HANNAH
Nate Sky talked me through the worst night of my life—a night I have convinced myself I deserved. Didn’t Matt and I play with death once? We did. I lied and pretended; he wore it like a cheap Halloween mask.
Now it had come to collect.
“Sit down somewhere,” Nate said. “You stay on the phone. Matt might be in trouble. Listen and do what I say—it’s important.”
Then he explained that Seth’s heart had stopped.
“He was found in his hotel room. He was partying all weekend.”
“Where is he now?”
“Hannah. He’s gone.”
“Okay,” I said. But it wasn’t okay. But it had to be okay. Now I understood. My mind began to spin at the speed of panic. “You told Matt?”
“Yes. Are you sure he isn’t in the house?”
“Pretty positive. I’ll check right now.” I was already on my feet, running. I flicked on lights as I went. Flash, flash, flash. That huge house lit up room by room. Would I find Matt curled in a corner? Sprawled on the floor?
Gruesome images intruded.
“Get your cell and his. Keep them with you. Call nine-one-one.”
I started to shake—call 911?—and forced myself to be still.
“What do I say? Are you sure?”
“Yes. This is an emergency. I’m not sure if you…” He trailed off, then started over. “Tell them your fiancé just received news of his brother’s death and has gone missing. Give them the timeline. Tell them there’s a history of suicide attempt.”
Again, the shaking.
Again, I made myself relax.
“Okay. Calling now. I’ll call from my cell. Be right back.”
I dialed 911, which I had never done before, and after a series of quick questions, the dispatcher told me police and EMS were on the way. She instructed me to remain calm and double-checked my address. “Do not leave the residence,” she said. When she told me I could hang up, I ended the call robotically.
“Thank you, Hannah,” said Nate. “Are you okay?”
“Uh … no, yes…” I touched my chest and forehead. I couldn’t actually tell if I was okay. My mind kept spinning, spinning—this is an emergency, Seth’s heart stopped, Matt might be in trouble, I need you to stay calm.
This was not a dream.
Despite the dispatcher’s instructions, I walked around outside the house while I waited for the police. I called for Matt every few minutes. Chilly wind billowed through the meadow.
“The suicide attempt,” I said to Nate. “Tell me about it.”
“You didn’t know?”
“I read about it online—last year, when Bethany outed him. Fit to Print published a bunch of stuff.” Fear suppressed any embarrassment I might have felt. I spoke in a too-calm, measured voice, covering the receiver and lowering the phone when I hollered Matt’s name. “The article wasn’t detailed. It mentioned a psych ward…”
“Right. If—when we find him, we might want to move him for a while.”
Move him. Code for “have him committed.”
Over my dead body.
“Tell me what happened. We never talked about it.” But we should have, I realized. I should have pushed Matt to tell me about his past instead of ignoring it or waiting for him to mention it. As if he ever would.
“There isn’t much to tell. He…” Nate’s confident tone wavered. “Our parents’ passing … he never dealt with that. Emotionally. Psychologically. The drinking didn’t help. He was in grad school, and … tried to overdose. He left a note.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Nate, I’m so sorry about—”
“Please. I’m not ready to discuss that.”