“He’s not out of the woods yet,” the doctor warns us, as if we really are the loving and caring family he thinks we are.
The four of us—Morgan, Raven, Bishop, and me—are in a small waiting room, the one they use when they have to give families bad news. Except we’re getting what should be good news. Too bad our faces don’t reflect the appropriate joy.
“But this is a good sign,” Dr. Gilman rushes to say at our lack of reaction. “After so many days of no progress, this is good. I can’t promise anything at this point, of course, but the team is glad to see this.”
They may be, but somehow we’re not. We’ve maneuvered everything as best we could while he was out, but this is going raise fresh speculation. And if he’s of sound mind, the board might rethink his retirement.
He could strike again. He’s got nothing to lose at this point.
“Can he speak?” Raven asks.
Dr. Gilman shakes her head. “No, not yet. His throat will need to heal some before you’ll be able to understand him.”
Meaning that no one else will be able to understand him. Even if he wanted to start any trouble—or confess to his crimes—he couldn’t. Finally a bit of good news.
“And what about the damage to his heart?” Morgan asks.
The doctor hesitates. “His heart function is about the same. We were hoping to see more improvement, but that hasn’t happened.”
She makes it sound like it will never happen. That the damage is permanent.
“So this could happen again?” I don’t mean to sound that shaken, but seeing me did give him a heart attack last time. It might do it again. He might die next time.
After all this time, even knowing he killed Ira, I’m not sure that’s how I want him to go. It sounds poetic, karma reaching out to smite him, but Morgan and Raven deserve more closure than this.
“It could,” the doctor says slowly. “But more likely, the heart muscle simply fails at some point instead of another heart attack.”
So seeing me might not kill him outright. Maybe.
“When can he come home?” Raven asks. “We’re arranging for all the medical and monitoring equipment he’ll need and round-the-clock nursing support.”
“We’ll see how he progresses over the next few days.” The doctor’s expression hasn’t slipped, but suddenly she’s not so encouraging. “You can all go see him now.”
As we rise, I pull back for a moment, consider slipping out of the room. Even letting the doctor see my face has my skin crawling with unease, although it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m still an entire hashtag on my own.
I don’t want to see Oscar. I want to leave here and disappear again, fade into the shadows like I have before. This isn’t what I should be doing, anchoring myself here.
But Morgan’s waiting for me at the door, needing me to be there with her when she sees him. Needing me to be there when she goes out and deals with everything on her shoulders.
So I move forward, take her arm. I know my expression’s grim, but everyone here will write it off to Oscar’s condition.
Morgan looks up at me, her own expression uncertain. I pull her closer, reassuring her silently. I’m not going anywhere. For now.
The hallway echoes with our steps and the eerie almost-silence of a hospital. No one’s speaking above a whisper and machines beep and whir every few moments, so it’s not quiet. But it is unnatural.
I don’t let myself look through the open room doors, locking my gaze on the corridor stretching before us. I had never been in a hospital until I was twenty-five, and it was a hard shock to the system. Dad always said these places are warehouses they bring people to die, not to heal, and I can’t shake those words.
“Here we are.” The chirp in Dr. Gilman’s tone bounces weirdly through the nonsilence. “Just a few minutes of visiting, just so he knows you’re here and he’s loved.”
Bishop’s lip curls. The doctor thankfully doesn’t see.
“Of course.” Morgan lifts her chin and strides through the door, leaving the rest of us no choice but to follow her example.
The first sight of Oscar knocks me back on my heels. He looks at least fifty pounds lighter, his skin sagging over his bones. And the color of that skin… the sheets are a healthier color than he is.
Raven whimpers, stuffing her fist in her mouth to muffle the sound. Bishop grabs her, spins her around so she’s against his chest. She peeks up over his arm, her eyes already red.
Morgan’s completely impassive. She stares down at Oscar as if he’s a stranger to her. But then I look more closely, see the pulse beating in her throat. She’s being brave because she thinks she has to be. Raven gets to fall apart, and Morgan has to hold everything together.
I doubt Morgan wants to fall apart—that’s not her style—but she shouldn’t have to hold it in all alone. I come up to her so that her shoulder can nestle into my chest, a quiet, subtle way to support her. She releases a grateful exhale.
We stare at Oscar for long moments, none of us wanting to be the first to wake him. If this is what the doctor calls improved, he’s fucked. His eyes are so sunken in his skull, they must be touching his brain. His hair is thin and brittle, clinging to his papery scalp.
As I stare at him, rage and disbelief wash over me. This wreck killed Ira? And almost killed me? And for what? For him to die surrounded by the daughters of the man he brought down, the only people who could be bothered to come? What the hell did any of that money and power buy?
“Oscar.” Morgan’s voice is clear, commanding. Her shoulder presses into my chest. “We’re here.”
There’s nothing but the soft whine of the machines he’s hooked up to.
“Oscar?” Raven’s voice is trembling, almost begging.
Not even a flicker. The only motion is the torturously slow rise and fall of his chest.
“This is awake?” Bishop mutters.
My teeth grind together. “Oscar.” It’s loud, sharp, a literal wake-up call. “Oscar.” That time I said it like I’m summoning him from hell.
His chest shudders. His eyes snap open. “No.”
At least I think he’s saying no. His breath is more rattle and rasp than anything smooth or even close to speech.
“Yeah, it’s still me.” A dark surge of triumph moves through me. “Still here, in spite of everything.”
His gaze locks onto mine. For a moment there’s nothing but pure fear. Like he’s terrified he’s already dead and I’ve come to give him his eternal punishment.
Then, bright and hot as the noon sun, flares hate. Pure and potent.
If Oscar could do literally anything but lie in that bed and try to breathe, I’d be dead. Or at least he’d be trying his damnedest to kill me, probably through some shitty, cowardly means.
“How are you feeling?” I ask with deadly sincerity.
Morgan tosses me a warning look over her shoulder. I guess she doesn’t want me to kill him with shock and terror while he’s still in the hospital. Fair enough.
“We’re working on getting you home,” she says, cool as anything. “Where you’ll be more comfortable.”
He blinks at her in what’s probably agreement.
“Do you want us to bring you anything?” Raven asks. “Or contact anyone?”
He only blinks more.
“Honey,” Bishop says gently, “he can’t respond.”
“But he knows we’re here.” My tone drops the temperature of the room several degrees. I don’t care if he’s actively dying—I’m not going to fluff the fucker’s pillows.
A nurse comes in then, putting herself between us and Oscar. She’s smiling, but the implication is clear—it’s time for us to get the fuck out of here. “We’ll let you know if you can visit tomorrow. And I’m sure seeing you all will help him recover.” Her smile falters a bit when she sees this isn’t exactly a happy reunion.
“I’m sure it will,” Morgan says with almost believable sincerity.
“Thank you so much for taking care of him,” Raven says with completely believable sincerity.
“Well, that was fun,” I say once we’re through the double doors of the ICU. The magnetic lock clicks shuts with a snap I feel in my chest.
Morgan puts her face in her hands for a moment. “It wasn’t supposed to be fun.” Then she squares her shoulders. This time when I go to comfort her, I put my arm around her, pull her close. There’s only her sister and Bishop to see, and if Raven didn’t want to me to do this, she might have been braver back there and not let her sister be the strong one.
When Morgan curls into me, I feel the knot in my chest ease. I didn’t know how strung-out I was until she relaxed me. I’m not coming here again no matter what. I can see Oscar when he’s home. And hopefully get some answers out of him without him collapsing.
No, after getting my cover blown here and seeing Oscar like that, warehoused just like Dad warned, I’m not setting foot in this place again.
The moment we step out the doors, what seems like a thousand camera shutters click. There’s a crowd, everyone holding up a cell phone to record us. Questions are thrown at us nonstop. I put my hand up to hide my face, adrenaline spiking through me. I have to get us out of here. God, so many fucking cameras, my face—my identity—splashed over the entire world.
I shrug out of my jacket, hand it to Morgan to put over her head. She hands it back to me, lifts her chin, and puts on a blank expression. “Makes a better picture this way.”
Right, because she’s used to this kind of shit. Doesn’t bother her, whereas I’m ready to run through them like a berserker.
“Tynan, Morgan!” A woman says our names like she knows us. There is something familiar about her voice. And then Mindy is coming through the scrum. “Good news about your friend.” Her smile is insincere. “And I have more good news.”
I resolved not to say shit to these people, but I can’t help myself. “What?” I snarl as I guard Morgan as we push through the crowd.
I shove right past Mindy, not waiting for her answer. Whatever it is, it can’t be good, not with how she said it. But I still want to know.
“I found your sister!” she calls after us. “The one you knew as Camber? I know where she is. Isn’t that great?”