Page 24 of Unmasking You

Then there was only the deafening sound of silence, like what happens after a storm.

I made my way to him, swatting away the hands that were trying to keep me from going to him. In that moment, nothing was more important than reaching Shane and being with him.

Then came the sirens and the loud voices, telling everyone to give them space to work. All the while, I crouched next to him and kept his hand in mine.

Even now, while I sit next to him in the ambulance, I can’t let go. Even with my eyes full of tears spilling over and running down my cheeks, I can’t let go. I glance at his face, and more tears spring to my eyes seeing the collar bracing his neck, how pale his complexion is, and his eyes stubbornly remaining closed even though I now want them to look straight at me. His body on the stretcher fills me with guilt, as does the blood covering his face and staining his white shirt.

If I’d only kept Queen by my side instead of chatting about nothing. I’d needed to stop thinking about last night, to stop remembering how calming his touch was.

How am I going to survive if he doesn’t make it? How am I going to endure the guilt?

“He’s going to be okay,” the paramedic says, as if reading the nefarious thoughts filling my head.

I could have laughed at Simon’s face when I asked… okay, when I shouted at him to take care of Queen, but I was too worried about the man lying on the hard ground, bloody and not regaining consciousness.

There has only been one other time I’ve prayed as much as I’m doing now, and whoever is up there wasn’t fully listening then. I don’t want to remember that time, but I want whoever is there to truly hear me this time and make sure Shane is okay.

The door of the ambulance opens, and it’s a rush from there. I’m forced to let go of Shane, and then I have to watch him being wheeled away, staring after the stretcher and medical personnel working on him until he disappears from view.

“Sir?”

I jump when a hand gently rests on my shoulder. I whip around, plastering myself against the doors that just took Shane away, until the scrubs she’s wearing kick-start my mind and I’m able to function and focus on her.

“Sir, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Not really, though. I won’t be okay until they tell me Shane is stable and recovering.

“We need some information about the patient,” she says, pointing towards reception and walking over to it.

“Do you know the patient?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What’s his name?”

“Shane Campbell.”

“Address?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he have any allergies?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jamie Wilson.”

“Jamie… Can I call you Jamie?” she asks, and I nod.

“Shane is in expert hands. They’ll assess his condition to determine the severity of his injuries. You can sit there, and we’ll let you know what’s happening.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Who are—“

“There was a car accident, and someone was brought here.”

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