Page 12 of Splintered
Evan had hazel eyes. Beautiful tawny eyes, like burnished bronze, the color of fall leaves and cinnamon and old leather streaked with gold.
The eyes that stared back at Ben were pitch black, solid, endless black, a darkness that seemed to swirl over something. Waiting, and watching, wanting Ben to fall into the center and disappear.
He scrambled backward, his shoulders slamming into the coffee table, pushing it across the carpet until he hit the wall.
Evan screamed again, one long, continuous, horrible note. His body twisted, kept arching, his spine contorting into a giant C until only his head and feet were touching the couch. One hand reached for Ben. His mouth hung open, screaming, never stopping.
Ben pressed his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes closed. His wrist ached, sharp pains rocketing up and down his arm. He shouted, his mind racing, thoughts colliding. What did he do? Who did he call? 911? Yes, he needed to call them, right now, right fucking now, because Evan was going to die, he fucking knew it, he was dyingright in front of him—
Silence.
As suddenly as the screaming had started, it ended. Ben heard his own ragged shout, his own torn vocal cords, his own bellow. He tapered off in a gasp, a choked swallow, wet with snot and tears he hadn’t realized were streaming down his face. He opened his eyes, searched for Evan.
Evan lay unmoving on the couch, his arms and legs flopped over the side and back cushions.
Oh God, he snapped his spine.He’s dead, he’s fucking dead.Ben scrambled on all fours across the living room, ignoring the stabs of his wrist. His breath came fast, puffs of air that clouded in front of his face. The house was cold, almost frigid. Winter was coming early to the Bay Area.
Evan was sprawled on his back, his boxers hiked up his thighs, undershirt bunched up almost to his armpits, flat belly exposed to the chilly air. Ben searched for a pulse in his neck. Evan’s skin was clammy, sweating with heat. He willed Evan’s chest to rise and fall.
It did, shallow breaths that looked like a bird’s quivering wings. Beneath his touch, Evan’s pulse threaded at a steady pace. Fast, light, butthere.
Ben fell back. Tears spilled over his eyelids, burning trails down his cheeks. “Evan…” he whispered. His thoughts still raced, still tore through him, riding the tidal wave of adrenaline. What was that? A seizure? A fever? Was Evan ill? Was that why he’d been acting so strange? Or—
God, what if it was worse? A tumor? Something wrong with his brain, something that was changing how he behaved?
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
Ben pushed to his knees and leaned over Evan, pressing his lips to his forehead. Heat waves burned off Evan, almost scorching Ben’s cheek. “I’m going to call the ambulance, honey,” he whispered. “We’ll figure this out.”
* * *
Redand blue lights split the darkness of their street, emergency lights twirling up and down the block. The inside of their house blazed bright, Ben turning on every single lamp, trying to banish the alien otherworldliness that had invaded their home alongside Evan’s scream. Still, there was a creeping sense thatsomethinglingered in the corners, behind closet doors and in the pockets of darkness, despite the light he tried to paint the house in.
Paramedics squatted in front of Evan, taking his blood pressure and monitoring his heart rate. EKG needles traced patterns on snaking graph paper beside them. The mountains and valleys meant nothing to Ben, but they were regular, at least. Up and down, steady and even. Evan held an oxygen mask to his face and was breathing normally, answering the paramedic’s questions. They’d probed and prodded, checked his glucose levels, peered into his eyes, examined him head to toe.
“You seem to be doing better now, Mr. Lombardi,” one said. “Your vitals are good, pulse is strong, breathing is normal. How’s your head?”
Evan nodded, blinking slowly. “I’m okay,” he said, his voice muffled in the oxygen mask. “Little headache, but I’m okay.” He shook his head, as if shaking something off.
“Well, we want to take you to the hospital to get you checked out tonight—”
Evan frowned and shook his head.
“Evan, you had a seizure—” Ben started.
“Maybe,” one of the paramedics said. “We want to rule out all possibilities. What you described, Mr. Haynes,” he said, nodding to Ben, “isn’t typically what we see with signs or symptoms of a seizure disorder. We’ve given Evan some diazepam for the convulsions, which should help for tonight.”
“What do you mean not a sign of seizures? What the hell was that then?”
“There are a few other tests the hospital should run. We see the kind of contortions you were describing in cases of brain injury, for example.”
Ben’s heart hammered.
“Also in some cases of poisoning. And when was your last tetanus shot, Mr. Lombardi?”
Evan blinked again. “I had a few shots several years ago. I’m sure I got it then.”
“The hospital will want to rule out tetanus. You’re going to need to get checked over, Mr. Lombardi. We can take you in now.”
