The hairs on my arms stand up. My legs are lead weights. I can’t move another step. Oh god. God, no. I grind to a halt, my tongue nothing more than a thick piece of meat in my mouth. “It’s not Mac, is it?” I say softly.
Michael turns to face me. His ghostly pale blue eyes are full of bad news. “No. It’s not Mac.”
******
SLOANE
The morgue seems especially quiet. Bochowitz has done his work, cleaning and preparing Millie’s body. There’s no need for an autopsy. The majority of Millie’s MRI scan was completed before she coded, and it showed a devastating amount of swelling to her brain. It would have killed her no matter what. The combination of drugs in her system, along with the strain on her heart, managed to kill her first though. Both Margate and myself signed off on the cause of death, which means Millie’s body won’t need to be cut open and investigated—a small blessing.
Bochowitz left the morgue after his work was done—said he couldn’t bear to see Millie all laid up and silent after spending so much time with her here before, when she was very much alive and full of laughter. That has left Zeth and I standing vigil over her body, while we wait.
To one side, I see something familiar and shiny sitting on a metal tray. The personal affects of the deceased are usually set to one side like this, ready for family members to claim, and Millie is no different. Except this time, there aren’t a handful of belongings quarantined, awaiting collection: wallet, phone, wedding rings, bunches of keys. There is only a scuffed imitation Rolex watch—my scuffed imitation Rolex watch. She must have been wearing it when they brought her in. I didn’t notice. I didn’t see. My heart throbs fitfully once more, aching without end. Slowly, I collect the watch. I don’t need it anymore. It’s Millie’s. I unclip the strap and thread it over her tiny hand, fastening it as tightly as I can. Her wrist looks so narrow and slender, so goddamn small. I feel like bursting into tears, but I don’t.
Hours pass by. After a long time, Zeth sits himself up on the edge of the cold metal slab Millie is laid out on, where he takes hold of her and lifts her into his arms. He folds the sheet covering her body around her, wrapping her up as if to keep her warm, and he just sits like that, stroking her hair, rocking her in his arms. He doesn’t say a word.
I try really fucking hard, but I can’t keep my tears at bay. Always, Zeth has seemed like an impenetrable brick wall. The weather and the tides crash against him and have no effect. All hell breaks loose, and he stands strong, unharmed. He holds this little girl in his arms now, though—a little girl he had never met before tonight—and he seems completely undone.
Those huge hands of his move slowly over Millie’s fine, wispy hair, and after a while I can hear the deep, low rumble of his voice as he whispers softly to her. It’s a tender, painful thing to watch. I can’t hear what he says to her, and I don’t want to, either. That’s between him and Millie.
Another hour passes.
Zeth’s phone starts ringing in his pocket, but he doesn’t answer. Neither of us move to leave, because it doesn’t seem right somehow. Millie shouldn’t be left alone. Eventually, the door to the morgue opens and Michael slips inside. His shoulders are stiff, lines deeply creasing his forehead as he takes in Zeth rocking Millie in his arms.
“God,” is all he can say. He rubs one hand over his face, placing the other one on his hip. “I found him. He’s outside. I didn’t know if I should bring him in or not.”
I get to my feet, wincing when my hips and back complain. I’ve been sitting for too long. “Okay. Does he know?”
Michael winces, too, though I think it’s his heart that’s hurting him. “I think so. I didn’t have to tell him. He followed me down here without saying a word. It’s like his body’s out there but his mind is somewhere else completely.”
So he does know, then. He’s figured it out, and now he’s in shock. I’d like to think that means I don’t have to go out there and tell him his little sister is dead, but being informed is part of the process. He needs to hear me say it. I really don’t want to. It’s going to destroy me to part with the words, but no matter how badly it will hurt me, it’s going to hurt him a million times more. He’s cared for Millie for so long. She’s been his sole responsibility, the only real thing he’s had to care about in the whole world, and now she’s gone.
I move out into the corridor in silence, closing the door behind me as quietly as I can. Mason is sitting on one of the plastic chairs opposite the entrance to the morgue, staring into space. I take a seat next to him, trying to pull in a deep breath without being too obvious.