Ella sniffs. “After the earthquake, your dad found you in the basement of Hopkins’. You’d gone missing. He had to break in.”
“The earthquake?”
“The strongest Elmstitch has ever had—the seismologists are baffled. We think you hit your head. You don’t have any injuries elsewhere. They’ve done countless scans, and you’re completely healthy, except you wouldn’t wake up. Nothing could rouse you.”
My brow furrows, and I look down at my body. Two weeks have passed. To me, it feels like moments. I release Ella’s hand and touch my legs, peaking under the hospital blanket. They’re a little hairy, but there are no bruises, no cuts.
Gingerly, I trace my scalp, my nose—it’s not broken. My body aches, uncomfortable with disuse.
I place my palms over my breast and stomach but feel nothing from my brands. They’ve scanned my body, surely someone would have seen…
“There’s more.”
More?I tense, peering back at her.
Ella’s hesitating.
“What is it?” I press.
“It’s the way you were found. Your dad has only told your mom and me, but he found you at the bottom of the stairs, your body tightly wrapped in blankets, and nothing else—you were laid out, restful, like you were napping. We’re worried about that guy you were seeing… Did he drug you or something?”
I stare at her.
Her eyes soften. “John Beck went missing too. Still is. Is he your boyfriend?”
I look away, shaking my head. “No, not John.”
“And there are weird whispers at the Watering Hole that the museum’s old gargoyle statue came to life about an hour before the earthquake.”
I flinch at her inadvertent mention of Zuriel.
“So I need to ask, and this question sounds obvious, but are you okay?”
I glance back at her. “What do you mean?”
“Please, Summer, you can tell me. I’m worried. We all are. Is there something you’re not saying?”
I rub my eyes. I’ve always told Ella everything. I trust her more than anyone. But this? It will sound crazy, though I want to try. It would be nice to confide in her. If I told anybody, it would be her. She wouldn’t stop being my friend. “There’s something.”
“If you don’t want to talk…”
“I do. Ineedto talk about it—”
There’s a knock at the door, and whoever it is doesn’t wait for a reply. The door flings wide open.
Mom flies into the room, wearing her scrubs. Dad isn’t far behind. She hugs me, sobs into my shoulder, and then coughs, collecting herself as she begins to examine my vitals, wiping tears from her eyes. She kisses my brow. “We were at the nurse's station when we got Ella’s text. How do you feel?”
Even Dad is glassy-eyed.
“I’m okay. Or at least, I think I’m okay, all things considered.”
Tapping on the machine, she speaks in that no-nonsense voice that I only hear at the hospital. “You’ve been in a coma for several weeks now. You might feel groggy, disoriented, or confused. It’s strange… all of this.” She clutches my hand, her eyes flicking critically over my face. “You’re unusually alert.”
Without waiting for a reply, she scurries about, listening to my heartbeat. She checks my eyes and my throat.
I smile apologetically at Ella, and she mouths, “We’ll talk later,” as she leaves the room.
Once Mom is convinced I don’t need immediate attention, she summons another nurse for assistance, since she’s not supposed to be the one updating my charts. The attending doctor follows suit.
