Chapter 4

"Who called an ambulance?"

My dad set his paper plate down and hurried toward the parking lot, intercepting the paramedics as they stepped out of the vehicle.

Two paramedics in neon yellow vests, carrying a trauma kit and a gurney, were preparing to head toward the tower.

My dad stepped directly in front of them, arms outstretched.

"Excuse me, there’s been a mistake. No one is hurt here."

The lead paramedic looked at him.

"We received a 911 dispatch for an unresponsive male at the bungee tower. Unconscious for over twenty minutes."

"No, no, it's just a young man who got scared and fainted. The instructor is up there taking care of him," my dad said, lowering his voice as he cast a nervous glance back at Mr. Vance.

"Please, you can leave. It’s better if we don't cause a scene."

When he said "scene," his eyes locked onto Mr. Vance.

Mr. Vance had stood up. Holding his iced coffee, he walked over, his brow furrowed.

The paramedics didn't budge.

"Sir, since we've been dispatched, we are legally required to evaluate the patient. It's protocol."

"There's no need for protocol—"

"Let them go up and check," Mr. Vance’s voice cut in from behind.

He walked up next to my dad and patted his shoulder.

"Richard, just in case. Let them take a look so we can all relax."

My dad's jaw twitched.

He wanted to argue, but meeting Mr. Vance's eyes, the words died in his throat.

"...Alright. Thank you for your time, officers."

The paramedics grabbed their gear and rushed up the wooden stairs of the tower.

Caleb was leaning against the railing, still chewing on a toothpick. When he saw the neon vests emerge from the stairwell, his face went completely white.

"Hey, guys. Who called? The kid just fainted. He just needs a few minutes."

They ignored him.

The lead paramedic knelt beside me, lifting my eyelid to shine a penlight.

The pupil was dilated and fixed.

He switched to the other eye.

The same.

He pressed his stethoscope against my chest. He tilted his head, listening for five agonizing seconds.

Then, he removed it.

He placed two fingers on my carotid artery, pressing down for three seconds.

Then, he let go.

He looked up at Caleb.

"How long has he been unresponsive?"

"About... thirty, forty minutes?" Caleb’s voice was barely a squeak, his eyes darting around.

"And you told people he just fainted?"

"Yeah, he just got sca—"

"His pupils are dilated, there's no respiration, no pulse, and his core temperature is already dropping. This isn't a faint."

The paramedic stood up, his voice cold as ice.

"He's dead."

The toothpick fell from Caleb's mouth.

"No... that’s impossible. I was just splashing water on him. He’s just out."

"He’s been dead for at least thirty minutes. Cardiac arrest. He is way past the resuscitation window."

The paramedic keyed his radio.

"Dispatch, this is Medic 4 at the state park bungee tower. We have a male patient, approximately twenty-two years old, cold and unresponsive. Dilated pupils, flatlined, no respiration. Pronounced dead at the scene. Apparent sudden cardiac arrest. Requesting local PD and the coroner."

The radio crackled twice.

"Copy that, Medic 4. Police dispatching."

Caleb slid down the wooden railing, his legs giving out entirely as he slumped onto the deck.

Below, my dad was still chatting with Mr. Vance by the parking lot.

He hadn't gone up the tower. He hadn't looked up once.

He didn't know.

He had no idea.

The paramedic walked to the edge of the platform and looked down.

"Is the family of the deceased down there?"

His voice wasn't loud, but in the sudden quiet of the clearing, it carried perfectly.

Several coworkers froze, their hands hovering over their plates.

The word "deceased" hit the group like a stone dropped into a still pond.

A few turned their heads slowly toward my dad.

My dad was busy refilling Mr. Vance’s water cup.

He didn't hear.

Or maybe he did, but his brain refused to connect the word to himself.

Chloe was the quickest to react. She put her phone away, walked to the base of the tower, and yelled up.

"Who are you talking about? Didn't you guys say he just fainted?"

The paramedic didn't answer her.

He spoke into his radio again.

"Requesting immediate family to the tower for identification."

Chloe's expression shifted.

She bit her lip, jogged over to my dad, and tugged on his sleeve.

"Mr. Miller... the medics want you to go up."

My dad set the pitcher down, his brow furrowing.

"Go up? For what? They said he was fine."

"They said..." Chloe hesitated.

She glanced at her father, then swallowed her words, changing her tone.

"Maybe they just need you to sign some paperwork. You know, for protocol."

My dad sighed, looking back at Mr. Vance.

"Mr. Vance, I’ll be right back."

Mr. Vance nodded silently.

As my dad walked toward the wooden stairs, his pace was slow.

Step by step, his leather dress shoes clacked against the wood.

He still thought it was just paperwork.

He didn't know that what was waiting for him at the top of that tower wasn't a form to sign.

It was his son's corpse.

I floated above him, watching him climb.

The wind swept up from the canyon, rustling the hem of his blazer.

He had bought that blazer specifically for this retreat. Mr. Vance’s secretary had leaked that the CEO preferred "smart casual" attire.

He reached the top deck. He saw Caleb shivering in the corner, the two paramedics standing solemn, and me.

I was lying flat on the wooden deck.

My face was pointed toward the sky, my lips a deep purple, dry tear stains marking my cheeks.

My eyes were half-open, showing only the whites.

He stopped.

"Ethan?"

His voice was soft, carrying a desperate, fragile hope he didn't even realize he had.

No one answered.

He threw himself down, kneeling beside me, reaching out to touch my face.

It was freezing.

"Ethan, what's wrong? Talk to me!"

He cradled my head, trying to make me look at him.

My neck rolled limply to the side, my head heavy against his arm.

Like a doll with its stuffing ripped out.

My dad gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging into my shirt.

He spun around to face the paramedics, his eyes wild with confusion.

"What is this? He just fainted! Why aren't you giving him CPR? Do something!"

The paramedic looked at him, waiting a beat before speaking.

"Sir, are you his father?"

"Yes! I am! Save him! Please!"

"I'm sorry."

The paramedic’s voice was slow and deliberate, as if trying to cushion the blow of a sledgehammer.

"He had no vital signs when we arrived. No pulse, no respiration, pupils dilated. It appears to be sudden cardiac arrest."

"He has been gone for over thirty minutes. There is nothing we can do."

My dad stared at him, his mouth open, waiting for the "but." Waiting for the turn.

Waiting for them to say, "But if we get him to the hospital, there’s still a chance."

Nothing came.

"Sir, I am so sorry for your loss."

My dad's face drained of color, turning a sickly, papery white.