"Please, tell me," Braylon stammered, his voice raw, barely a whisper. "The body... where did you find it? What did she look like?"
The officer behind the counter, a gruff man with kind eyes, took in Braylon's disheveled state and trembling hands. "Sir, you need to calm down. Are you reporting a missing person?"
Braylon just nodded, tears welling in his eyes. He tried to speak again, but only choked sounds came out. "My girlfriend... Eliza... I left her... on the old winding road..."
The officer's demeanor softened. He called for backup, then led Braylon to a police car. "Let's go, son. We'll check it out."
The drive was a blur of terror and sickening anticipation. When they arrived, the scene was cordoned off. Forensics were already present. Braylon's heart hammered against his ribs as he was led to a covered figure. A piece of clothing, familiar in its style but not in its pattern, lay nearby.
"This isn't her," he whispered, a wave of dizzying relief washing over him. It wasn't Eliza's dress. It wasn't her. But the horrifying image of her, alone and vulnerable, still haunted him.
"Thank God," he muttered, collapsing against the police car, his legs weak. But the relief was fleeting. Where was she?
He pleaded with the officers, his voice hoarse, "Please, you have to find her! She's out there somewhere! She's hurt, I know it!"
They scoured the area, calling her name. After what felt like an eternity, a shout from one of the officers. "Over here! I found her!"
Braylon scrambled towards the voice, his heart leaping into his throat. She was lying at the bottom of a shallow embankment, curled into a fetal position, her clothes torn, her face pale and streaked with dirt. She looked small, broken.
"Eliza!" he screamed, her name a guttural cry of agony and regret. He didn't hesitate. He launched himself down the slope, tumbling ungracefully, scraping his hands and knees on the rocky ground. The pain was irrelevant.
He crawled towards her, his hands trembling as he reached out. He checked her pulse, her breath. It was faint, so faint.
"Eliza, my love, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, pulling off his jacket and gently wrapping it around her shivering form. "Please, just hold on."
Paramedics soon arrived, carefully lifting her onto a stretcher. Braylon clung to her hand, his tears falling onto her cold skin, his apologies a broken litany.
The ER was a whirlwind of controlled chaos. Doctors, nurses, the frantic beeps of machines. Braylon watched as they worked on her, his mind a maelstrom of guilt and fear.
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the noise. "Braylon! Oh my God, what happened to you?" It was Dallas, followed by his shallow friends. She rushed towards him, feigning concern. Her eyes then flicked to Eliza, being wheeled past, her face bruised and still.
Dallas recoiled, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Ugh, look at her. What a mess. Did she do this to herself for attention? She's always so dramatic, isn't she?"
Braylon snapped. A roar tore from his throat, silencing the entire ER. "Shut your mouth, Dallas! Not one more word! If you ever, ever speak like that about her again, I swear to God, I will make you regret it!"
Dallas froze, her eyes wide with shock. His friends, too, stared, stunned by his raw fury. Braylon' s face was a mask of pure rage, his eyes bloodshot, veins throbbing in his neck. He looked like a wild animal.
"Get out!" he snarled, pointing a shaking finger at Dallas. "All of you, just get out. Now!"
Dallas, terrified, stumbled back, dragging his friends with her. They scurried away, leaving Braylon alone in his despair. He slumped against the cold wall, burying his face in his hands, his body wracked with tremors. He felt a sudden, intense dizziness. The room spun. His vision blurred, then went black. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
