A swell of vomit pushes its way through my stomach, and I drop to my knees, unable to contain it. Something wet and squishy slips beneath my palms, but I can't pay attention to it, because I lose everything.
I've never had such a violent vomiting spell, but once it comes on, it doesn't let go. I'm useless to do anything, tears burning my eyes as I look up and find myself face to face with the carnage of our friend's body.
Jackson tries to talk to me, but I can't hear anything over the sound of my vomit splashing against the road as I throw up the burger I had for lunch, which apparently didn't digest well. Chunks of it come out of my nose, suffocating me as I'm reduced to a pathetic, sniveling and choking little bitch.
It's approaching headlights that finally catch my attention, and I manage to cease vomiting long enough to watch as the car slows to a stop. I hold my hand up to try and shield the savage gleam of the headlights, which are making my throbbing head ache all the worse.
At least you have a head to throb.
"What the fuck?"
"Jackson?"
"Krowe? What happened to him?"
"Oh my God! Rhodes!"
There are so many voices, so many people crowding around us. I hear screaming, crying, panicking. But I can't make out any of it.
"Call my dad." I beg, searching the crowd for faces I recognize.
Someone wraps an arm around me, pulling me to my feet, which seem even less steady now than they were when I first climbed out of Jackson's car.
I recognize the scent of the shampoo, but it makes vomits swell within me again and I push her away before I can cover her in my bile, since that’s all that’s left in me.
"He came out of nowhere," Jackson says. "He wasn't there, and then he was..."
The sound of a phone ringing to busy cuts through the night, which is suddenly quiet as we all wait for someone to answer the phone. But nobody does.
"It's okay." My sister says. "It was an accident. It's okay."
An accident.
But was it? First Toby and now Rhodes?
The crunch of tires on broken glass alerts me to another car approaching, and fear rockets through me.
They're going to see what we did.
"Ethan?"
I recognize that voice even before I look past the flashing red and blue lights to see the sheriff car. My father's right-hand man , Rick, is staring at me as he approaches, his hand on his hip like he's ready to shoot first and ask questions later. But then he gets a look at the body on the pavement, and his face goes slack in horror.
"Fucking hell."
"We didn't mean to!" Jackson says. "He came out of nowhere."
When I turn to meet Rick's gaze, I can tell he's waiting for me to back up my friend. I nod, because that's the truth.
Rick runs a hand down his face and blows out a dramatic sigh.
“What the fucking hell is going on in this town? Missing girls, murdered football players. And now fucking manslaughter?” He shakes his head like he's trying to figure out what to do. I'm not sure he even knows the protocol here, considering that he's fairly green. He hasn't lived here all that long.
Normally, he would be the one who waits for my father to make decisions about what to do.
“Where's my dad?” Sadie asks, glancing behind Rick like she expects that he may get out of the car and begin to walk toward us at any point.
“At the festival; he went earlier today after the call about the kid in the cornfield. He's been there all day trying to get everything ready for tonight. I wager it didn't make any sense for him to leave and then go back.” He scratches his head. “You really oughtta go get checked out, you know? You don’t look so good. None of you do.”
