I feel a light. And the light is glowing. It’s a bright light. So warm. So comforting.
“God?” I moan.
“Yes, my child.”
I open my eyes. A middle-aged doctor is sitting on a stool beside the bed, shining a tiny flashlight into my eyes. “Kidding.” He grins. “Eyes wide for me?”
I stretch out my eyes. He points the beam directly into each of my eyeballs. I blink a few times. “Where’s my family?”
He pockets the flashlight. I see him clearly now. Prominent nose, strawberry-blond hair graying at the temples, hazel eyes highlighted by the hospital room fluorescent lighting. “I’m sure they’re around here somewhere. Where specifically?” He leans back and takes a peek under the bed. “I can tell you this. They’re not hiding under the bed.” He winks, pleased with his lame joke.
“Listen. I actually need to leave. I mean, I have to go. To get to my sister. It’s extremely important.”
“Duly noted. Hey, quick question before you take off. Do you know where you are?”
“You mean like the name of the hospital?”
“General location. Name of our planet. Galaxy.”
“Seattle, Washington. Planet Earth. The Milky Way.”
“Nice. Wow. Impressive.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now for the tough questions. How many fingers am I holding up?”
He holds up two fingers on each hand.
“Four. Doctor, listen—”
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
Hearing a voice in my head? “I slipped. I fell. I don’t remember falling, though. The next thing I remember is waking up here.”
“Any particular reason you were climbing a building in twenty-eight-degree weather, during a storm, without a—”
“Coat? I didn’t want it getting in the way of my climb.”
“Helmet. I was gonna say, without a helmet.”
We’re interrupted by a knock at the door; a blonde nurse peeks her head into the room. “Dr. Doheny, may I speak with you privately? It’ll only take a minute.”
He stands. “Be right back.”
“Can I go to the bathroom?”
“Are you feeling dizzy?”
Yes, very. “No.”
He removes the IV cord from the chunk of plastic protruding from my arm, freeing me from the bag of hanging saline, then quietly slips outside the door.
I stand, slowly this time, and shuffle toward the bathroom. Once inside, I click the door shut, careful not to make noise, as I’m suddenly aware noise intensifies the pain in my head. I step toward the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m like a warrior returned home from battle. The skin under both of my brown eyes is purple. My bottom lip is split down the center and swollen, making it appear twice its normal size. My hair—well, it’s a disaster, quite frankly. I stick a hand under the faucet, activating a stream of cold water that I graciously splash onto my face. The cool liquid seeps into the scrapes on my skin and stings. I wince.
“Hey. Remember me? I’m still here.” A voice echoes in the sterile bathroom.
I back away from the mirror and slam against the door, covering my ear with my hand. Schizophrenia. That’s what it’s called when you hear voices in your head. Right? I don’t want to add a mental illness with a name to my list of problems. I don’t want this voice.
I glance up at the vents in the restroom. What if it’s an actual person? Stalking me? “Who’s there?” I turn toward the shower. Someone could be playing a terrible trick. A twisted game. They could’ve followed me to the building last night. Could somehow be here in the hospital. I reach out and yank back the curtain, revealing an empty stall.
“Hiding behind a shower curtain? How weird would that be?”
I spin around fast and stumble, yelping as I jerk the curtain off the rod. Crying out as my injured shoulder slams onto the floor of the shower stall.
“Indigo?”
Oh no. It’s Michelle.
“Indi, are you okay?” she calls out.
No. “Yeah. I’m okay!”
I twist, struggling to put my weight on my uninjured arm so I can push myself off the floor. Only I’m wrapped in five feet of shower curtain. I hear the bathroom door creak open, followed by a loud gasp as Michelle rushes toward me, cautiously unraveling me from the cloth.
“Indigo?” She helps me to my feet. “I’m gone for a few minutes and this happens? What are you doing?”
“How’s Violet? She didn’t take the medicine yet, did she?”
“Do you really think she’s that selfish? Of course she didn’t take it yet! She’s waiting for you!”
“She said that? She mentioned me?”
Michelle dramatically rolls her eyes and guides me out of the bathroom. I carefully crawl back into bed.
“Is she asking for me? Is she worried about what happened? Did you tell her I was okay? That I fell? That it was an accident?”
Michelle takes a seat on a chair across from my bed. Her black jeans and long-sleeved white T-shirt are wrinkled, eyes bloodshot. Her ebony shoulder-length straightened hair hangs limp and lifeless, while her face is scrubbed free of any trace of makeup. My older sister is thirty-three and married to a video game developer named Drew Delacroix. Drew’s not so bad; in fact, I feel kinda sorry for the guy, what with having to put up with her on a minute-by-minute basis. My gripe is with their two terrible kids. Not to mention the future demon seed that’s on the way.
“Indigo, Vee’s not thinking about this madness you’ve created. It’s your fault she can’t pass right now the way she wants to.”
“You act like you want her to kill herself.”
“This isn’t suicide. She’s dying with dignity. It’s the law...” She trails off, shakes her head. “Imagine trying to breathe underwater, Indi. That’s what it feels like for her. She doesn’t want to suffer anymore. I don’t blame her.”
“But God can save her. She just has to give him time.”
“Sadly—” Michelle rubs her temples “—we’re all outta time.”
“No we’re not. Violet can live. I promise you she can. You can help her.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and lower my head, covering one ear with my hand. The stupid voice. It’s back.
“What’s with the covering of your ear? Why are you all hunkered down like a bomb’s about to explode?”
“My ears are ringing, that’s all.”
She shrugs. “Ringing in your ears is normal. You have a concussion. Stop.”
I look up. “Stop what?”
“Stop actin’ like this! Stop being weird. Stop covering your ears. Stop jumping off buildings.”
“I didn’t jump. I fell.”
“I don’t believe you, Indigo. In fact, you know what I really think?” Her eyes narrow. “I think you climbed that building to kill your fool self. Chickened out and then fell somehow.”
I blink. She’s good. I can’t think of a clever enough retort, so I toss out the classic, “Whatever,” and shrug.
“We need to get you released so we can get back home. You’re driving Mom and Dad nuts.”
Michelle has a lot of nerve saying such a thing to me. If anybody’s driving Mom and Dad nuts, it’s her. From the constant wake-ups in the middle of the night with pointless updates about Violet’s condition, to daily complaints about her soon-to-be juvenile delinquent boys, to her all-around rotten attitude and total lack of self-restraint and decorum. She’s the underlying strife that keeps our family on the brink of insanity.
The door is pushed open and the doctor steps back into the room. “Sorry about that. No more interruptions.” He notices Michelle. “Good morning. I’m Dr. Doheny. I’m the surgeon who operated on Indigo’s arm. It was a pretty bad fracture. But she’ll be good as new in no time. You’re her mother?”
Michelle plasters a fake smile across her face. I’m certain it’s a fake smile because Michelle hates when people think she’s my mother. Even though, age-wise, she certainly could be. “No teenagers yet, thank God.” She places a hand over her tiny baby bump, a strategic move meant to emphasize youth.
As a nurse practitioner, Michelle tends to despise doctors, referring to them as overpaid medical assistants. She also loathes being outranked, so any opportunity she has to throw around her nursing credentials and expertise, she takes.
“I’m the sister. Michelle Delacroix, NP. I imagine you’ve ordered an MRI?”
“She’s had a CAT scan. It was normal.”
“Well, I found her on the bathroom floor and she fainted earlier when my parents were here. I’m surprised scheduling an MRI’s been overlooked. An oversight like this would never happen at the hospital I work at.”
Not surprisingly, the doctor seems troubled by my sister’s ice-cold persona. “I came in on my morning off specifically to check on Indigo. That being said, I didn’t know about the fainting. Nor the recent fall. I can order an MRI, if you feel it’s necessary.”
“I do.” Michelle raises both hands high. Like Dr. Doheny is holding a gun and she’s lifting her arms in surrender. “But you’re the doctor. So...” She leaves that so hanging in the air. Michelle ends a lot of sentences with so... It can mean many things, depending on the situation. In this case, I’m guessing it means, Doctor, you’re an incompetent fool.
“I’ll put the order in myself,” he replies curtly.
“Oh wonderful,” Michelle says with overexaggerated enthusiasm. “I think that’s a wise move.”
He scowls and grunts some unintelligible response.
“Also, we need to have Indigo discharged against medical advice. Our sister is ill and about to pass. We’d like Indigo home so our entire family can be there to say goodbye. It’s somewhat urgent. She can return for the MRI.”
“Very sorry to hear that.” Dr. Doheny massages his chin. “But my medical advice is Indigo stay under observation for at least twenty-four hours.”
Michelle smiles and replies, “That’s why they call it against medical advice.”
He scoffs. “You know, I’m surprised, what with you being in the medical field, that you’d insist on something so incredibly dangerous.”
“I’m surprised that you’re surprised.” Michelle places a hand on her hip and a tense moment of silence passes between the two.
“If you insist on such reckless action, may I at least finish my exam?” Without waiting for an answer, he repositions himself on the stool beside my bed. Michelle hovers, arms crossed, looking over the doctor’s shoulder.
I lean my head back against the pillow. I want to say, My bad about her. Nobody likes her except my parents. Instead I mumble, “I was trying to take a picture of the Amgen pedestrian bridge with my phone.”
“I’m sorry?” he replies.
“Before you left, you asked why was I climbing. That’s why.”
“I see.” He drums his fingers on his knee. “Then perhaps you fell when you realized that the Amgen pedestrian bridge is east of that particular building and not visible from where you were?”
Uh-oh. I swallow. “Yeah. That’s...basically what happened.”
Thankfully Dr. Doheny doesn’t drill in the point that I’m the world’s worst liar. He moves on, unhooking my sling and carefully holding my casted arm. “Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”
I do it.
“Good. And how does that feel?”
“Fine.” I’m lying again. It hurts. I rub my forehead with my free hand and feel a cut, rough under my fingertips.
“You’ll be tempted not to wear the sling.” He squeezes the palm of my hand. “But the nerves around your shoulder joint were badly damaged in the fall. The sling is essential.” Now he’s pushing my hand back. What is he, a masochist? I grind my teeth to prevent screaming out in pain. “How’s that feel, Indigo?”
How do you think it feels, genius?
“No numbness or tingling?” he asks calmly. “How’s the pain level?”
“Everything feels great.” More lies. But if I admit I’m numb, tingly and hurting like I’ve landed in the seventh circle of hell, can I still be discharged against medicine’s advocacy, or whatever Michelle said? “Since I’m feeling so amazing, that means I get to go, right?”
“Indigo, you’re being released against medical advice.” Michelle sighs, exasperated. “You could be howling in pain and it wouldn’t matter.”
I sit up. “Right. Sorry.”
“Excuse me?” Dr. Doheny turns to Michelle. “Any chance you’d mind waiting in the reception area?”
I gulp. Dr. Doheny has no idea who he’s messing with.
Michelle takes a seat on the couch. Carefully crosses her legs. “Actually, I do mind.”
“Then perhaps you can keep your comments to yourself? I’m not used to being observed, assisted or interrupted.”
Michelle shrugs innocently. “As a doctor constantly surrounded by nursing staff? I imagine you would be used to being interrupted, observed and assisted. In every way.”
Uh-oh. Game on.
“As chief of staff—” Dr. Doheny places my arm back inside its sling and gently Velcros the straps in place “—I’m rarely interrupted, only observed when I ask to be and assisted only when needed.”
Chief of staff? Like, the boss of the whole hospital? Dang! My gaze darts to Michelle. How do you clapback to that? She swallows, clears her throat and, for the first time in maybe her whole life, accepts being one-upped.
Chief of staff for the win!
Dr. Doheny stands. “I can get those AMA papers signed for you now. Sound good?”
Michelle nods without making eye contact. Dr. Doheny smiles and exits the room. The door slams shut with a reverberating thud.
“See that?” Michelle points at the door.
“See what?”
“What do you mean, see what? You saw how he talked to me. We nurses get verbally abused by doctors all the time. I’m so sorry you had to witness that, Indigo.”
“I’m sorry I had to witness that.”
Shit, shit, shit! I cover my ear with my hand again.
“Are we back to this?” Michelle stretches her eyes wide.
“Covering your ears like that is kinda odd. You should consider stopping.”
My brand-new, fresh-out-of-the-box bag of insanity is talking to me again. If I acknowledge it, will it go away? Like, Hello, Voice? How are you today?
“Not too shabby. Thank you for asking.”
Oh my God! “Michelle, do you hear this?” I gasp. “I mean, did you just hear that?”
“Did I hear what?”
“A voice.”
Her eyes narrow as she slowly stands. “You’re hearing voices?”
“Not voices. A voice. One voice.”
“Indi, are you serious? What does the voice sound like?”
I pause, thinking. “A little bit like Dave Chappelle.”
“Dave Chappelle?” Michelle folds her arms across her chest. “That’s why you’ve been covering your ears? To block out the voice of Dave Chappelle? First we try to kill ourselves and now we’re tuned in to Comedy Central!? What’s next, Indigo?”
“Michelle, it’s not—”
“No, I get it. You’re trying to pretend you’re losin’ it. This is your sad attempt to stop Violet from dying. You do realize she’s dying regardless, right? Dave Chappelle in your head or not.”
“It’s not actually Dave Chappelle. It sounds like him. I’m not making it up! I’m hearing a voice. I swear to God!”
“You shouldn’t be swearing to me. That’s somewhat taboo. Uncouth. Uncivilized. Rude—”
“Shut up!” I scream. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
“Wow.” Michelle shakes her head and, with what seems like overexaggerated, condescending calm, says, “Indigo. I’m going to see if the AMA papers are ready. When I return, you better be dressed and not on the bathroom floor or doing something bizarre like talking to Kevin Hart. Okay?” She snatches her purse off a chair near my bed and quickly exits.
“I like her.”
I slide off the bed, feeling beads of sweat form around my hairline. “You’re not real,” I whisper. “This isn’t real.”
“What isn’t real?”
“You!” I’ve officially gone full volume. Screaming out into an empty hospital room. “I reject you, Voice! In the name of Jesus, I reject you!”
“What does that mean?”
I take tiny steps backward until I find myself pressed against the wall in a corner of the room. “I guess it means like...I’m using the power of Jesus to declare the voice I’m hearing isn’t real? You’re not real.”
“Ahhh. I get it. I mean, I don’t get it. But I see what you’re trying to say. So now it’s my turn. I reject your declaration and declare instead that I am real. In the name of all things with a name. Including Geez luss.”
“Geez luss?”
“There’s this cool little second-grader dude. Lives in south Georgia. Always prays in the name of ‘Geez luss.’ You know...little kid accent, ’cuz he’s missing about eight teeth. Has no clue what he’s even talking about. I kinda like it, so I’m runnin’ with it.”
I frown. “I’m sorry. What is this? Why is this happening to me?”
“What do you mean, why? You asked for me. You called on me. People would kill to talk to me like this. To hear my voice. Geez luss, Indigo! Be more grateful.”
I push myself off the wall. “Okay. Let me get this straight. Are you really trying to say that you’re God? This is the voice of God I’m hearing?”
“I’m not a big fan of the name. Honestly, I’m not. There are other names I tend to take more of a liking to. Like Emmanuel, the Most High, Yahweh. Lord is...eh...not my favorite either. I like Elohim. That’s got a nice ring to it. El for short. Elly.”
This is insane. I am losing it. That’s what’s happening here. Like the homeless man shouting on the street. That’s me. Talking in a room. To nobody.
“Okay, fine. I can prove I’m God so you can stop self-deprecating. Ask me anything.”
I take a seat on the edge of the bed and grab my phone from off the stand. “Ask you anything? Like...quiz God?”
“Yeah, yeah. Ask me.”
“Okay. What’s 742 times 988?”
The voice laughs. Really. It’s laughing.
“That’s what you want to know? A smorgasbord of information is now available to you and you want to know that?”
“You’re stalling, Voice,” I state simply. “What’s the answer?”
“Turn on your phone.”
“Why? It’s dead.”
“Jack the Ripper is dead. Your phone, on the other hand, is turned off.”
“But...” I look at my phone and press the button to power it on. Sure enough, the screen brightens as it springs to life. Why did I think it was dead? Now I’m transfixed. Staring at the screen, eager to see how many calls I’ve missed. How many red notifications will be waiting for me from Violet? Perhaps the thought of losing me has jolted her back to life. Reminded her of the connection we once had. The bond that, before scarring lung tissue took center stage in our lives, was unbreakable. Only there are no red icons that await me. No missed calls. No messages. I swallow away the lump starting to form in my throat.
“Hello? Is this thing on? 733,096.”
“What?” I’m compelled to look at the ceiling. As if that’s where this voice is currently residing.
“You asked what’s 742 times 988. It’s 733,096. Your phone’s on now. Fact-check me on Google.”
“Is that right?”
“This is boring. Challenge me. I’m Almighty God, for crying out loud. I can do basic math. Ask me something cool, like who built the pyramids.”
“Fine.” I set my cell beside me on the bed and ask, with very little enthusiasm, “Who built the pyramids?”
“The Egyptians.”
I roll my eyes. “A five-year-old could tell me that. I thought you were gonna say aliens or something.”
“First of all, have you talked to a five-year-old lately? Trust me. They know nothing about the pyramids. Second, what makes somebody an alien?”
“They’re from outer space.”
“This is outer space.”
“You know what I mean. I’m an Earthling. Any living thing not from Earth is an alien.”
“Then I shalt correct my original answer. Egyptian Earthlings built the pyramids.”
I lean back on my uninjured arm as a thought occurs to me. “I have a better question. If you’re who you say you are, if you really are God, why won’t you let my sister live? She hasn’t done anything to anybody. If you really are oopsGod, then you’re well aware that Violet’s been talking to you her whole life. Lavishing you with words like ‘omnipotent’ and ‘Mighty King.’ She literally worships you. And now she’s...” I quiet for a moment, eager to compose myself. Talking to a voice is one thing. But crying to one? Not gonna happen. I exhale. “You’re all-powerful. Right?”
“Tru dat. Tru dat.”
“Why won’t you let her live?” I whisper.
No response.
I wait. “God? You got nothing to say to that, do you?” I hold up my middle finger and stick out my tongue, grateful the voice-in-my-head-madness is over.
I see a duffel bag on the couch, move toward it and reach inside to find a change of clothes from home, toiletries and hair supplies. I slip out of my hospital gown and struggle into an oversize, long-sleeved T-shirt. It’s tough with only one properly working arm, but I manage, though I can’t stick my cast through the sleeve, so it sorta hangs limply at my left side. I step easily into my sweatpants and slip on brown Uggs, then take the brush Mom packed and awkwardly force it through my hair. I don’t need to see my reflection to know I need more than a brush. I need a hat. I collapse onto the couch and lower my head into my hand.
“Here’s the thing. She can live. But only if you help. Think you can do that?”
“Voice?” I moan. “I thought I got rid of you.”
“You were about to get dressed. I wanted to give you privacy. Duh.”
“God would never say duh, Voice.”
“I invented language. I can say whatever I want. Who’s gonna criticize my speech? I’m sorta unimpeachable.”
I close my eyes. “What can I do to make you go away?”
“Help Violet and I’ll leave. I promise. And I’m God. I never break a promise.”
I pop open an eye. “What am I supposed to do? She’s taking medicine to kill herself today. Because she’s suffering.”
“Get her to agree to travel to Coyote Buttes. If she can make the three-mile trek across the open desert to a rock formation called the Wave, she will live.”
I sit up. “The Wave? In Arizona?”
“Mmm-hmm. That’s the Wave I’m talking about.”
“You mean...” I stand. Too fast, though, and I start to feel the room spinning. God, I don’t wanna pass out again.
“Don’t worry. You won’t pass out again.”
“How would you know?”
“I’m God. I know everything.”
“You’re not God! You’re a series of synaptic misfires! Easily fixed with the proper medication.”
“Care to make a wager?”
“Now you’re God, gambling?” I throw up my hands. “Unbelievable.”
“Again. I get to do whatever I want. God perk. So are you in? You get Violet to the Wire Pass Trailhead. Make the hike to the Wave. You see that I’m right. She will live. It’ll prove I’m God.”
I pace around the room. Or something pace-like. The concussion approach to pacing. I take one tiny step. Stop. Another tiny step. Another stop.
“Are you killing ants?”
“What? No, I’m pacing. So I can think.”
“Oh. Looks weird.”
“Listen. Hiking the Wave? That would be literally impossible.” I know all about the Wave. Our career mentor, Aaron Wade, told Violet and me about it. It’s an ancient granite formation with gorgeous red sandstone that swirls and twirls with waves of color. In pictures it’s breathtaking. Like something you’d expect to see in a Dr. Seuss book or on another planet. To preserve the formation and to accommodate the massive amounts of people desperate to visit the “painted desert,” the Bureau of Land Management issues only a few permits a day to hikers. The permits must be won through an online lottery. “First off, you can’t just show up and hike to the Wave. You need a permit.”
“Duh. I know.”
“We don’t have one! You have to apply months in advance to enter a lottery.”
“Or you can arrive the day of and win a walk-in permit. They give away ten a day. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
“What are the odds we’d win one of those? I imagine hundreds line up every day. People wait years and years to get a permit to hike that trailhead.”
“Is this thing on? Can you hear the words that are coming out of my celestial, cosmic mouth? I’m God. I don’t normally like to brag, but I’m super psychic. Just get there. Those walk-in permits are as good as yours. God’s honor.”
“Okay. Second thing. And this is somewhat of a big deal.” I sit on the arm of the couch. “Let’s say we make it and, by some strange voodoo magic, win walk-in permits. Violet couldn’t make that hike. People die making that hike.”
“Take Michelle.”
“Not happening. Michelle hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“Then why is she always so mean to me? She’s never mean to Violet.”
“That’s because Violet doesn’t challenge her. You do. She’s not used to being challenged.”
“Well, if I tell her a voice—”
“God.”
“I’m not calling you that.”
“No bigs. Call me Voice, then. It’s growing on me.”
“Great. So if I tell her a voice told me to take Violet and her failing lungs to Coyote Buttes to take a five-mile hike—”
“It’s only two-point-five miles, to be exact.”
“Two-point-five miles to get to the Wave. Two-point-five miles back. That’s five miles total.”
“Oh, look at you with your fancy addition.”
“Anyway. It doesn’t matter if it was one mile. Michelle won’t be down for it. Plus, she has my nephews, and her husband, Drew. Not to mention she’s super pregnant.”
“They can come with. The whole family can come if they want.”
“Like a family road trip? You’re crazy!”
“Of course I’m crazy! I’m the Alpha and the Omega. The up and the down. The left and the right. The sane and the insane. The roota to tha tooda. All things exist because I am all things.”
The door is pushed open. Michelle motions for me. “Dr. Dolittle signed the papers. You’re okay to be released. You’ll have to come back sometime tomorrow for an MRI and follow-up exam. C’mon. Drew’s downstairs waiting with the van.”
I look at Michelle. Like, really look at her. The frown lines on her forehead. The fatigue in her eyes. The aura of misery that looms around her head like a halo of Amityville-style horror.
She extends an arm. “Indigo? Are you coming?”
Perhaps what the family needs really is a good old-fashioned intervention. A message from the beyond. A direct path to the light. I grab my duffel bag from the couch, my soul strangely rejuvenated. It’s official. I’m not going home to watch my sister die. Today, I’m off to find a way to let her live.
This according to the voice in my head.