everybody's watching her, but she's looking at you (Leah Williamson au)

The Knock-on Effect

This near three-hour car journey is driving me mad. I'm desperate to be by Izzy's side, but I feel utterly powerless to get there. My phone has been glued to my ear for most of the journey, bouncing between calls. Jenny, who is usually stoic and composed, sounds visibly shaken and panicked. She's mentioning daunting procedures like CT scans and MRIs to check for brain bleeds, along with other distressing possibilities. The visceral pain I'm experiencing is unlike anything I've ever felt before; it's a heavy weight in my chest. All I want is to be there, to hold her hand and make sure she's okay.

I succumb to temptation and make the worst mistake of watching the CCTV video. Deep down, I knew I shouldn't, but the urge to seek answers and somehow fix everything was overpowering.

I watch the CCTV footage play out, starting with Izzy confidently directing the band through the mic. She exudes her usual lively and commanding presence, so quintessentially Izzy. In the bustling chaos, various stage managers provide guidance and jot down notes, filling the scene with activity. Initially, the commotion almost distracts me, but then it happens. My stomach churns as I witness a light fixture above her suddenly plummeting, striking her head directly. Even from the distant angle, it's clear she is instantly knocked unconscious. A wave of horror washes over me as I see her limp form crumple to the stage floor, surrounded by screams and frantic movements, with blood pooling beside her head.

That's when the floodgates open, and tears stream down my face uncontrollably. It feels like I can hardly catch my breath as waves of panic and worry engulf me.

As soon as the driver stops the car outside the private clinic, I can't get out fast enough. The moment the car halts, I'm already out of the vehicle. Marco is waiting by the entrance, and a choked sob escapes me when I notice the dried blood on his sleeves.

"Where is she?" I manage to choke out as Marco places a comforting arm around my shoulder.

"She's just having scans now," he says softly as he leads me through the corridors. If I wasn't consumed by the tormenting fear of losing the love of my life, I might have noted how immaculate the surroundings are. "They had to stitch her up; the cut was pretty deep."

I shudder as another wave of tears overtakes me.

"Shh," Marco comforts, "she'll be okay."

"How do you know that?" I utter sadly, consumed by anguish and uncertainty. "I saw the video, the way she dropped like that—" I take in a shuddering breath and push my phone into my pocket, trying to banish the haunting images from my mind. "There was so much blood."

The lift dings as we reach our stop, and I rush through the doors with a sense of urgency, although I'm not entirely sure where I'm headed. Spotting Jenny pacing outside some double doors, I stride over to her.

"Jenny!" I call out, and she whips her head towards me, her face looking sunken and pale. We collapse into a hug as I pour out every frantic question racing through my mind. "Where is she? Can I see her? Is she awake? Is she—"

"It's okay, they've taken her in for more scans," Jenny soothes as she pulls back and rubs my arms gently, "we're just waiting on the doctor, but she's stable."

I exhale a shaky breath and nod, repeating, "Stable," as if saying it will prevent me from spiraling. "Is she awake?"

Jenny shakes her head solemnly.

I can't bear the thought of waiting around.

Without a second thought, I push through the double doors, ignoring Jenny's protests, and storm through, hellbent on finding her.

"Ma'am, you can't be in here," a nurse calls out from a prestigious-looking desk, panic all over her face.

"I can't? Watch me," I scoff as I stride up to her. "Where's Izzy?"