Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 69
Roadside – Continued
The shard sank deeper into his skull, blood pouring freely now, soaking through his hair and down the side of his face. Somewhere beneath the pain, he felt it — something wrong inside his own head, pressure buildin in his skull, he felt his brain slammed his skull hard.
Blood dripped from his nose too.
“Ria,” he managed, barely a whisper, lips barely moving. “Won’t I see you again?”
His head fell back against the headrest, and the world went dark around him.
People came running from every direction, shouting, crowding the wreckage. The jalopy was already gone, vanished into traffic before anyone thought to chase it.
“Someone call an ambulance!”
It took several men working together, careful and frantic in equal measure, to pry the crumpled door open and ease him free.
“That’s Evan White,” someone gasped. “Oh my God, that’s Evan White—”
“Is he breathing? IS HE BREATHING?”
“He’s not moving, he’s not moving at all— He’s dead.”
The ambulance arrived minutes later, and he was loaded onto a stretcher, still bleeding, utterly motionless, his body limp in a way that made the crowd fall into horrified, grieving silence.
—
Evan’s Mansion
Ariana paced the length of the living room, arms wrapped tight around herself.
He won’t leave me, she told herself, over and over. I know he won’t. But why isn’t he calling. Why isn’t he home yet.
Her stomach churned, empty since morning, fever climbing steadily higher with every passing hour.
She turned her phone on for the hundredth time, and the first headline made her gasp aloud.
Sydney Schwartz Found Dead in Mall Shooting.
Does this have to do with him not coming home, she wondered, confusion tangling with dread. Didn’t she post that they’d spent the night together? Why was she alone at the mall?
She scrolled further, and the second headline hit her like a physical blow.
EVAN WHITE INVOLVED IN FATAL CAR CRASH.
Her whole body went rigid. Her temperature spiked instantly, a sudden, bone-deep cold seizing her despite the fever, her knees buckling beneath her.
“NO!” The scream tore out of her before she even registered opening her mouth. “No, no, NO—”
She stumbled toward the door, grabbing whatever shoes were closest without looking — two mismatched slippers — and bolted outside, nearly falling down the front steps.
“The hospital!” she screamed at the first guard she saw. “Take me to the hospital, NOW, PLEASE, HURRY—”
Tears poured down her face as the car sped out of the driveway, her whole body shaking.
Where would I even go, she thought, gripping her own knees. If he’s gone — if he’s actually gone — I’ll follow him. We promised. We promised to fight this together, to bring them all down together. He can’t leave me alone in this. He CAN’T.
She cried harder, sobs wracking through her small frame, fever and grief tangling into something unbearable.
—
Schwartz Mansion
Mr. Schwartz paced his study, phone pressed hard against his ear, voice sharp with barely restrained fury.
“Check it AGAIN,” he barked. “Recheck every camera in that mall, every street camera within a mile radius, I don’t CARE how long it takes—”
“Sir, we’ve gone through everything. There’s nothing.”
He ended the call and hurled the phone across the room, fist slamming into the wall hard enough to split his knuckles. He slid down against it slowly, pain radiating up his arm, barely registering against the far greater agony in his chest.
His only daughter. Gone.
Tears welled up before he could stop them, and he wiped them away furiously, jaw clenching.
Whoever did this, he thought, will rot. They will absolutely rot.
A knock sounded at the door. Vanessa stepped inside.
—
The Hospital
Evan had been rushed to the same hospital BJ had passed in just hours earlier, placed in a different ward entirely, surgeons already moving with urgent precision around him.
Diffuse axonal injury. Bleeding inside the skull. Pressure building dangerously from the embedded glass.
It’s complicated. But we’re going to try everything we can.
He lay connected to a tangle of tubes and monitors, eyes shut, unmoving except for the faint, involuntary wince that crossed his face every so often as his body registered pain his mind couldn’t consciously process.
—
