lifted and lowered a few stray hairs on top of his head, and after a few moments, I realized that was the only part of him that was moving. Just as soon as it had left, the tension returned in a slow ascent. "Vinny? Hey, what's up? What are you doing?"

I still had the phone to my ear. "Is he there? What's happening? Is he okay?" Cian was bombarding me with a million questions I couldn't precisely answer.

Vinny still stood there, not moving an inch. It was as if he were a statue. Into the phone, I managed, "I think it's another one of his episodes, like when he froze up before. I can't even tell if he knows I'm here."

"That doesn't make sense...lately, that's only happened if he's gotten frightened, or something. Can you get closer to him?"

"Uh, yeah," I murmured, loosening my grip on the phone and taking a step closer. The room was eerily quiet, and when it was like this, it was as if it was a mere replica of the bedroom I remembered. The framed soccer jerseys, the trophies, the posters, all of it, were like museum art, distant and fragile and not to be touched. Vinny, at the current moment, was no different.

The curtains rippled a bit in the breeze. I tried saying his name again, and that was when he turned to face me.

I'm not sure what I saw first.

I don't know if it was the dullness of his eyes, the lifelessness of his expression, the odd pallor to his lips, but none of that mattered. None of that mattered, not when my eyes fell to the little white pills nestled neatly in his palm like snowflakes. In Vinny's innocent hands, they almost could have been candy.

But they were not candy. They were not candy at all.

I forgot Cian was on the phone, didn't remember until it had hit the floor with a soft thud.

I thought I could hear Cian's tinny voice calling for me. But all I saw were the pills. The pills, the dull of Vinny's eyes like a doused flame, his fingers twitching. "Vinny," I said. "Vinny, put those down. What are you doing? What are you doing? Snap out of it. Put them down. Put them down!"

If you didn't scrutinize him, you could say he was looking at me. But he wasn't; I knew he wasn't. Those solemn, unrecognizable eyes, fringed by lashes as pale as sand, were looking through me. He didn't know I was there. He couldn't hear me, and I was hopeless.

I took a step forward, and Vinny's hand jerked up towards his mouth. "Vinny!" my voice turned squeaky with terror, and all I could do was watch as the pills—every single one of them—went down his throat. I ran forward, shaking his shoulders, as if anything, something, would make him spit them out. "Spit them out! Spit them out!"

Tears clouded my vision when I heard him swallow, and that was when his eyes seemed to flicker back to life. It was a subtle change, but the irises seemed to brighten, the gold flecks showing up like the rays of the sun. He looked down at me in alarm, and I only heard a whisper of my name before his eyes fluttered shut and he slumped against me.

I caught him in my arms, but couldn't carry him, and when I hit the floor, so did he. His arms, limp and pale, were looped through mine, his hair brushing my neck, his legs splayed at awkward angles. I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed, but he didn't wake up. A second sooner. A second sooner.

I heard footsteps, as loud as thunder. A moment later, the clack of heels announced Mrs. Horne's arrival. "Vincent, what on earth—" She stopped when she saw the two of us, an immobile heap on the floor. I knew I should be doing something, but I seemed glued there, Vinny's boneless body in my arms, tears streaming down my face. I had lost one brother, and here, now, I was losing another one.

Mrs. Horne choked. "Vincent," she gasped. "No, Vincent!"

I looked at her, despite the mess I knew I was. "Call 911," I croaked. "Please. We have to save him.

"We have to save him."