Page 4 of Psycho Killers

"What the fuck happened?" he asks, frantically trying to wake Ash by rubbing firmly along his sternum.

"I... I don't know. We found him like this. I have no idea how long he's been out.” My voice cracks, my focus solely on the rhythm of the compressions.

Killian spots the empty bottles and drug paraphernalia scattered around Ash's lifeless body, and in a panic, he bolts.

"Let me try something. I'll be right back," he yells, disappearing inside.

The rain falls, thunder echoing like angry cries, lightning illuminating the scene. My best friend, my brother, lies unconscious, my CPR efforts feeling hopeless as I wait for paramedics to arrive.

He can't be gone.He just fucking can't.

Killian returns with Narcan. After biting off the cap, he administers two doses, one in each nostril, but to no avail. Calista's screams still pierce the air, a devastating symphony of chaos and despair. This time, the fear is very fucking real—a chilling premonition that we might not all survive this.

We're not as untouchable as we fucking think. This shit right here proves it.

The sirens wail in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. The rhythmic thump of my chest compressions feels weak, pathetic against the enormity of the situation. Time stretches, each second an agonizing eternity. My muscles burn, my lungs scream for air, but I can't stop. I can't. Not yet.

Then, a flicker. A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch in Ash's leg. My heart leaps into my throat, like a frantic bird trapped in a cage of ribs. I continue the compressions, fueled by a renewed hope, a desperate clinging to the possibility of a miracle. Another twitch, this time more pronounced, making his eyelids flutter. But he still doesn't wake up.

Finally, the paramedics arrive, a flurry of activity surrounding us. They take over, their practiced movements efficient and reassuring, yet the fear remains, a cold hand gripping my heart. They attach the defibrillator pads, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and fear.

A shock.

Silence.

Then, a ragged gasp. Ash coughs, a rattling sound that fills me with a relief so profound it almost fucking breaks me.

He's alive.

But all of a sudden he begins to seize, his body shaking uncontrollably as two paramedics hold him down so he doesn't do further damage to himself. And then his eyes close again; this time they don't open back up. And then another seizure attacks his body, and then another, never stopping for more than thirty seconds.

The world shifts back into focus, the blur of chaos igniting again. I see Calista collapsing onto Killian, her sobs wracking her body. Five stands beside me, his face pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and exhaustion.

The paramedics load Ash onto a stretcher, their voices a low hum in the background. I follow, my legs unsteady, my body trembling with the aftermath of adrenaline and terror.

The ambulance speeds away, its red and blue lights a beacon in the stormy night. The rain continues to fall, washing away the immediate horror, but leaving behind a residue of fear and uncertainty. We stand here, huddled together, the silence broken only by Calista's quiet weeping. The empty vodka bottles and drug paraphernalia remain scattered on the balcony, a stark reminder of the gut wrenching catastrophe.

Killian looks at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and relief.

"I... I should have seen this coming," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

I don't answer. I don't know what to say. The weight of what happened hangs heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket of fear and grief. Ash's uncertain condition has shattered something within us, leaving a gaping hole where our carefree camaraderie once resided.

The lightness I felt just hours ago is gone, replaced by a profound sense of loss and the chilling realization of our own mortality. The road ahead is uncertain, fraught with the challenges of recovery and the lingering shadow of what could have been. But for now, we cling to the fragile thread of hope for Ash's survival, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, and a promise to face whatever comes next, together.

THREE

PRAYING

FAR AWAY: NICKLEBACK

KILLIAN

The drive to the fucking hospital feels like an eternity, each red light a cruel reminder of the precious seconds ticking by. The rhythmic wail of the sirens is in sync with the frantic beating of my own fucking heart. Calista’s sobs are a constant, heartbreaking soundtrack to the journey, punctuated by Five’s quiet reassurances and whispered attempts to comfort her that feel hollow even to my own ears. Dom sits rigidly beside me, his gaze fixed on the road, his silence heavy with unspoken guilt.

Nobody knows what to fucking say or do, so nothing but the quiet, heartbreaking sounds of sniffles and sobs surrounds us, the tragic event pulling us deeper into the darkness we were almost out of.

We were so fucking close we could almost taste our freedom.

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