A Fostered Love

Chapter Nine: Kyle

I stay quiet after I make the phone call, letting the sound of someone crying fill the air. Who had Layla found? She just told me to call the cops, but the warning in her voice sounded urgent. Layla turns around to face me,

"We have to get him out of there."

"Who?" I ask and she just steps out of my way. My eyes rest on Andy's younger brother. "Sam? Oh god," I look at Layla again, "What the heck was he doing in the car with them?"

"It was his brother." Layla whispers back, "He had to follow him. Now how are we going to get him out of there?"

I walk over the backseat where Sam sits, still mourning over the loss of his brother. I keep my voice quiet and try to soothe him. "It's alright Sam. He's in a better place now."

I close my eyes, remembering that those were the words Sandra used to soothe me after my mother died.

"It's not fair." He says wiping away his tears. "It should have been me, not him."

"Don't say that. You'll never be able to move on if you keep thinking like that." I say sternly, shocked by the resemblance he and I had when we lost someone close to us.

When I said those words to Sandra, she smacked me on the back of the head and scolded me for thinking in that horrible way. She told me, "God decided it was time for her to leave us, so don't blame yourself for his decisions." After Sandra died though, I was starting to think God was just playing a cruel joke on me. In my eyes, it wasn't my mother's time to go, it was my time to suffer. It wasn't Sandra's time to go yet either, it was just God wanting an encore.

"Sam." I say snapping out of my darkening thoughts, "Can you move your arms and your legs?"

He wiggles his arms and raises his legs up slightly then nods.

"Are you in pain?"

"Physical or emotional?"

"Physical."

"My head hurts and everything is starting to get fuzzy."

"That's probably from the blood loss. Come on, you have to get out of the car."

Sam pushes the door open and steadies himself, his eyes never leaving Andy. Layla and I stay quiet, not sure how to comfort him. Out of no where he asks, "What about Christina? What happened to her?" He didn't even give us a chance to respond, instead he just looked at the passenger seat. His jaw slightly drops, "Oh god, not her too." He sinks to the ground leaning his back against the still smoking car, "I should have stopped them. I should have told them it was wrong. But I didn't. Now look at them. They're dead because of me! It's all my fault."

I was just about to respond when Layla beats me to it. "Sam it's not your fault that they drank. It's not your fault that Andy decided it was okay to drive. It's not your fault you were pressured into the car with them. All of these things were mistakes, mistakes that ended in a tragic way. This will never be your fault so don't keep telling yourself that it is."

Before Sam can say anything else, I hear the sirens wailing in the distance. Layla gasps and I look back at her. Her gaze was on Sam who had fallen over unconscious on the ground.

The colorful lights shine on the both of us as we crouch down in front of Sam, checking to make sure he was alive. The paramedics rush over and carry Sam off without saying a word to the two of us. I grab Layla's hand as a cop walks over to us. He has neatly combed brown hair and what looks like a freshly shaved face. He smells faintly of smoke. His slight limp catches my attention instantly. Layla shifts uncomfortably beside me and I squeeze her hand reassuringly.