When we were kids and Shawn decided to jump off his roof strapped to an old, flimsy blanket, he had ended up in the Emergency Room with a broken arm. While we were sitting there, waiting for the doctors to set it and for Henry to stop lecturing us about making responsible decisions, he had jabbed me with his good elbow.

"Why'd you let me do it?" he groaned, his broken arm hanging limply by his side.

"I didn't!" I argued, my stomach lurching. I wanted to look away from the sight, but I couldn't. "I told you it was stupid!"

"Well, next time don't let me jump!"

"I won't," I promised.

And I meant it.

As long as I lived, I never wanted to see him jump again…never wanted to hear the dull, horrible thud as he hit the ground…

Of course, two days later he had completely forgotten about the pain. He had completely forgotten about my promise.

But I never forgot.

For some reason, that was all I could think about as I stared down at the body on the ground in front of me. I just kept hearing Shawn's voice, full of pain and pleading…

"Next time, don't let me jump…"

Next to me, both Henry and Juliet had stopped breathing as the paramedics worked. It had only taken us fifteen minutes to find the place in the woods where the kid had dumped the smashed Impala and Shawn's body.

Once he started telling the truth, it only took Mike two minutes to tell Juliet everything. She just sat there, silently listening as he described every detail of running my best friend over and disposing of all the evidence. They didn't have a choice, Mike kept saying. They didn't have a choice. It was just an accident, but he and his fiend couldn't go to jail for drunk driving, couldn't explain the smashed car to his dad…so they just dumped Shawn and walked away and were never going to look back.

Like it never happened.

I could feel my stomach lurching again as the paramedics grew more frantic. Shawn's helmet had been removed by the kids, so I could see his pale, ashen face as he lay unmoving in the dirt facing the clear blue sky above. His eyes were closed, his lips parted slightly. There wasn't a mark on his body, but the first thing the paramedics had said when we arrived at the scene was that all his ribs were broken and his lungs were probably collapsing. His chest wasn't rising or falling, at least as far as I could tell.

They wouldn't let any of us get close enough to see for sure.

After less than ten seconds, the first paramedic looked up at the other one. Even before he spoke, I knew what he was going to say. I put my hands to my ears, trying to block out the sentence I knew was coming. I closed my eyes, wanting to throw up, wanting to scream, wanting this to all just be a bad dream.

But it didn't matter what I did.

I could still hear the voice, cutting through my denial like a knife.

"I can't find a pulse."