A familiar icy panic courses through my veins.
Then, abruptly, the motion stops and the camera swings up to show Marley at the edge of the path, the street behind her, Georgia tucked safely in her arms. “I got her. We almost lost our girl—”
But behind her, I see the ball in the middle of the road and a little kid running toward it.
“Joey, look out!” a voice screams from somewhere out of view.
Marley’s head whips around to look behind her at the little boy. Her eyes turn back to me for a fraction of a second, the look in them filling me with dread.
I know exactly what she’s going to do before she does it.
“No!” I shout, trying to stop her. “Mar—”
The phone falls from her hands, and the screen fills completely with green as it tumbles into the grass. I hear the squeal of tires, then the sound of screams from the kids.
“Marley!” I scream, feeling helpless. “Marley!”
I hobble back inside as quickly as I can, hating this slow fucking leg. Sam’s already run ahead of me. As soon as I get inside, I’m forced into a wheelchair. Sam leans over me, right in my face. “Stop yelling, Kyle.” Am I yelling? My throat feels hoarse. Dry. Yes, I’m definitely yelling. But I can’t stop. Marley needs help. I need to get help. I fight the hands that keep me in the chair, but before I can push myself up again, I feel the prick of a needle and everything goes dark.
44
I jolt awake in my hospital bed, still screaming her name. “No! Marley—”
Hands grab on to my arms, and I look up to see Kimberly, my mom, Sam, all of them blocking my path.
“Kyle,” Kimberly says, trying to stop me from getting out of bed, but I slip out of her grip, struggling to walk, my leg aching. “Hold on. Wait. Kyle.”
I have to get to her. I have to get to Marley. No more waiting. Not again.
I slide past Kim as my mom runs to the door, calling for help. Sam kicks a chair out of my way a split second before I crash into it. I’ve almost made it into the hallway when a nurse steps inside, blocking my way, a syringe in her hand.
“Do I need to sedate you again?” she asks.
“Where is she?” I ask, frantically spinning around to look at all of them, my eyes meeting theirs one by one. “Where is she? Where…?”
This can’t be happening again.
I’m steered into a chair and Kimberly kneels in front of me, grabbing ahold of my hand.
“Stop.”
I stare at her earnest expression, angry. Why is everyone telling me to wait? Why are they here with me when we should all be with her?
“I need you to listen to me.”
I fight the impulse to run, zeroing in on her blue eyes, trying to collect myself. I nod impatiently for her to continue.
“She saved the kid. She saved him and she’s alive, but…”
“We don’t know for how long,” a voice says from the door. I whip my head around to see Dr. Benefield, her face serious, a scrub cap in one of her hands. Our eyes meet, and she nods toward the hallway. “Come with me.”
I follow after her, everything a blur. The bright lights, the white tile, and the pale walls all morphing together. I hear Kim’s and Sam’s and my mom’s footsteps trailing closely behind us.
She stops short at a door, looking back at me before she reaches out and slowly opens it.
I step inside, afraid to look. Afraid to see Marley hurt. Dying.
Her mom sits at her bedside, her eyes fixed to the heart rate monitor, like she’s personally keeping it going with pure willpower. The steady beep, beep, beep is the only sound in the entire room.
I swallow, forcing myself to look from Catherine to the bed, my legs feeling like they’re going to give out. She looks so small. Battered. I clench my jaw as my eyes trace every bruise and scrape on her body, working their way up to the bandage wrapped around her head, her eyes tightly shut.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to get out, her mom turning her head to look at me. Georgia. “It was my fault—”
Catherine shakes her head, grabbing my hand. “No. None of that. That’s how we got here,” she says, giving my fingers a tight squeeze. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
Her gaze slides from my face to the monitor, focusing on the steady thumping in Marley’s chest.
“She’s going to wake up, right?” I ask, taking a step toward the bed, afraid to hear the answer.
“It’s up to her,” Dr. Benefield says from behind me. “She should already be awake.”
What? Then why isn’t she?
I look over at her, confusion painted on my face.
“She hit her head, but the bleed was light and the scans don’t show any sign of massive trauma,” Dr. Benefield says, pushing her glasses up onto her head, her eyes sad. “She should be waking up, but it seems she doesn’t want to.”
Catherine begins to sob next to me, her hand pulling away from mine to cover her face.
“Sometimes the choice to live or die is up to us,” Dr. Benefield says, looking from me to the bed. “Marley’s not fighting.”
The choice to live or die. I see the dark shadows under her eyes, her words ringing loudly in my head.
She died because of me.
I don’t get to be happy.
Laura.
But I also hear the other voices. The things I heard while I was asleep that made me keep fighting, that pulled me through.
Don’t let go.
Always forward. Never back.
I take a step toward her, knowing I sure as hell won’t let Marley go this easily. This is not how her story ends. It can’t be.
I take her hand. Her fingers feel cool in mine, limp, like she’s already gone.
“I won’t let you leave me,” I whisper. “I told you no more sad stories. That goes both ways, you know.” I try to joke, but my laugh comes out as a garbled choking sound. I squeeze my hand tighter around hers, trying to warm those cold fingers.
How did she do this? What did she…? Ah. Yes. I hear her words that first day at the cemetery.
I lean close, my lips against her ear.
“Once upon a time there was a girl who was sad and alone.”