Chapter Eighteen

"Lucifer!" she cried, clinging tight to his arm in an attempt to stop his fall.

Instead, she only managed to slow his momentum slightly as his weight carried them both to the floor. Chloe's elbow smashed into the concrete so hard that for an instant, she could think of nothing but the fiery burst of pain. She moaned as glowing red and orange splotches splattered across her vision, consuming her view of the dim warehouse. Half a second later, her vision began to clear just in time to see an arm flying toward her face.

Chloe turned her head, but not fast enough. Lucifer's hand whacked against her lower jaw, snapping it shut with an audible clack. Salty blood flowed across her tongue. Shock and confusion screamed through her system, temporarily paralyzing her. Then another limb swung at her, and Chloe jolted back into action, scrambling away from her partner and his inexplicable assault.

By the time she'd put a few feet between them, her vision and brain had cleared enough to see Lucifer lying there, his back arched painfully off the floor, his long, usually-elegant arms and legs now twitching and jerking out of his control. Blood ran freely from a nasty gash on his forehead, disappearing into his hairline in bright red trickles. Horror and bile rose in Chloe's throat, mixing with the taste of blood. She fought the instinct to crawl back over and wrap her arms around him, to pin him down and stop his awful failing.

It wouldn't do Lucifer any good, and she might get hurt worse in the process. Instead, Chloe struggled to her feet and clawed through the dusty files in the back of her brain, desperately trying to remember what her first aid training said about seizures.

Stay away from the person. She was already doing that. Even though every second of leaving him to suffer alone was killing her.

Remove any objects from the area that might injure the person. Sparks flew as Chloe grabbed the end of the bench and hauled it backwards, until it was safely out of his reach. The oxygen tank was still within range of Lucifer's jumping limbs, but Chloe didn't dare take that away. He could live with the bruises if he hit the canister. He couldn't live without air.

Wasn't she supposed to put a belt or a wallet in his mouth? No, that was outdated information. The training said don't do that anymore. And she didn't have a wallet anyway.

Down on the floor, Lucifer's twisted torture continued, like he had invisible chains on his wrists and ankles, and some cruel force kept jerking them out of spite.

Chloe realized she was hyperventilating and made herself slow down. Made herself think. Most seizures stopped on their own. Most seizures stopped quickly. This one wasn't stopping. It was either a progression of his symptoms, which she couldn't do anything about, or it was because his fever had gotten too high. Which she could do something about. Maybe.

Chloe spied the blue of the ice pack he'd been wearing lying on the floor near his hip. She darted in to retrieve it. The pack was warm and squishy. Completely useless.

Chloe threw it aside and yelled up at the speakers on the ceiling, "Bethany, we need more ice!"

Echoing silence was the only response.

Snarling, Chloe ran to the bathroom and started grabbing paper towels. Only two came out of the dispenser. She dug her hand up into the apparatus, but it was empty, so she dashed out to grab Lucifer's jacket and thrust it under the gushing faucet instead. Water rained from the sodden garment as she ran back into the warehouse. Chloe threw the jacket over Lucifer's abdomen, where it landed with a splat.

Her eyes raked the scene, snagging on a large collection of empty sports bottles and energy drink cans. Chloe gathered as many of the bottles as she could, sprinted to the bathroom to fill them, then ran back out to Lucifer.

She unapologetically doused him with the icy water, splashing it all over him like she was performing an exorcism. When she'd emptied the bottles, Chloe dashed away to refill them. After several trips, she was panting so hard the air burned in her lungs and a knife jabbed her side with every breath. Soon, Lucifer's clothes were utterly soaked, making wet flapping noises as he continued to shake.

Chloe kept going. A large, dark water puddle began to stain the concrete around him, spreading up from his shoulders like a black halo. Finally, when Lucifer's sodden hair was sculpted smoothly against his scalp like a Ken doll, the tremors gripping him seemed to lessen.

At first, she was afraid she was imagining it. After another minute, though, he gave a few last feeble twitches, then lay still. Water dripped off him from a million places to join the shiny pool around him, the plops sounding over-loud in the aftermath of his seizure. Fresh blood flowed from the cut on his forehead, running down across his temple in watery, diluted trickles. Chloe dropped the empty bottles she'd been on her way to refill, letting them bounce away across the floor as she raced over to Lucifer with the first aid kit.

Frigid water soaked through her pant-legs as she knelt beside him. His skin was clammy and dead-feeling as Chloe pressed her fingers hard against the side of his throat, searching for a pulse. Lucifer's heartbeat thundered reassuringly against her fingertips.

Chloe sat back, letting a shudder of relief run through her before leaning forward to tend to his head wound. She'd just begun clean it with an alcohol swab when she paused, a trickle of cold unease entering her bloodstream.

Lucifer was lying very still.

Too still.

She stared at his chest, waiting for it to rise in harmony with his thumping heart. Seconds ticked by. Ten, fifteen, twenty. Lucifer's pulse pounded visibly in his neck, vibrating the water droplets clinging to his skin, but he had yet to take a breath. Chloe realized she was holding her breath, too.

She shook his shoulder urgently. "Lucifer, wake up! I need you to breathe!"

He just lay there in the water, limp and lifeless.

She slapped his face with almost vicious force and yelled his name right in his ear. Nothing. Chloe hovered over him, paralyzed by indecision. Were you supposed to do CPR on a person who still had a pulse? Would that help him or just hurt him worse?

What if she messed up his heart by thrusting down on his chest? What if she made it stop beating?

She caught sight of his lips turning blue under the mask and fresh panic tore through her. She had to risk it. If he didn't get air soon, his heart would stop anyway. Chloe pulled the mask off his face. Cold droplets flew from Lucifer's wet hair as the elastic band raked through it. The water pelted her cheeks like rain as she tossed the mask aside. She tilted Lucifer's head back and pinched his nose shut, preparing to breathe into his mouth.

Lucifer's chest hitched as he suddenly drew in a loud, rattling gasp on his own. Chloe pulled back, releasing his nose. She waited, heart pounding. He gasped again. It was an awful, fluid-crackling sound, but still infinitely better than the silence of him not breathing at all. Chloe thrust the mask back on and carefully rolled him onto his side in what she vaguely recalled as a "recovery position." She stroked a hand through his water- and blood-soaked hair, crooning shaky words of encouragement.

"That's it, Lucifer, just keep breathing. You're doing great."

It wasn't true, though. Despite his continued gasping, his lips grew bluer by the minute. Even with the oxygen turned as high as it would go, he just wasn't getting enough air. The slow suffocation Lucifer had been fighting against for hours had finally caught up to him.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the certainty of what she knew in her heart was happening. Two hot tears slipped down her cheeks. Crystal droplets glistened on her lashes as she opened her eyes again, looking down at her partner, the bruised color of his lips slowly spreading out around his mouth.

For her sake, he was still gasping, still fighting.

But he was losing.

He was dying.