“I think… I think so.”
Chay’s tires screeched as we took a corner too quick. I had to hold on to the dash to steady myself. My phone dropped between the center console and the seat. I wiggled my hand between the seat and the console, but the phone was wedged in place.
“Are you sure?” Chay asked.
“Yes, I saw the sign.” I was thrown back and forth as Chay weaved in and out of traffic. His car fishtailed several times, hydroplaning across the wet pavement. Cars honked as we flew by.
“I need your phone.”
“In my jacket pocket.”
I leaned over the center console and fished his phone out of his pocket. Scrolling through his phonebook, I found the number to his uncle’s shop. I pressed call and waited for someone to answer, biting my nails.
“Is he there?”
“He’s not answering.”
A searing pain exploded in my head. My lungs burned when I tried to breathe. I coughed and gagged, my hands at my throat.
A body on the floor. Flames surrounding it.
“You have to hurry,” I choked out between coughing fits.
I heard sirens. Climbing up on the seat to look out of the back window, I half expected to see a police car. There was nothing. I turned around and saw the large truck barreling toward us.
“The firefighters beat us,” Chay said with a relieved sigh.
Water. Smoke billowing. A man lying on the floor.
“It hasn’t changed,” I whispered.
“Damn it.” He smacked the wheel with the heel of his hand.
The tires squealed when he took the turn into the parking lot too fast. The firefighters were already working. One tried to stop us from getting out of the car.
Chay strained against the firefighter blocking him. “My uncle’s in there!” Chay yelled. His face was red and his neck corded with muscle as he tried to push his way to his uncle.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. He’s behind the counter!” I looked at the flames reaching out of the windows of the shop like they were waving at us, taunting us.
Please get to him in time. Hurry.
“We’ve got at least one person inside,” the firefighter shouted.
We watched as they broke through the door, and two men disappeared into the smoke-filled building. An ambulance turned into the parking lot just as the firemen pulled Chay’s uncle through the door.
The EMTs hauled a gurney out of the back of the van and loaded Uncle Stewart on top of it. They strapped him down, put an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, and inserted an IV in his arm.
I stood next to Chay, the cold rain pelting down on us. Absently, I rubbed my chest with my hand. I didn’t notice until he mentioned it.
“What’s wrong? Why are you rubbing your chest?”
I blinked. I hadn’t noticed until he mentioned it. “It hurts to breathe. It burns.” My eyes watered, and I sniffed as I watched the EMTs work on Uncle.
Both of Chay’s hands were on top of his head. His dark hair was spiky from the rain. His skin was cold and drained of color. Only his eyes were sharp, watching everything. His gaze never left his uncle and the paramedic squeezing air down to his lungs. “Has the vision changed?”
“Yes.” I didn’t say anything else, and Chay didn’t ask for details. I was thankful because although the vision had changed, I wasn’t sure if it was for the better.
My lungs are burning. A hospital bed. Beeping. Doctors and nurses work on Uncle. Heart monitor. My heart skips a beat, a stab of pain sizzles through my chest, stealing my breath.
I tried to keep my eyes open as the images scrolled through my mind, not wanting Chay to know I was seeing them. I didn’t know what they meant, and I didn’t want to upset him more than he already was.
Chay sitting on a bench. His head in his hands. Shoulders slumped.
“We’re taking him to St. Mary’s,” an EMT yelled, climbing into the ambulance. It sped away, sirens blaring.
“C’mon.” We got into Chay’s car, speeding to keep up.
“Chay, slow down. Uncle wouldn’t want you to get in an accident.”
Chay’s foot eased off the gas pedal, and he rubbed the back of his head. “I need to get there and make sure he’s okay.”
I grazed the backs of my fingers over his cheekbone. “I know. Me too.” I held up my phone. “I’m going to call our parents.”
Chay nodded absently. He was silent the rest of the drive.
***
The hospital smelled like disinfectant and sickness. I hated the smell. The walls were painted a muted sage, and the floors carpeted in beige. A vase of flowers sat on a small table. A painting of a flower-lined creek hung on the wall behind it. It was all very pretty, but it didn’t change where we were—a hospital ER waiting room. The place people waited to hear if their loved one was… well, a place people didn’t want to be.