I bet you thought I was dead, didn't you? Well, no such luck. If you're still around, here's your reward for having more dedication than me: a third installment. I'm sorry if it sucks, I wrote it in about an hour while quite sleepy but buzzing with creativity for some reason. I hope there aren't many typos or anything, if there are, please excuse—it's late.

Here's my paltry excuse for not updating: school and sports own my life. But you have no idea how happy it makes me to check my email and find the odd review there, someone reminding me that they like what I wrote and actually care to know what happens next…so thank you, all. (:

Enough sentimental babbling. Oh, but Nissanchild, I learned this stuff about OD'ing like any good naïve author can…research. Haha, I wish there was a more interesting explanation, but there you go.

Sorry for the stupidly long a/n,

Sienna

(email me: siennar79 at yahoo dot com)

"YOU CALLED THEM!"

Zack winced, unable to bear Freddy's accusatory tone. He made it sound like Zack had betrayed him, betrayed Katie.

Of course, to Freddy, he had.

The EMTs—there were four of them—swarmed around Katie, who lay motionless on the couch. They were dressed in white uniforms; they poked and probed in an efficient, authoritative manner. One was reading off symptoms, the same ones Zack had relayed to the dispatcher only minutes ago. Stunned and hurt, Freddy found himself pushed out of the way.

"Listen, Freddy, it's for her own good—" Zack began placating.

"Her own good!" Freddy repeated.

"I know it's not what you—"

"What the hell do you know about what's good for her!"

"MORE THAN YOU DO!"

Both were shocked by the volume and intensity of Zack's reply. They stared at each other, chests heaving. Only the EMTs continued unaffected.

"You don't know shit, man."

"I know my friend is hurt. I know that when someone is hurt, you get them help."

Freddy shook his head slowly. "No. You don't know jack shit."

"At least I did something—"

"You did something all right, you fucked it all—"

"HEY!" Zack yelled again. "I don't want to be the reason Katie dies, okay?"

It was like he had punched Freddy in the nose, except there was no physical movement, no blood, and no treatable wound. His friend exhaled, as a tremor passed through his sleep-deprived body. Compared to Zack, Freddy and Katie looked like shells, dry shriveled husks of human beings. When did this happen? Zack asked himself in that moment of quiet. When did those circles under his eyes get so deep?

"Katie Brown, age sixteen, approximately 130 pounds, correct?" The blonde EMT spoke in a clipped tone.

They hesitated.

"Yeah," Freddy said finally.

"What are your relations to the patient?"

"Friend," said Zack immediately, but Freddy seemed to choke. What word was there for him? Her destructor, her corruptor, her poison, her downfall….

The lady EMT seemed not to notice Freddy's lack of response. They were loading Katie onto a stretcher, and his eyes followed her form hungrily as they moved her from sight.

"Dispatch said you were unaware as to what happened to Miss Brown?"

"Yeah," Zack said, answering for them both again.

"She's in critical condition," said the EMT, skillfully not answering the question she herself had raised. "Would one of you accompany us to the hospital, please?"

"I'll go," said Freddy.

She nodded. A check over her shoulder confirmed that the ambulance was ready. "We'll keep you informed, Mr. Mooneyham. Thank you."

"No problem," Zack said halfheartedly as the two disappeared out the doorway. Freddy looked back for only a second, a second long enough to portray a hundred emotions: anger, hate, pain, confusion, guilt.

Zack sat down on the couch, not bothering to close his front door. His hands were shaking. And he was crying, apparently. His body did these things without his consent.

"God," he found himself whispering. He wasn't religious, his time in church included only Christmas and Easter and the occasional mandatory baptism. But now he thought of his friends—one physically dying, the other spiritually dead. And he just said, "God, please."

On a bright Saturday morning, just before his breakfast of Fruity Pebbles, Zack's entire world had been thrown into a wood chipper.

The ambulance's siren resounded in the cramped room in back. Freddy felt his stomach swerve dangerously with every turn. He felt his pulse quicken with every breath, until he was certain he would have a heart attack and the EMTs would have two emergencies on their hands.

But he couldn't do that, they had to pay attention to Katie. He willed his pulse to still and hers to speed up.

One woman turned over Katie's arm, looking for a place to put the IV. She stopped, blinked, and tugged on the sleeve of her assistant, drawing his attention to the tiny bruises on the inside of her elbow.

"She was injecting," the woman said, jabbing the IV into a vein on Katie's hand instead. Freddy winced.

"No point in using gastric lavage, then," said the man. He put away the tube he had been unwinding.

They both looked at Freddy cautiously before returning to their work. They seemed unwilling to speak in front of him, to give him the information he so craved. Was her pulse stronger? Was she breathing more deeply? Would she be all right?

It's payback, fucker, he thought. You didn't tell them what was wrong with her, so they won't tell you what's right.

At least Zack let him be the one to ride with her to the hospital. In hindsight, Freddy wished he had made Zack come along. Not that he wanted the emotional support of a friend, but he realized he didn't trust Zack anymore—he was probably calling Katie's parents this very second. It was over. He was screwed.

Soon, everyone would know.

And then?

And then what?

And then I leave.

He stared at the girl lying on a stretcher, white skin swathed in white sheets. Vomit rose in his mouth and then settled back down. He had just thought of the answer, as much as he didn't like it, it was the only way to put things right and make them fair

it had to be fair

he couldn't punish himself enough if she

if she

Freddy covered her small, calloused fingers with his big clumsy hands. The EMTs worked around him, unwilling to give him the slightest eye contact.

He didn't realize he was speaking out loud until he finished.

"I'm here, I'm with you, I'm by your side like…like in a bad song…it's stupid but it's true, Katie, and I won't leave…ever…I'm going with you, do you hear me? Anywhere. Anywhere."

Katie's hand jerked, and for a moment he thought she moved, but no. An EMT had stabbed her arm with a hypodermic needle, and was now propelling its contents into her polluted bloodstream.

"What is that," Freddy managed to ask, his mouth dry.

The technician looked startled. "Naloxone," he answered.

Freddy nodded like he knew what that meant. "It'll make her better," he said.

"It should help."

He kept nodding for a moment. This Noxalone, or whatever it was, would make everything better, he told himself…but the message didn't reach him completely. In his mind, he had already resigned himself to a terrible fate, the only one, he was convinced, that he deserved.

If Katie died, so would Freddy.