Declan looks incredulous, and not in a good way. Quiet and gentle is gone. “He wants to put a picture of me and Rev on the cover of the yearbook.”
“Well. Sort of. You’d be on the back.” His expression darkens as I babble, but I can’t stop. I’m rambling, trying to get in front of Declan’s temper before the train leaves the station. “It’s a wrap, so the cheerleaders would be on the front, and it would stretch around the spine to show the friendship yet isolation of—”
“Are you insane?” The words grind out in a growl. His eyes are fierce.
I have to force myself to keep from shrinking back. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about—”
“I don’t belong on that cover. I don’t need an eternal reminder of this year, and I sure as hell don’t need it wrapped around the yearbook for everyone else.” He hits the bag so hard that it bounces off my gloves, but I refuse to step away. “This is the worst year of my life. Do you understand me?”
The bag is swinging now, and I use its momentum to slam it right back at him. “How do you think I feel?” My voice breaks, and I don’t care. “I’m the one who took the picture.”
He freezes, catching the bag.
My breathing is loud in the sudden silence, and I can’t figure out his expression. Still furious, but there’s something else. Shock. Shame? Regret, maybe.
I can’t take it. “What?” My words are fractured. Hot tears sit on my cheeks. “You think you’re the only one having a horrible year? You don’t know anything about me, Declan Murphy. Get over yourself.”
“Hey, Dec.” Rev jogs down the basement steps, carrying the baby and a cordless phone. His voice sounds urgent, more than a plea for us to stop arguing. “It’s Alan.”
I take a second to swipe the tears from my cheeks.
Declan takes the phone and puts it to his ear. “What.”
After a moment, his expression goes still. “What happened?” Another pause. “I’ll be right there.” Another pause, shorter this time. “I don’t care, Alan. I’m coming.” Then he pushes the button to turn the phone off.
His eyes return to mine, and any hint of kindness or empathy has vanished. “Do what you want, Juliet. I don’t care.” Then he fishes his keys from his pocket and turns away.
“What happened?” says Rev. “Dec, stop. Where are you going?”
“The hospital. Mom collapsed while she was making dinner. Alan called an ambulance.” He doesn’t wait, just heads up the stairs.
“Wait,” Rev says. “Dec, wait. Let me get Mom. I’ll come with you.”
“I can’t wait.”
Now I can hear it. The fear in his voice.
I remember it well.
He’s through the door.
“Give me the baby,” I say to Rev. “Go. Go with him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
INBOX: THE DARK
No new messages
I don’t know why I keep refreshing the app. I left Juliet an hour ago, and Rev left her with the baby. It’s not like Juliet’s going to sit down and send me a letter while a toddler destroys the place—especially when she doesn’t know that Declan Murphy and The Dark are one and the same.
At the same time, I wish she would.
I rub the back of my neck. The waiting area in the emergency room is crowded and stifling. I haven’t seen Alan, and he hasn’t answered my texts or my calls.
I keep thinking of the three times he called me at Rev’s house, how I ignored him.
The cynical side of me thinks he’s doing this to piss me off.
The terrified side of me worries that Mom’s in such bad shape that he can’t even look at his phone.
Did she ever tell him about how sick she was Friday night? Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe I should have said something.
She collapsed. What did that mean? A heart attack? Wouldn’t Alan have said she had a heart attack? Maybe she just passed out.
But why would she pass out in the middle of the kitchen?
She was cooking dinner. Did she hurt herself? What happened?
I rub my hands down my face and blow out a breath. Music pours from some overhead speaker, but it’s tuned to a station no one in their right mind would listen to. It’s some kind of croony old-timer’s music, and every time the singer hits a long note, the speaker crackles with static. I keep bouncing my leg. My nerves are shot.
When I look up, my eyes stop on a poster across the room about the warning signs for breast cancer.
Would that make you pass out? I have no idea. I look away. My eyes stop on another sign that talks about heart disease.
I jerk myself out of the chair. “I’m going to ask again.”
“Dec.” Rev’s voice is steady, settling. “You asked ten minutes ago.”
He’s right. I’ve asked every ten minutes. They tell me that only one family member is allowed back at a time, and I’ll have to wait for Alan to come out.
He hasn’t.
The woman behind the counter keeps glancing at me, and I can tell I’m beginning to wear on her, too. If they throw me out of here, I don’t know what I’ll do.
I slam back into the seat. My pulse roars in my ears, making me very aware of every heartbeat. I drag my hands through my hair. My shoulders are so tense I’m going to have to hit something to release the pressure.
Rev puts a hand on my shoulder, and I freeze. For a minute, I’m worried he’s going to say something biblical about God’s will, and I’m going to have to punch him. Or he’s going to say something empty and meaningless, like, She’ll be fine or I’m sure it’s just low blood sugar. They’re probably giving her a soda right now.
But he’s Rev and he’s my best friend and he doesn’t say any of those things. He sits there in silence, his hand on my shoulder.
In a way, it’s reassuring, to know I’m not here alone. But we sit for the longest time, until fear is pressing down on me.
I text Alan again.
No answer.
I call him and it goes right to voice mail.
He’s turned his phone off.
My chest tightens. Every breath is a struggle, and my throat doesn’t want to work right. I can’t sit here in silence anymore.
“I think she’s sick.”