“Fuck her!” he roared. “And the fucking horse she rode in on, fuckin’ bitch.”
He screeched out into the deserted street and punched it, not giving a single thought to any cops hiding out nearby. The speedometer needle obliged him by caressing seventy miles an hour through darkened city streets. Without making a conscious decision, he two-wheeled it around a corner and onto the old road to Lucasville, eschewing the interstate.
Drowning his whirling thoughts with a too-loud stereo, mentally acknowledging that he shouldn’t be driving that fast on a winding two-lane road, still legally drunk, he hung his arm out the driver’s side window and sang, badly, along with Nine Inch Nails. Keeping a light touch on the wheel, he took each curve faster and faster, justifying it by claiming in his head that, for all intents and purposes, he had the route memorized. He’d driven it hundreds if not thousands of times in the past, sometimes alone, many times with his high school girlfriend.
Wild, irrational laughter burst out of his mouth, scaring him but relieving some of the tightness and stress in his spine and neck. He laughed and laughed and by the time he careened into Antony’s driveway, spitting gravel behind him, his throat and chest hurt from sobbing.
Goddamn my leg. Goddamn my focus on nothing but basketball. Goddamn Melinda, my holier-than-thou brothers, my meddling parents. Goddamn Cara for dumping me for no reason. Goddamn me.
The car made a television-worthy roar when he flew over the berm surrounding the pond, and he went Dukes-of-Hazard-style airborne for a few minutes until the car made contact with the water so hard his head bounced against the steering wheel.
Since when do I not wear a seatbelt? Dumbass. Dumbass. Dumbass...dumb....
Then everything went dark.
“Kieran! You idiot son of a bitch.”
His face stung. His neck ached. He seemed to be encased in a fish tank or some other sort of watery, claustrophobia-inducing space.
“Cut it out.” A jolt of agony sliced down his neck to his left shoulder, which had jammed against something hard. Attempting to shrink into his own skin to escape the pain, he had a flash of panic when water filled his nose and ears, making him splutter and cough.
“Grab my hand.”
He blinked, trying to sort out why in the hell he felt so cold and wet and why Antony was in the cold and wet place with him.
“Come on, dude. Ambulance is on its way. Let me get you out of here.”
“Don’t need ambulance,” he mumbled for no real reason as Antony hauled him out through the open window then let him go and he floated, serenely but for the agonizing pain in his head, neck, and shoulder. The velvety-black sky sparkled with pinpricks of light. The full moon filled a corner of his vision. Its calm, quiet perfection gave him a moment of regret as he dropped beneath the surface.
He heard a muffled curse, and then Antony lifted him under his arms and jostled him to the side of the pond. Kieran landed with a hard thud that echoed so loud he figured his great-granddads in the old country heard it. He put a shaking arm over his face.
“Cut it out.” Antony smacked it away. “Get a hold of yourself. Don’t you dare pass out you damned pussy.”
“Fuck you.” Flipping over onto his side, he groaned with pain when his shoulder got constricted then flopped onto his back again. “Fuck you. Fuck her. Fuck all y’all.”
“You can’t afford to plug Mama’s swear jar that much so shut your stupid mouth a few minutes.” Antony waved toward the house. “Over here!”
A huge wave of nausea crashed into Kieran, forcing him to lie back and shut his stupid mouth. It hurt less that way, generally speaking. His chest burned, his throat ached, and the world kept waning in and out on him. He willed it to fade and stay faded, as in for good. Shivering so hard his teeth rattled, he reached for the quiet that loomed, easing into it with a sigh.
When he woke to a blindingly white ceiling, yammering voices filled the room, pressed in on his ears, crushed his chest. He coughed then couldn’t stop coughing. A nurse pushed through the mass of humanity gathered around his bed.
“Let’s give him some space, all right folks?” she suggested in a way that came out more like an order. He didn’t care much, as long as the coughing would please, dear Lord, stop. It racked him, until his neck and shoulder sang out in pain. The scary, flailing around for a life-giving-breath sensation reminded him of the attacks he used to get as a kid.
“Do you have asthma?” The nurse studied at the screen that he assumed displayed his vital signs.
Spit dribbled out of his mouth as he tried like hell to draw a full breath. Another nurse came in wielding an implement familiar to him. She stuck one end of the plastic device into his mouth and flipped a switch. The whirring motorized sound and rubbery-plastic odor of a nebulizer filled the room. He gripped it and took deep breaths, or as deep as he could and visualized the medicine opening his bronchioles allowing life giving oxygen to enter his bloodstream. Holding onto the thing with both hands he dropped onto the pillow.