Cole was watching Meg closely. He had been so careful to try to nurture a relationship between them over the past two months, but her nightmares forbade it. The nightmares forbade everything good. The more of them she had, the deeper down the chasm she slipped. She would imagine her family standing at the edge of the gorge, looking down into it, watching helplessly as she slipped further out of reach. Meg could even see the sunlight dancing around their heads like halos and longed to reach out to touch them, but there had been no escaping her fall into blackness.
Then the thought occurred to her. Cole was exposed to the serum and his emotional signature hadn’t changed. He was the same fresh cut grass green, pure and natural as he always was. If Creed was alive, he wasn’t Creed anymore. It’s true. He must be a completely different person with no memory of the goodness he fought so hard to become. The fiery, red warmth that was his signature was gone. Creed may be completely different now. Her heart squeezed painfully at the thought that the Creed she knew and treasured was gone.
Meg sighed sadly, in that moment almost experiencing his death again.
Ever the logic-minded one, Evan spoke first. “I know we have a lot of planning to do, but Meg, you are severely dehydrated and malnourished. Would you let me start you on some I.V. fluids? You’ll be no good to anyone so weak you’re passing out.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
Her littlest brother stood from his spot on the sofa and hurried out of the room. No one spoke the entire three minutes he was gone. When he returned, he was pushing an I.V. stand with one hand and holding a bag full of medical supplies in the other. He walked slowly to her, eyes warily watching Maze. “Maze, you stay right there. I’ll work around you, okay?”
“Sorry, Ev. He’s just feeling a little over protective right now.” She scratched between his alert triangle-shaped ears trying to relax some tension she could still feel there, while holding her other arm out to her brother.
With practiced hands, Evan quickly secured a tourniquet, cleansed the bulging vein in her wrist, punctured it with a quick stick and attached the tubing. He secured the site with white tape and gauze. The entire process took just minutes.
When he finished adjusting the flow of fluid in the tube, he nodded at Maze and asked, “Do you think he’ll let me clean your bite wound, or should I add antibiotics to this bag?”
Meg spoke directly to Maze. “Evan’s not going to hurt me, Maze. Calm down, okay?” she looked into his yellow eyes and didn’t move or blink. She had learned long ago how to show Maze dominance, but hadn’t had to put him in his place since he was a rascally pup. Her coyote blinked slowly, lowered his head and whined. “It’s okay Evan. He won’t interrupt you now.”
He moved to work on her other arm, spraying a topical antiseptic first, then rubbing the area thoroughly with alcohol wipes. Maze sniffed and licked his nose, annoyed at the smell, but he didn’t make a move to stop Evan as he worked. She smiled softly at her best friend. Maze really was amazing.
Once her arm was cleaned and bandaged, the room seemed a little more at ease.
“Listen everyone, I’m aware my recent behavior has been,” she searched for the right words, “detached at best,” she started.
“Honey, you haven’t been yourself since I stupidly encouraged you to use your gift to try to stop Williams back on the island.” Margo’s eyes held so much guilt and regret. Meg knew she was blaming herself for what happened. She reached over and held her mother’s hand.
“We didn’t know, mom. It could have worked. We didn’t know what he was until it was too late.” Meg smiled with as much courage as she could muster.
“We know you were severely affected by your episode with Williams,” Evan said carefully.
Alik spoke up. “Evan and I have been trying to piece together the psychology of what may have happened. We think your extremely heightened empath abilities worked against you when faced with the malevolence—Williams’ sadistic memories.”
“Meg, we think what he subjected you to, coupled with your skill of being able to experience through empathy the emotions of others, created a fracture in your psyche—a crack that has festered and widened with every nightmare since.” Evan was kneeling beside her, holding the hand threaded with the I.V. tubing as he spoke.
“It’s created a snowball effect in you. As time passes, your psyche keeps trying to work through the trauma by recreating the event repeatedly through your dreams—but you’re stuck. ” As mom spoke, sincerity slipped down her cheeks as tears.
“Even during the day, you walk around like a ghost—dazed and detached. You don’t smile or laugh. You don’t tease your brothers or play board games with your mom anymore. You barely even speak with anyone, always choosing to be alone,” Theo said.
“Meg, all these are classic symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.” When I looked into the soft hazel eyes of my littlest brother, Evan didn’t sound clinical or physician-like, and he didn’t sound like the agile-minded genius he was. He just sounded like a scared thirteen-year-old boy.
“What do you think, Meg?” Mom asked her hesitantly.
Meg sat staring at the deep gash in her knee from the mishap with the razor in the shower. “It makes sense. I just don’t know what to do about it.”