Always Watching

a main artery, he would’ve died in minutes. The heavy breathing was not so much pain as his body working hard to make oxygen. He’d just get sleepier and sleepier until he finally passed out, and then died. Likely soon.
    I said, “It doesn’t look good, Robbie.”
    “Fuck.” He rested his head on the back of the wall, looked upward. “Fuck. Fuck.” His voice was thick, like he was fighting tears.
    My own eyes filling with tears, I said, “I called 911. They’re on the way.”
    “Is Brew going to make it?”
    I looked back down at the dog. His breathing had gone shallow. His eyes half-closed, his tongue lolling. “No, I don’t think he has long.”
    “Shit.” Robbie took a deep breath, like he was trying to brace himself, then carefully lifted the dog up, so he was partway across his lap. Brew gave Robbie’s hand a small lick, then closed his eyes all the way. His breathing slowed.
    “Good boy,” Robbie said. He bent down and pressed his lips to Brew’s head, gave him a hug. “You want to go for a walk? Let’s go for a walk, buddy.”
    Brew let out a sigh. A few moments later, he was gone.
    *   *   *
    We sat in silence, my hand still on Brew’s side, while tears rolled down my face. I looked only at the dog, trying to give Robbie some space, but I heard him sniff a few times and clear his throat. There was a sense of emptiness in the tank now, a hushed soundless quiet that made every movement seem louder. Brew’s body was already cooling; his life was over. Still, I stroked his soft fur, mentally saying my own good-byes, thanking him for being a friend to my brother, remembering him trotting over, bumping his wet nose into my hand.
    After a few minutes, Robbie wiped his face, leaned over, and whispered something in Brew’s ear. He then eased Brew’s limp body off his leg, gently resting his head down on the ground. He sat back up, with a groan.
    I said, “Are you okay?”
    He wheezed. “My ribs—I think some are broken.”
    “I should have a look.”
    In the dark, my hand touched Robbie’s side, but I couldn’t feel any blood, or protrusions.
    He sucked in his breath. “Shit.” He rubbed at his chest. “I keep getting these fucking pains in my chest.”
    Was he having an anxiety attack? “What does it feel like?”
    “This pressure. I can feel it in my arms and jaw, around my back too. Like someone’s squeezing me. Hurts like shit—makes it hard to breathe.”
    Oh, no.
    “You could be having a heart attack. Are you feeling light-headed?”
    Almost on cue, his head dropped forward, and he slumped down.
    “Robbie!”
    I quickly moved Brew’s body to the side and lowered Robbie so he was lying flat, checking his vitals. His breathing was shallow—then stopped. I started CPR immediately, saying in between chest compressions, “Come on, Robbie.”
    Please, God. Please help us.
    In the distance, I heard sirens.
    *   *   *
    I rode in the ambulance with Robbie down to Victoria. They had him on oxygen even before they got him out of the septic tank, and gave him chest compressions all the way to the hospital. They brought him back a couple of times, but they were still giving him chest compressions as they wheeled him into emergency. For the next while, I paced the hallway, waiting for news. All I could think about was how many years we hadn’t stayed in touch, how many years I’d thought it was just easier that way.
    The police had sent cars to Mary’s, but I didn’t know if they’d made any arrests, or if Aaron was even alive. Finally, one of the doctors came out and told me that Robbie was stable and responding. They were going to move him to ICU while they ran some tests. I was allowed to visit with him briefly, but he was on pain control, which was making him sleepy, so we didn’t talk. I just held his hand, telling him he was going to be okay. His face was pale, but he managed a smile.
    Kevin, worried about why I hadn’t shown up back at the hospital for a staff meeting, which I had completely forgotten about, called my cell when I was in the waiting room. Still in shock, I told him that my brother had had a heart attack. He came by to bring me coffee, and when he saw the police outside Robbie’s room, he knew there was more to the story. I filled him in, then he sat, flipping through a magazine, while I paced. My feet keeping time with my thoughts: Will Robbie make it? Is Lisa okay? What’s happening at the commune?
    The doctor came to talk to me again.