Wake for Me (Life or Death Series) (7 page)

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come see you,” he said. “I guess I was too busy trying to avoid reality. But then again, that’s not really true. I think I’ve been afraid.”

Sam shook his head in disgust, forcing himself to look at her sleeping face for the first time since he’d entered the room. Something out of place caught his eye, and his frown deepened.

“What the hell?” He moved a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. There was a thin black cord hidden among the brown curls. Sam tugged at it gently, and a tiny headphone came free. It was one of those expensive, custom-fitted earbuds that went all the way into the ear. After removing the earbud from her other ear, he followed the cord with his fingers, and found that the headphones were attached to an mp3 player that someone had tucked under Viola’s pillow. It was still playing, the same album over and over again on a loop.
Aiden Faux, Unplugged
. The mp3 player was almost out of juice. Sam winced as a fresh current of anger and disgust flowed through him.

“Son of a
bitch
.”

Sam leaned closer to Viola, smoothing her hair back. Tears burned at the back of his eyes, making him feel sick on top of exhausted. “Have you just been lying here all night, forced to listen to this crap?” He lowered his voice to a whisper, out of respect for her undoubtedly tender eardrums. “I’m so sorry. That must have been torture.”

For about twenty minutes, he just sat there, with his hand on top of hers.

“I’ve been wrestling with my conscience, trying to figure out how I should tell you this.
If
I should tell you this. It seems so surreal, like lightning striking twice. No one should have to deal with so much at once, and I don’t want you to wake up and feel blindsided. But you probably will, no matter what. There’s no right way to do this. I know that.”

Taking a deep breath, Sam held her hand between both of his, and started again.

 “Your parents…they passed away, Viola. They were driving home after visiting you the last time. Your father had a heart attack and crashed the car. The paramedics brought them back here, and the ER doctors did everything they could, but they didn’t make it. I am so, so sorry.”

What would it feel like, he thought, to wake up and find out that everyone you loved was just suddenly gone? It had been bad enough losing one member of his family at a time, and watching it happen. But two at once, and all while you were sleeping? Sam couldn’t imagine.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat, and Sam jumped. Straightening in his chair, he let go of Viola’s hand and turned toward the door. “Oh, it’s you.”

Nurse Bouchard raised an eyebrow at him, and promptly flipped on the overhead light.

“Now, I know you’ve had a rough couple of days, Dr. Philips, but is that any way to address your elders, and a lady to boot?”

“No,” Sam shook his head, ashamed. If his mother had been here, she would’ve kicked his ass for being so disrespectful. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Her expression softened slightly. “But did I just hear you tell that poor comatose girl that she’s an orphan? What in the hell is the matter with you, boy? Even if she could hear you, that bit of knowledge ain’t going to do her a lick of good in her current state.”

Her current state? She was still alive, goddamn it
. Sam gripped the arms of the chair and forced his body into a standing position, until he towered over the bossy and opinionated nurse.

“I disagree,” he said. “As someone who’s been in the same position, I think it’s far worse when people try to keep things from you. I don’t know about you, Nurse Bouchard, but if you love someone enough, there’s no such thing as too much information. Or too soon. You need to know exactly why that person can’t be a part of your life anymore. But then, that’s just my opinion.”

For a few seconds, there was a tension in the room, like a bow string waiting to be released. Sam braced himself for the inevitable backlash of his out of character tirade. He’d never argued with Nurse Bouchard before, or even really stood up to her at all, until now.

Slowly, she nodded. “You know, you just might make a halfway decent doctor someday.”

Sam opened his mouth to say ‘thank you,’ but she cut him off before he could even form the first word.

“Someday, I said. Not today, though. Today, you forgot to order labs for Mrs. Bronson in 725 again.”

“Oh.” Well, he could officially add ‘sheepish’ to his list of shitty adjectives for the day. “Sorry, I’ll do that right now.”

Nurse Bouchard turned to leave, but then stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

“You’re lucky I reminded you, you know. Instead of just sitting back and watching you fall on your ass. If I’m being honest, it would’ve been much more fun for me the other way.”

Sam couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile. “Thank you for telling me, Nurse Bouchard.”

“It’s Lucinda,” she threw back, before leaving the room. Then she muttered something that sounded a lot like, “Dumb ass, bleeding heart interns.”

“Bitchy geriatric nurses,” Sam muttered quietly.

He took a step toward the door, then turned back. After glancing toward the door to make sure no one else was around, he leaned over Viola’s bed and gently kissed the top of her head. It wasn’t meant to be a creepy gesture, but anyone watching might not have understood. Viola was his patient, first and foremost. But the way he felt about her had grown complicated. Somehow, at some point, he’d become her self-appointed guardian inside the hospital. Now that she had no one else, that job seemed more important than ever.

“I’ll be back soon,” he told her, giving her hand a quick goodbye squeeze.

Her hand squeezed back.

“Oh, my god.” Sam stared down at Viola, afraid to move. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but he could’ve sworn that it was more than an involuntary reflex. But he couldn’t sound the alarm until he knew for sure.

“Viola,” he said excitedly. “Can you hear me? If you can hear me, I need you to squeeze my hand again.”

Nothing happened.

“Come on,” Sam said, growing desperate. “Squeeze my hand, Viola. I know you can do it.”

After waiting a few more seconds, Sam let go of her hand.

“Damn it.” He took a step back and reached his arm up to rub his eyes against his sleeve. He was exhausted, emotionally wrecked. Pretty soon, he’d start seeing things, too. “You had me going there for a second.”

Feeling more defeated than ever, he left the room and went to order labs for Mrs. Bronson. Maybe Chakrabarti was right. Wishful thinking in any form was just setting yourself up for failure. Or insanity. Maybe both.

At the end of shift, Sam found himself sitting in the locker room, too tired to change. He must’ve looked like hell, because Brady came in quietly and sat down next to him, instead of engaging in his usual banter. After a few seconds of miraculous, unprecedented silence, he reached over and patted Sam awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Buddy. It’ll all work out.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh darkly to himself.

“Hey Brady, if I tell you something, will you promise not to repeat it?”

“Of course, buddy. What else are friends for, right?”

“Viola Bellerose?” Sam exhaled sharply. “I think I’m the reason she didn’t wake up. In fact, I’m almost sure of it.”

Brady leaned back slightly, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, not expecting that.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Suddenly, Brady stood up and did a quick lap of the locker room, probably to make sure that no one else could overhear them. When he was satisfied they were alone, he plunked down, straddling the bench facing Sam. He’d never looked so serious.

“Explain yourself.”

Sam did the best he could, recalling all the details he could remember from that night. How distracted he’d felt, what he’d done, and all the steps he could remember taking. At the end, he made his final confession.

“I think I’m going to tell Dr. Chakrabarti the truth.”

“What truth?” Brady scoffed. “That you’re paranoid and delusional?”

“No. That I messed up when I did the initial assessment.” The moment Sam said it out loud, he realized it was the right thing to do. “If I tell him, he can go back over Viola’s records with a fine-toothed comb. Maybe he’ll see what I missed.”

“Sam.” Brady was shaking his head back and forth frantically, like a bobble head. “You can’t do that. Not only does it prove Chakrabarti right—that you’re totally emotionally involved in this patient’s case—but also, seriously? Don’t you think Chakrabarti double checks every little thing we do? Especially on a high-profile VIP case like this one? If you’d made even the tiniest mistake, don’t you think he would’ve caught it? The guy’s basically a robot. Nothing escapes his notice.”

“Still, I,” Sam started to protest, but Brady barreled right over him.

“Remember the time I went commando under my scrubs, because it was laundry day? Yeah. Chakrabarti noticed. And you better believe I got written up immediately for that shit. I’m telling, you man. You did not fuck up on the Bellerose case. You’re just psyching yourself out, because you never do anything but work, and also because I think you kind of have a weird Florence Nightingale thing going on with this girl. Not that I blame you, because she is kind of hot. In a really still, really unconscious sort of way.” He held up his hands, scooting backward on the bench, probably in case Sam decided to take a swing at him. “But hey, I’m not judging. Maybe you’re into that.”

Sam was starting to wonder if, against all previous evidence, Brady might be right—regardless of whether or not he was also disgusting, and kind of a douche bag most of the time. Viola was just his patient. Sam wasn’t her guardian angel, or her boyfriend, or even really her friend. He was just her doctor. Anything else would be totally one-sided and bordering on creepy. For crying out loud, he’d only spoken to her for a few seconds in a darkened bar.

Then again, a tiny voice whispered, there was that kiss. The one you keep trying to convince yourself never really happened. Wishful thinking. Aftermath delusion.

There was no such thing as love at first sight. Or fate. Or miracles. He should know that better than most.

Sam grimaced at Brady. It was the closest thing he could muster to a smile.

“If someone ever hears you joke about that, and I go to jail, I’m taking you down with me. And you’d better believe the first thing I do will be to pimp you out to the biggest, meanest bruiser in the place.”

“Bitch, please,” Brady pursed his lips like a duck. “You know I’ll be the belle of the cell block with my creamy smooth skin and my tight little ass.”

In spite of himself, Sam laughed. “Jesus, Brady. Is there anything you’re above bragging about?”

“Only the size of my Johnson,” he said, standing up. “But that’s only ‘cause I don’t have to. Come on.”

“How do you get so many girls to go home with you?” Sam asked, genuinely mystified. “You’re basically a primate.”

“Uh, huh-yeah. In the sack.” He punched Sam in the shoulder. “Let’s go get you showered up and set you loose on the town. It’s time for you to rejoin the world of the living, my friend. The healthy, nubile, female…scantily clad living. First round’s on me!”

Letting himself feel bolstered—at least temporarily—by the idea that he might simply be overreacting and over thinking things, yet again, Sam stood and followed his friend out into the world of the living. Into reality.

CHAPTER NINE

“Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy.” –Sigmund Freud

He’s right behind me.

I can hear his breathing, heavy and guttural as he leaps over obstacles like they’re nothing. He gains. No matter how hard I run, always he gains. Taunting me with his proximity. I can’t see his face, but I know what he wants.

He wants me.

Dead, or alive. Both. It doesn’t matter. Because sooner or later, he’s going to catch me, and I’ll be helpless, powerless against him.

My legs are badly oiled pistons, pumping underneath me far too slowly for the momentum I need to outdistance my pursuer. It feels like he’s been after me forever, only I didn’t see him, didn’t start running from him until it was too late. Until he already had me in his sights.

The things he has planned for me are unthinkable. Despicable.

I want to give up, so badly. I want to cry and scream and beg for mercy, but that would mean I would have to stop. I would have to turn, and face him. The thought of doing that is unimaginable.

In this endless moment of panic, there’s no time for foresight, or planning. There’s no time to analyze my instincts. There’s only the motion of my legs, and the next stretch of ground that lies directly ahead.

The ground ends. A precipice. I can’t slow down. I’d rather fall than stop.

I leap into the air, flailing with my arms. I pretend they’re wings. I can fly, I think. If only I try hard enough, believe hard enough. I flap my wings so hard, every muscle in my body starts to burn.

I begin to rise. Slowly, agonizingly slowly. My momentum stops a few meters from the ground. But I’m not going anywhere, just floating, hovering in the air. I glance behind me, and he’s still coming. I work harder, fly faster. But I can’t rise any higher than the treetops. My toes skim them as I pass overhead. Slowly, with great difficulty, I move forward. Away from him.

It’s come back to a race, but now I’m at a slightly higher level. If I stop to rest, bobbing up and down in the air, he’ll grab hold of my ankles and pull me down to him. So I continue to flap, wanting to scream from the force of my exertion.

“Help me,” I sob, looking at the dark red horizon, as black thunder clouds roll into view. “Someone, please help me.”

Thunder. It’s faint, like a door slamming in another room of the house. But the shockwave hits me like the backlash of an explosion. My body is tossed from the sky like a rag doll from the fist of a petulant child.

I land in the meadow. The one with the purple flowers.

There’s a heavy rolling sound, and I lie on my back, staring up at the sky, waiting for the bird corpses to start hitting the ground around me. But the sky is wrong. The color is wrong. There are no weeping willows off in the distance.