I suck in ragged breaths of air, trying to focus on my lungs' rhythmic expansion and contraction, not the thoughts crowding the outskirts of my head.

In and out. In and out.

Why is he dead?

An officer sits beside me on the bench in the foyer, while other police officers and forensics teams swarm inside the auditorium. She wears a kind expression as she tries to find out what happened.

"Did you hear anything when you were walking to the auditorium?" Officer Lui asks.

I slowly shake my head. Another tear escapes my eye. "I don't think so."

"Okay. That's okay."

"I'm sorry."

"Just tell us what you can." Officer Lui jots a few words down on her notepad before looking up.

She doesn't know what I'm really apologizing for, what I think I should be sorry for.

Anxiety closes around me. His life drained when I walked in. He was alive, heart pumping, energy in his veins.

Then, in a flash, it was gone.

"Do you know if there were any other students in the school?" Officer Lui asks, jolting my attention to her. "In the library, the halls, or on the stairs."

I shake my head again. "No. I-I didn't see any."

The steady clicking of shoes approaches, and I look up to see a male officer approaching. He's been walking between me and the auditorium, asking questions every now and then.

"How are you doing, Madelyn?" He bends down so that his light brown eyes are level with mine.

"I'm..."

His life drained when I walked in.

Tears roll down my cheeks, and Officer Lui, nudges the tissue box on the bench toward me. The flimsy paper shakes in my hands as I dab my eyes with it. My fingers tighten around it.

Stop it. Not here. Not now.

It takes every bit of my strength to push the anxiety down. It's only temporary relief. When I get home, I know it will explode. But that's better than exploding here.

The male officer rubs his graying mustache. "I just talked to your principal. She informed me of your... unique situation."

He knows I'm abnormal, messed up. He can probably guess what kind of effect this will have on me. Perhaps he's wondering how long it will take for me to fall to pieces.

I'm wondering the same thing. I feel like a puzzle that's been cut into pieces that don't quite align, ready to be scattered and never reassembled. Will I be able to make it home, or will I make a spectacle here, in public?

My fists tighten. Not here. Not now.

The thoughts still try to consume, though.

What have I just witnessed? Why was he dead?

Was he dead? The boy, Evan Barnes, I've learned, is certainly dead now. But was he dead when I walked in? I sensed a human presence, felt a life snuffed out.

I felt the life of a human pass away.

Somehow, that sensation — the knowledge of what that sensation feels like — is the most terrifying part. He was alive before I entered the auditorium.

He died in my presence.

But what exactly does that mean? What have I done?

My eyes zero in on my hands.

What have I done?

"Madelyn?"

I snap back to attention. The male officer clears his throat.

"Your mom is on her way, but is there anyone else we need to call?"

I glance between the two officers. Then it clicks into place.

Amber.

My therapist is probably in an appointment right now. As much as I want to call her, process things with her, it's probably best for me to just go home.

I shake my head.

"Alright. Let us know if you need anything." The male officer stands just as the doors to the school swing open, and Mom runs across the room, heels pounding the tile.

The sound is far too spindly and sharp. It splits my head in two, worsening the headache that strains my temples.

"Are you okay?" Mom asks. She sits beside me and flings her arms around me. She holds me tight, a promise that she won't abandon me.

We'll get through this together, whatever this is.

Unless I don't make it through. Unless this is all my fault.

He died when I walked in. I felt it. I felt his life end.

"I came as soon as I could," Mom says. "What happened? Something about—" Mom stops, glancing between me and the officers.

"Mom," I croak. I swallow. "There was... someone..." I break off. My throat swells so that no more words can escape. If I force myself to talk more, I might shatter.

"May I speak with you for a moment, Mrs. Filmore?" the male officer asks. Mom walks with him toward the auditorium. After they've exchanged words, Mom peers inside, and her eyes widen. She nods at the officer's continued words, then returns to me, her features schooled.

"Officer Arbor says we can leave now," Mom says. She holds out her hand, and I latch onto it. I try to feel security in her grasp, but when I leave the school, there's a growing dread in the pit of my stomach.

Reality smacks me in the face. It's the feeling of pavement under my sneakers, wind in my hair, the hint of fumes that laces the air, the flashing lights from all the police cars parked in the carpool lane, the officers hurrying in and out. The walk to the car forces me to contend with the present. For the first time, the event I witnessed feels real, as real as the pavement and the wind. A fresh wave of panic consumes me.

Was it a suicide? I heard the officers whispering the word, though no one formally declared anything. But why in such an awful manner, in such a public place?

The other possibility deepens the pit of dread in my gut.

If Evan Barnes was murdered, who did it?

And why did he die when I entered the room?

***

The house is silent when I enter. It unsettles me to have nothing drowning out my thoughts. Surely and steadily, they are dragging me into a black hole, never to resurface again. At least the car engine hummed during the drive back, but not even the AC unit grumbles right now.

Not even the AC unit tries to save me from myself.

I stagger to my room, using the banister to pull myself upward. My feet catch on stair after stairs, and wood chafes my palm. I grit my teeth against the sensation. Though it stings, it forces me to be in the present, if only on the fringes of it, opposed to trapped in my skull.

The present or my head. Neither option is great; that's why I shuffle between the two of them. If the present can dampen my paranoia, I ground myself. If I can find a peaceful corner somewhere in my mind, I'll dwell there until doubts chase me back into terror.

I shut my door once in my room and fling myself onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow. My breaths quicken their tempo, faster and faster, in and out, in and out, until...

The screams start.

It tears through my throat, a ravaging sound of pure terror. I roll over so it isn't muffled. It will only make me scream louder until my voice is heard. More, high-pitched cries split the air. It's the only way for me to cope, to release the crippling fear bottled inside.

Not your fault. This isn't your fault.

He died when you walked in the room.

Another scream. It lasts longer, louder, trying to overshadow the deafening thought.

He died when you walked in the room.

He died. You.

He died because of you.

Another scream rips free. I pause, gasping for air, hiccuping on torrential sobs that rack my body. Then one more scream, loud, high, and long.

One second. Two. Three.

I lose count. All I know is it saps all the breath inside me, and when I have screamed my last, when there is no more I can physically pour out, my voice fades, my lips close.

The walls whisper the sound around me, as if trying to figure out what upset me. I just pant, chest heaving up and down. I roll onto my back and cover my eyes with my arm. Exhaustion softens my muscles, and I just want to melt into my comforters, into a realm of dreams.

I need to escape this nightmare.

Slowly, one by one, the thoughts filter back in. I cannot outrun them, nor outscream them. There's more trapped inside, I can feel the dread closing back in, squeezing the life out of me. But I can't get them out. My throat feels like it's been rubbed raw. So I roll over, peering over the side of my bed. My phone is on the floor, just barely in reach, and I grasp for it. I jab a pair of earbuds into the top while my thumb scrolls through my playlists. The one I'm looking for is at the very bottom, named just with a single dot.

I could never name this playlist. It's for those times when I can't bear to think anymore, when life is too much of a nightmare. My thumb presses the volume to full, and then I lie back on my bed as heavy metal blasts my eardrums.

Fatigue washes through me. My eyelids droop, darkness enveloping me. Soon, the present moment finally fades away.