Why do you let stuff get to you?
What’s the big deal?
As I blink up into Zander’s blue-green eyes, a sudden scream and a crash come from downstairs, so loud they vibrate in my feet.
His brows draw together. “What the fuck was that?”
I don’t have an answer.
Everyone around us is still drinking and laughing. Either they hadn’t heard the noises, or they don’t care. But when the music cuts off, they take notice. A hush settles over the room and everyone goes still, their curious eyes darting this way and that. It’s so creepy, I shiver.
Feet pound, louder and louder, on the basement stairs and a bunch of guys pour into the hallway.
“Everyone go home!” one of them shouts.
Nobody moves.
“I mean it! Get the fuck out of here!”
The guys, all Omega Chi brothers, start herding people to the nearest doors. That’s when I see the girl behind them, shoulders hunched and hands covering her mouth. She’s sheet white and her eyes are huge.
Zander grabs my hand and heads for the basement. “What the hell’s going on?” he asks Trevor, whose broad shoulders form a blockade at the top of the stairs.
Nearby, the panicked girl is rocking herself and gasping, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”
Trevor turns to Zander. “Some dude OD’d.”
“OD’d? On what?”
“His girlfriend said it’s Molly. He just, like, went over like a tree. I saw it. Right into the pool table.”
I ask, “Is he okay?”
Trevor swallows. “No.”
Zander sobers up in an instant and launches into O-Chi president mode, asking if someone has called an ambulance and ordering his brothers to clear all illegal substances from view. Meanwhile, a few of the guys make sure there’s a straight path from the front door to the basement.
For the stretcher.
I glance over my shoulder to see the last of the guests filing out, among them Mr. Brown Eyes from the kitchen. His anxious gaze meets mine for no more than a second, then I blink and he’s gone. Over my other shoulder I see the terrified girl, gripping her stomach and trying to breathe.
I go over to her and lay a hand on her arm. “Is he...is the guy who’s…” The guys who’s what? Hurt? Sick? Dying? I exhale and try again. “Are you his girlfriend?”
She nods.
I ask gently, “Why aren’t you down there with him?”
She looks bewildered. “They told everyone to get out.”
“Come on.” I take her hand and lead her to the stairs.
I don’t want to go down there, but I know no one will question her if she’s with me. And sure enough, with no hesitation, Trevor lets us pass.
It’s chaos in the basement, even though the crowd has disappeared. Only four people remain: two brothers, some other guy, and a body laid out on the floor. One brother, who’s frantically scrolling on his phone, shouts, “Get a bag of ice! We need to cool him down!”
Thankfully, someone had sense enough to tip the sick guy onto his side.
I urge his girlfriend closer and watch as she drops to her knees beside him. She strokes his hair, heedless of the bloody towel someone tucked under the back of his head. He must’ve split it open on the pool table. She jerks back when he starts to convulse and I do the same, not wanting to be showered in vomit. But after another look, I realize with a sick feeling that it’s not that kind of convulsing.