You Owe Me a Murder(62)

“Do you see my Epi?” He wheezed, struggling back upright, dumping the contents of his backpack onto the table in front of him.

“Wait, what?”

“There must have been some shrimp—?” He sucked in air, the cords on his neck standing out.

I jumped up, searching for the bright orange and blue capped pen in the pile of items, tossing things onto the floor. The EpiPen wasn’t there. “You always have it with you!” I cried.

Alex’s eyes were wide as he struggled to breathe. His fingers kept picking through the remaining items on the table.

“Is there problem?” the waitress said, coming over.

“Call nine-one-one!” I yelled.

“Nine what?”

Shit! What was the emergency number here? Alex was no longer digging through his stuff. Instead he was bent over, sucking in air with tiny squeaks.

“Call an ambulance,” I begged. I knelt at his side and did a quick sweep of the ground beneath us in case we’d somehow missed the pen, but it wasn’t there. I grabbed his sleeve. “Do you have a spare one in your room?”

Alex nodded. He didn’t have air left to say anything.

I was already standing. “I’m going to go get it. They’re getting help. Hang on.”

The cook came out of the kitchen and the waitress brought Alex a glass of water, her hand shaking. “I call for help,” she said.

“Stay with him. I’m going to get his medicine.” I didn’t wait for an answer and instead hit the push bar on the door, ripping free the tiny brass bell that had been suspended above it, before flying out onto the street. I heard the bell bounce down on the ground with a clang. I ran as fast as I could. My ears were on high alert listening for the sound of a siren, but all I could see was traffic filling the streets. How would an ambulance even get through? It was only half a block to the residence, but it felt like a mile.

I took the steps to Metford House two at a time and slammed into the lobby. “I need the key to room four-fifty!” I shouted at the clerk. “I need to find his medicine now!”

The guy working the desk locked up for a split second, but then jumped up and grabbed a set of master keys off the giant board behind him and tossed them to me.

“Get Tasha!” I yelled behind me as I bounded up the steps. My heart slammed into my ribs and I was also having a hard time breathing. How the hell had the restaurant screwed up? He’d told them! They knew!

My hands were shaking so badly it took me three tries to get the key into the lock. I swung the door open. His room was laid out the same as mine. I was never so glad for a small space. I leaped over to the desk first, fishing through the stuff on top. A couple paperbacks, an iPad, a few candy bars, but no EpiPen.

I picked up the plastic bucket we all used for our bathroom supplies and dumped it onto the bed. Shampoo, deodorant, a razor, soap, but no pen. The smell of his after-shave filled my head.

I swept his clothes off the shelf above the hooks on the wall, boxer shorts and T-shirts and jeans raining down. I kicked through the clothes, but the Epi wasn’t there, either.

“What’s going on?” Jamal said from the door, looking at me and the destruction I’d made in such a short period of time.

I spun around in circles, trying to think where else Alex could keep his medicine in such a small room. I was panting. I dropped to my knees and looked under the bed. His luggage was there. I yanked on the handle but the suitcase was wedged tight.

“C’mon!” I yelled, pulling on it. How much time had gone by? I hadn’t heard an ambulance siren yet, but it was possible I’d missed it. The suitcase came out with a pop and I stumbled back. I unzipped the main compartment, but it was empty.

“Are you supposed to be in Alex’s room?” Jamal asked.

I ignored him and went through the suitcase’s pockets. In the zippered section on the side I felt something. I pulled it out and started crying. I held the EpiPen aloft as if it were an Olympic torch and then ran back out, pushing past the knot of people who had gathered by the door.

The clerk called out something as I bolted through the lobby, but I didn’t bother to pause to ask him to repeat it. My foot slid on the top outside step and I landed hard on my ass, bumping down two steps and slamming my elbow into the railing before coming to a stop. I yelped in pain, but I didn’t let go of the pen—?it felt as if it were welded to my flesh. I pushed myself up and pelted back to the restaurant. My tailbone was screaming and I could feel blood dripping from my elbow and skinned hands. I must have looked crazed, because people skittered out of my way.

There was an ambulance parked in front. Oh, thank god. I yanked open the door to the restaurant. “I got, I got—?” I wheezed, holding up the pen.

The two paramedics were already standing, lifting the gurney with Alex on it. The wheels underneath clicked into place and they started to roll toward me. I could see he’d thrown up on the floor. My entire body started shaking. The tables had been pushed to the side and a cluster of customers stood by the fish tank in the corner.

The paramedics noticed me standing there. “We’ve already given him a shot,” one said to me. Alex’s lips were blue and his eyes weren’t open. His face looked swollen and the paramedics had snaked a tube into his mouth. His backpack and its scattered contents were on the gurney next to his feet. I held the door open as the other paramedic spoke into a walkie-talkie attached to his shirt. “We’ve got an anaphylactic,” he said.