I didn’t even think. I swung my legs out the window and scaled down to the ground at record speed. I stumbled through the bushes and into the scrub-covered hillside, fumbling my phone from my purse. I called Jason, because I was too overcome by panic to even think of anyone else.
“What’s up, baby?” He sounded out of breath, and I heard the clink and rattle of weights in the background.
“It’s b-Ben. I th-think he’s…he left a note, a suic—s-s-s—ide note.” I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.
“What? Are you serious? Did you find him?”
“No, n-not y-yet. There’s a tree, be-h-hind our h-house. I think that’s w-where he is.”
“That huge granddaddy pine tree, I know it. Baby, listen, don’t go there by yourself. I’m less than five minutes away, okay? I’ll be there, wait for me, okay?”
He was too late. I was already there. The tree was up a rise and down the other side. I could see the top of the pine tree swaying in the wind. Birds chirped cheerily, a harsh contrast to the terror in my gut. I was running as fast as I could, the phone forgotten, clutched in my hand. I could hear the tinny, distant sound of Jason’s voice calling my name. I crested the rise, stumbled, and fell, skidding down the steep, gravelly incline on my backside. I felt rocks gouging and scraping my bare thighs, my shorts too short to protect my legs.
I righted myself and tripped around to the other side of the tree, where the lowest branch was. My eyes were closed, as if to block out what I feared I’d see if I opened them. Tears were already streaming down my face, and I heard Jason’s voice in the phone, or maybe it was in the distance. I forced my eyes open.
I screamed.
Ben hung from the lowest branch, swinging, legs kicking still. An orange Home Depot bucket was overturned beneath him, still rolling in circles. His eyes showed white in his face, his mouth wide, face going purple.
I smelled shit.
I lunged forward, screaming his name over and over again. I grabbed his legs in my arms and lifted with all my strength, sobbing. I got him lifted high enough that the tension was eased, and I heard a faint raspy choking noise, and then my legs gave out and his ankles slid out of my grasp. I fell to the ground beneath him. His toes drooped earthward, limp, swinging in tiny circles, no longer twitching.
“BEN!” I heard my voice shrieking, shrill. “No, Ben, no, no no.”
I scrambled out from beneath him, struggled to my feet, and tried to lift him up, knowing he was gone, knowing it was too late. I felt something hot and sticky and putrid on my hands from where they grasped the back of his legs, and I knew what that was, too. I knew what happened to the bowels when someone was hung.
I looked up at his body, twisting in my grip. His head was craned at an unnatural angle, his eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out.
“Oh…fuck.” I heard a voice behind me. Jason.
I felt his arms around me, pulling me away. I fought him. I needed to help Ben. He was hurt. He needed me. He’d always needed me, and I wasn’t there. I was too late. I had to help him. I fought the pinioning arms, heard screaming go hoarse as vocal chords gave out, heard broken whispers in my ear, Jason begging me to turn away.
Don’t look anymore, baby. He’s gone. He’s gone.
NO! HE ISN’T GONE! My brother, my brother, my Ben. I fought even when my strength gave out and Jason was holding me. I wasn’t speaking anymore, I wasn’t intelligible, I was sobbing and gasping and babbling, straining for Benny. He twisted in the breeze, rope creaking.
A crow cawed somewhere, announcing the arrival of Death. The ink-black creature hopped on a branch on a nearby tree, head tilted, eye glinting. It ruffled its wings, cocked its head to the other side and cawed again, directly at me.
“NO! You can’t have him!” Those were the last words I would speak fluently for a very long time.
I ripped free from Jason’s arms and scooped a rock from the ground at my feet, hurled it at the crow, who only ducked and cawed again, twice, harsh and mocking. Then, with a ruffle of feathers and a snap of wings, the crow was gone, and I fell, boneless, to the earth.
I felt myself scooped up into strong arms, and I clawed helplessly at the iron chest, Jason’s sweat-scent in my nostrils all that kept me from dying in that moment. I clawed at him, scraping his chest with my fingernails. I’d just had a manicure the day before, and my nails were bright purple, perfectly painted and shaped. I watched with disconnected horror as my purple fingernails curled into Jason’s shirts and ripped it, then clawed again at the bare skin, dragging pink lines down his flesh. I couldn’t draw breath, felt stars speck in front of my eyes, my lungs burning. I couldn’t draw breath, because I was caught in an endless looping scream, soundless, shuddering.
I was being carried away. I felt the hill beneath us. I fought, gasped, fought.
“B-Ben! N-no! T-take me b-back! He-he-he needs m-m-me…plea-please!”
Jason didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. I heard voices pass me, radios crackling, sirens in the distance. Red and blue lights bathed my eyelids. A door opened, closed. Stairs creaked. Another door opened. I felt cool porcelain beneath my thighs. Water sputtered and rushed, and soon steam enveloped me. Shit stank in my nostrils. One of my hands stung, and I glanced apathetically at the middle finger on my left hand, missing a fingernail and bleeding.
Jason’s hands peeled away my shirt, unclasped my bra, lifted me to my feet, pushed away my shorts and panties. I felt his skin against me, and I wanted to burrow into his heat and forget everything. But he wouldn’t let me. I was so cold. He helped me over the wall of the tub and into the shower. Curtain rungs rasped against the metal rod, and then I was doused in scalding water, quickly adjusted to a more tolerable temperature. I didn’t care. The burn was fine.
A pink and orange poofy loofah sponge crossed my shoulder, down my back, over my arm. He scrubbed me diligently, gently. He let me rest against his chest, my back to his front. He lathered my hair, rinsed it, massaged conditioner into it. Washed me again, rinsed my hair. I felt a brush scrape through the wet, tangled curls, gently, over and over again, tugging through knots until my hair was smooth.
The water ran lukewarm, and he shut it off. Wrapped a towel around me, rubbed me dry, then wrung my hair out, dabbed it dry, brushed it again. I shivered against him. He scooped me in his arms and carried me to my room, laid me on my bed, tugged the sheets and quilt from beneath me and covered me with them. I felt his absence for the briefest moment, and panic shot through me.