CODY
The anticipation of tonight led to a frenzied dressing session. Sheesh, I was practically primping like a girl. But I wanted our date to be perfect. It would be the first Friday night without her dad and the beginning of our Christmas break together.
Mouthwash, cologne, deodorant, keys. Phone.
I looked around for the last thing I needed before heading out. It sat on my nightstand charging but was lit up with a flood of texts continuing to come in. I slid the lock and stared at the group message that had a response every few seconds.
Scrolling up, there was a one-minute video from an unknown number.
Dread pulsing in my veins, I hit play.
Lindsay. Naked. On a bed. A shadow pressed over her.
I fumbled to stop the sounds and the actions. The man’s face was hidden, but I knew who it was. Blake.
You have no idea what I’m capable of.
His words landed on me like a two-ton rock. My hand trembled as I read the comments popping up in real time:
OMG. She’s so fat. Did you see that cottage cheese?
Her boobs are totally fake. Like the rest of her.
What a ho. She should just kill herself.
Who’s the guy?
Cody James.
The letters in my name blurred and my knees buckled. Blake hadn’t just fired a bullet. No. He managed a lethal shot, right between the eyes.
I gripped the phone and dialed Skylar. Her number was unlisted. Maybe…
My hopes were dashed when I heard the catch in her throat. “Cody?”
“It’s not me. I swear to you.” I sucked in a breath. She had to believe me. She had to.
“I know.” The softness in her voice calmed the storm, pushed aside the panic that had all but overtaken me. “Have you checked on Lindsay?”
“No, I called you first.” I found control despite the continued banner of text notifications, each escalating in their cruelty. “It’s Friday night, Skylar. I don’t want you to be alone.” Everything changed that day in Skylar’s room. I made promises I had no intention of breaking.
“I appreciate that, but you need to check on her. It’s the right thing to do. Those comments are…”
“I know.” I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images were still branded in my brain. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” There was no pretension in her voice. It was etched with the same concern I had for Lindsay.
“I’ll be one hour, tops.”
“I’ll be waiting. Text me when you know she’s okay.”
I ended the call and immediately tried Lindsay’s new cell. No answer.
Now that I knew Skylar wasn’t upset, I had time to process what this final blow would do to my friend. I thought of how many days she’d skipped the past two weeks. I thought of the sadness in her eyes, the hopelessness that showed when her parents didn’t validate her confession.
I dialed again, panic and fury growing with each ring. The stairs felt too long, the distance to my car too far.
Voicemail.
“Lindsay, pick up your phone. I need to know you’re okay.”
Fumbling with buttons while I unlocked my car, I tried to text.
Me: Call me. Now.
She didn’t call the entire ten-minute drive to her house. Didn’t answer the door when I pounded.
“Lindsay,” I banged against the wood, trying to peek though the blinds next to the door. The ache in my chest was enough to kill me.
Her car was out front. I knew she was home.
“Lindsay!” I pounded some more, pulled and jerked on the locked front door.
A stinging fear ripped through my heart. And I knew. Somehow, I knew if I didn’t get in there, it would be too late.
Hadn’t I faced this same decision? Hadn’t I even planned it? Found the rope, decided on the date? Wasn’t I just as ready to make all the pain go away?
Ringing filled my head as I continue to scream her name. I knew she was in there. Knew she needed me, but I couldn’t get to her.
“God, please,” I whispered.
Back door.
The thought hit like a punch to the chest.
My heart pounding, I ran around to the rear of the house, shoving open the gate. The screen door was locked, but I managed to rip out the mesh and flick up the metal latch.
“NO!” I tugged on the knob, desperate. The door was secure, but the lock, flimsy. Like the one at the back of my house, it rattled as I jerked, giving me hope. I pulled out my wallet, dropping it twice before I managed to find my driver’s license.
I jammed the card between the lock and frame and pushed with so much adrenaline the wood gave way. I stumbled on the tile, but found my footing and began to search.
“Lindsay!”
The house was painfully silent, my frantic footsteps the only sound echoing off the walls. I took the stairs two at a time. “Lindsay!”
Room after room I hunted until the last corner revealed my worst nightmare.
I froze in the hall. All I could see was the bottle. The empty bottle.
The room seemed to be floating away. I tried to lift my legs, but they resisted, like feet trudging through wet clay.
She wasn’t moving; she didn’t even flinch when I called her name from the hall. She lay flat on her stomach, one arm draped over the side of the bed. Her blond hair cascaded like a blanket over the white t-shirt she wore. A fallen angel.
My knees hit the ground before I ever realized I’d dropped. The thud cleared my head. The room coming back from its distance in the tunnel. Adrenaline rushed though me like nitro in a drag race.
She can’t be dead. She can’t!
Instantly I was at her side. “Lindsay.” I said her name calmly.
Nothing. Not a groan or a whimper.
I shook her limp body. “Please, Lindsay, answer me.” She moved against my hands, but only from the force I exerted. I willed myself to settle down. To react like a man and not a scared little boy.
Two fingers against her neck brought a flood of hope. A pulse barely detectible, but it was there.
Though only seconds, the time it took to dial 911 felt like decades.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“My friend, she took pills.” I reached out, gripped the prescription bottle with my free hand. “Z-O-L-P-I-D-E-M. They’re for sleeping. 1520 Mayberry.” The rush in my voice, the ache of each word made speaking almost impossible.
“Sir, I’ve dispatched an ambulance. Can you tell me if she’s breathing?”
I dropped the pills and pressed my fingers to her mouth. A small brush of air tickled the skin. “Yes. But her pulse is weak, and she’s not waking up.”
“Can you tell how many pills she took?”
I dropped to the floor, fumbled around for the bottle. “Um. Ten milligrams each. It says there were thirty pills, but I don’t know how many she actually swallowed.”
The operator clicked on her computer, asked more question about dates and refills. My hand alternated between the bottle and checking Lindsay’s dropping pulse.
“How much longer?” I demanded. The breath that was such a relief had all but vanished. I was losing her.
Sirens filled the air in the distance, promise stirring with each sound. I ran down the stairs and opened the front door just as the medics pulled to the curb.
They rushed past, followed my pointed finger and verbal directions. They had Lindsay out the door in minutes, a bag pushing oxygen into her lungs.
I stood at the entry, watching them rush to load her in the back of the ambulance, and fell to my knees. I prayed the prayer Skylar probably had a million times. I prayed for a miracle. I prayed for God to spare her life, even though she chose to end it.