Under a Silent Moon

40

Chapter Forty: Too Late

ZACK

I jump through Lana's window and something immediately catches my eye. On her desk are six envelopes, each labeled differently. The one on top is written in bold ink, standing out from the rest, and it says my name.

I have the urge to tear through it. What could it possibly say? Before I can reach for it though, pained sobs fill the empty house. I know Amanda is still in the hospital and her mother works late on weekends. The cries must be Lana's.

"Lana!" I shout, pounding on the bathroom door. She wouldn't answer her phone. "Lana, what's going on?" I'm yelling despite myself, jiggling the locked doorknob.

Her sobs soften, but she doesn't respond.

"What are you doing? Open the door." My cheek is pressed against the wood, straining to hear what's happening on the other side.

Finally, a loud intake of breath and the words "Leave me alone" permeate into the hall.

"What are you doing? Come on, let me in." I continue to jiggle the handle to no avail.

"No!" she screams. "No! I'm done. I'm done . . ." Whatever comes next is lost in her hysterics.

I'm scared. Scared out of my fucking mind. I don't even think twice before stepping back and kicking the door in, hard. It swings open, the top hinge detaching from the frame. Lana lets out a shriek and I find her in the bathtub with a bottle of pills at her mouth.

It's an instinct, what I do next. I lunge forward and swat the bottle out of her hand. Its contents empty into the bathwater, and suddenly my hands are grasping Lana's shoulders in an iron grip, bringing her close to me. She doesn't even attempt to salvage the white tablets from the sloshing water. I sit on the edge of the tub, pulling her soaking body into my lap.

"What are you doing?" I'm still shouting, rocking back and forth as I clutch her in desperation. "What the hell are you doing?" Together, we sob in unison. "Did you take any?" I ask, lowering her hands from her face to finally meet her eyes. "Did you take any of those, Lana? Tell me!"

She shakes her head, refusing to look at me directly.

"Thank God," I'm saying over and over again. Thank God. Suddenly my own problems don't matter. My possible damnation is a thing of the past. The pity part I've been having for myself is over. What really matters is right here in my arms. She's still breathing, her heart's still beating. Maybe I was too late to save myself, but I wasn't too late for her. And that's what fucking matters.