In the interim, between the cops coming in and Bullsen’s crew evacuating, I set myself up to do chest compressions. The zip tie bit into my skin as I tried to replicate the position I knew my hands needed to be in. I pressed down and the air expelled from the wound again. I looked at Endgame’s face, and I knew I’d do what I could, but he was gone. The soul inside of him was gone. The cops came in. I heard them in my periphery. They were shouting at me, and I couldn’t make sense past the chest compressions. I’d taken the CPR class so many times, but at no point did we discuss that you might be surrounded by cops with their guns drawn.

Paramedics came in next, and they pushed past the guns and took over.

“Hey, do you know what happened?”

The one nearest me carefully took over the compressions, his rhythm faster than mine had been.

“A knife. A guy named Bullsen stabbed him because he wouldn’t leave me.”

I sat back on my heels, studying my hands. My palms were covered in blood. The cops had put away their guns and a female officer came close to me.

“Hey, can we move over here while they work?” She guided me to my feet.

I staggered a little, and she was quick to support me. She must be used to people in shock. And this was shock. Time was going fast and slow. The female cop’s words slurred in my brain. She touched my bound wrists and then waved another paramedic over. I could see all the lights in the driveaway. At least two ambulances.

“What’s your name, hun?” The burly man was a hulk with a high voice.

“Taylor. And his name is Torin.” My voice sounded too quiet in all this chaos.

“Okay, listen, I want to evaluate you and I think we’re going to at the very least need some bandages on these wrists.” He was a force, this EMT. He had the warmth of a grandma and the sass of a best friend. He helped me out to the ambulance.

As I sat on the steps of the ambulance, he pulled out the things he needed from the back.

The first was a pair of long scissors, and he was careful, but I still flinched when he snipped the binding.

He handled my wrists like they were made of glass. My fingers felt like they were kindling in a fire.

“That’s the blood flowing back into your fingers, and I’m not going to shit you—it’ll hurt.” His eyes crinkled.

I looked over my left shoulder. All pain could be was pain. I was alive.

The other two paramedics had Endgame on a gurney and were wheeling him to the back of the ambulance. There was a slump in their shoulders that told me what I already knew.