“There’s a chance he might not –“
Maggie hit Sean with a look that stopped him from completing that sentence, her green eyes fierce and flashing a warning. “Don’t even think about saying it, Sean Callaghan, because if you do, I will completely lose control and you will have a hysterical female on your hands. Michael is going to make it through this, because I am going to make sure of it. Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sean said, biting back a smile.
“Call me ma’am again and I’ll shove this barf bag right up your arse.”
The driver coughed, though it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
The car wound through narrow streets, working its way up a mountain. In many ways, it reminded Maggie of the mountains at home. Even the weather was on the cool side, with the slight hint of rain in the air. Eventually they pulled up to what looked like a small castle, set far back from the road and hidden among the swells.
Jake was waiting outside. His face was grim, but he offered Maggie a brief smile.
“Thanks for coming, Maggie. I want to hear how you knew about this, but later.” He guided her through a labyrinth of corridors, each heavily secured. Large, intimidating soldiers nodded to Jake as they passed.
They stopped outside a closed door, and Jake put his hand on Maggie’s shoulder, a silent warning for what she would find on the other side.
She thought she’d prepared herself, but she hadn’t. Michael lay back on a hospital bed, perfectly still. His eyes were closed, a white sheet drawn up just above his hips. He was heavily bandaged across the chest. His breathing was labored.
“Why isn’t he on oxygen?” Maggie asked quietly.
In answer, Jake pointed to the yellow paper taped on the wall above Michael’s shoulder. Maggie read it, paling as she did so. It was a DNR order – a mandate to take no artificial measures to save his life. Maggie yanked it off the wall and ripped it into tiny pieces.
“Maggie, you can’t - ”
“The hell I can’t,” she said, her eyes flashing dangerously. “He didn’t give me a choice. I’ll not give him one. Did you hear that, Michael Callaghan? I’m here because of you, and you’ll not be leaving me alone just yet.”
At the sound of her voice, Michael stirred a little. “Did you see that?” whispered Ian, who had been sitting quietly in the shadows.
”Say something else, Maggie,” encouraged Jake. “I think he can hear you.”
Maggie pushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “Michael, you can rest now. I’m here.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Amazingly, his body relaxed a little, his breathing eased just a bit.
“That’s it, Michael,” she said softly as she stroked his hair. “That’s it. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Within a few minutes, Michael seemed to be resting comfortably.
“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Jake said, shaking his head.
Keeping the same calm, soothing voice, Maggie said, “If I give you a list of things, can you get them?”
“What kind of things?”
“A few herbs, some teas, things like that.”
“We’ll get it,” Ian said confidently. “Just tell us what you need.”
Chapter Twenty
Michael knew he must be close to death. He’d heard enough people describe the sudden feeling of peace that came over them. How they heard the voices of the ones they loved, easing them through the process. It wasn’t that he had doubted them, exactly, but he wasn’t sure the same thing would happen to him.
He had always wondered, though – if it did happen, whose voice would he hear? He thought it might be his mother’s. It had been so long since he’d heard it; she had died nearly twenty years earlier when he was barely a boy of twelve. Yet he knew he would recognize it instantly.
Whenever he was sick, his mother would sit on the side of his bed and speak softly to him. It was as if she knew the sound of her voice was what he needed more than anything else. Sometimes she would read him a story, sometimes she would just talk about anything and nothing at all until he fell into a restful sleep. She would stroke his hair, just like she was doing right now...
Except that it wasn’t his mother’s voice he heard, he realized. It was Maggie’s. And her soft, lilting voice was getting an edge to it.
*
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Maggie asked the young nurse that had entered the room and was now setting up a tray with a basin of water, ph-balanced cleanser, and a sponge. And in Maggie’s opinion, she was looking far too happy about it.
“I must ask you to leave,” the nurse said with some kind of accent Maggie could not quite place. Russian, possibly? “It is time for his bath.”