Oscar swore he’d never played rugby in his life, but he executed a perfect rugby tackle to bring Ezra down halfway to the bunkhouse. “Ezra, listen to me! You need to focus on my voice! Ezra!”
I dropped to my knees beside the struggling pair. Ezra was snarling like a trapped animal, baring his teeth at Oscar and laughing breathlessly. “This,” he panted, “is the most fun I’ve had since Reba O’Halloran finally kicked it. Damn bitch took forever, just kickin’ and cryin’ till she finally got the idea and gave up.” He twisted and nearly broke Oscar’s grasp. “Let go of me, you little freak of nature!”
“Hey!” I pressed down on Ezra’s shoulders to stop the worst of his thrashing, trying not to see the hurt, shocked expression on Oscar’s face at Ezra’s hurled words. “Ezra, listen. I might know a little of what you’re going through, okay? You know I’ve got my own mental issues. I’ve never made it a secret. There’re things that can help, and we need to get you to a doctor who can—”
“Oh my god,” Ezra groaned. “Seriously? I’m fine. This idiot boy is fine. Swear to god, you’re all so blindingly earnest it makes me wanna puke.”
Oscar hissed something under his breath, and for a moment, I thought he was angry at Ezra, at me even, but I realized he was muttering to himself, frowning at something between Ezra and me. “Oscar, seriously?”
“He’s back and won’t shut up,” he muttered. “Ezra, listen to me. No, shut up,” he hissed at the spot between us again. “I can only deal with one crisis at a time and you, Mister No-Name, are not it right now!”
“Oscar! For the love of god, focus!”
He glared at me. “Call an ambulance,” he ordered. “I love you, Ezra, but no fucking way are you sleeping this off.”
As if summoned by magic, an ambulance came rolling up the drive before he’d even finished speaking. “You’re good,” he muttered. “How the hell…”
I shook my head. “Carstairs must’ve called, or Karlotta. I’ll wave ‘em over. Hold tight.”
The EMTs were unloading a gurney as I jogged up. “He’s over by the bunkhouse. Some sort of seizure episode last night and this morning and he seems disoriented. I think it might be some sort of mental health crisis.”
The nearest tech looked at me with a slightly amused but mostly annoyed expression. “Look, I don’t know about that. We’re here because an elderly lady fell down some stairs.”
“In here!” Carstairs flung the front door open, pale and shaken. “She’s in here!”
“‘Scuse us,” the second tech muttered, shoving me to one side.
“What happened?” I asked, the gears in my brain grinding to a halt. “Mr. Carstairs?”
“Ma, she… she was going up the stairs to grab one of Deborah’s old medals. Used to do gymnastics. She thought maybe Oscar could use it as a, what’s it, a focal point or somethin’. Get a better reading. She was halfway up, and I heard her scream ‘no’ and…” he choked on the words. “She wasn’t moving.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry. Let me get out of the way.” I jogged back, letting the techs have space to bring her out. She was motionless, a plastic collar locked around her neck and a board beneath her back on the gurney. She didn’t look like she was in her own head, her body still and expressionless and gray. Fucking Hell…
Shit. Ezra! “How many ambulances does the hospital have?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” the first tech demanded. “I ain’t got time to play pop quiz with you!”
“No, my friend, he’s having some sort of a problem and needs help!”
The second tech, the one arranging leads on Mrs. Carstairs rolled her eyes. “Two. Should take a few minutes to get here. Tiny town, we’re not really far from the hospital. Now get the hell out of our way.”
The ambulance doors slammed and, a moment later, they were taking off down the drive, Carstairs and Yancy after them in Yancy’s truck.
“Julian!” Oscar shouted. “Julian!”
I raced back to his side, out of breath by the time I was back on my knees beside him. Ezra wasn’t fighting him anymore, but he was very still and pale, his breath shallow and fast. Thick, cold sweat covered his face and neck and he stank of it. Panic sweat, I thought, a stink like when animals are afraid. “Mrs. Carstairs fell down the stairs. The ambulance was for her. She… she didn’t look good, Oscar.”
“Fuck!”
I fumbled my phone out and breathed a sigh of relief to see a whole bar of service. I called 911 and gave them our location. After a moment of disbelieving silence, I was informed an ambulance was on the way. “Hang tight, Ezra,” I muttered, scooting closer to Oscar and slipping my arm around his shoulder. “Hold on.”
This past year, I’d spent more time in and around hospitals and ambulances than any person had a right to. Oscar went with Ezra and I stayed behind, unable to cram into the back of the ambulance and without a way to get there on my own. I texted CeCe an update but soft-sold it, telling her Ezra had a bit of a dizzy spell and maybe a seizure, so he was getting checked out. I wasn’t in the headspace for my sister’s freak out at that moment. I trudged back towards the bunkhouse, sick of the late afternoon heat, sick of feeling my clothes sticking to my body, sick of pretty much everything I could think of. I wanted to help Oscar and Ezra (especially Oscar, I admitted to myself. Especially him.) I wanted to go up to the hospital and, I don’t know, hold his hand, make sure he knew someone was there to lean on.
Make sure he knew I was there to lean on.
We’d been bouncing off one another like poorly mated magnets for weeks, the attraction unavoidable until one of us turned the wrong way then we’d push away. I was tired of it and I know Oscar was, too. I stopped at the door to the bunkhouse and pulled my phone out again. I had a bit of a signal still, so I sent him a text, not sure if he’d even have his phone on inside the hospital.
Julian: Oscar, wanted to check in with you.
I couldn’t think of anything to add that didn’t sound distant or cold via text, so I left it at that, pushing the door open only to draw up short. The place had been ransacked. Our bags were spilled open across the bunkhouse, Ezra’s bag of road snacks torn open and wrappers all over the floor. The stench of something rotten hung in the air.
“Shit, shit, shit!” It had to be Enoch, I decided. Had to be. Maybe he’d been looking for money? Something to get him out of town? Was he trying to run away from his family? Shit. I fired off another text to Oscar.
Julian: I think Enoch came by the bunkhouse while we were out. Ate Ezra’s snacks, looks like he went through our things. I’m going to look for him while I wait for y’all.
I paused, then sent:
Julian: Be safe, Oscar, okay? Don’t come back here till you hear from me.
I hung my phone up before I could say something too much, too soon.