I wasn’t telling the full truth. Your sister was in danger from Peter. You both still are. I hoped that by telling you all of this... that it would help both of you. Peter went to your sister's rehab center the day after your mother got that call. He was tasked to ‘rid’ the world of everyone who possessed the last name Selby.
“The accident?” she looks at me, “I remember now, I knew the other car looked familiar... it was Peter’s. He was trying to kill us?” I bob my head in response. “But... why?”
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to go into that story. The longer you stay away, the harder it will be for you to go back to your body.
“Go back to my body, I am so confused, Oliver. You just told me I was dead?”
I. Can’t. Lose. You! I knew before the call what it was about. I spent EVERY DAY by your bedside. Listening and watching as they tried everything to save you. I thought I had lost you for good, until it happened—your soul rose from your body: Teal, bright, and magical. Finally. I. had. Hope.
“Then why didn’t you tell me that I could have gone back sooner? I could have saved both of us.” The tears she was holding back break free and cascade down her face.
“No, Emory. It doesn’t work like that. You are brain-dead, and there is no coming back. You are either going to live the remainder of your life attached to those machines and your sister will OD on her quilt, or you can give her one last ‘see you there’ and spend your afterlife with me.”
She lowers her head as her gaze falls on everything but me. “Would I have time-” she looks at her hands, “To speak to her, then fight for my life?”
I can’t lie to her anymore. “Yes,” the weight on my chest gets heavier, “But there is no guarantee you will make it off the machines.”
“What about you?” Her eyes finally meet mine, but her gaze is flat and emotionless.
“What about me, Emory?” I haven’t cried in a long time, I almost thought it was impossible until now.
“What will happen to you?”
My voice is shaky as I respond, “You will never see me again.” A tear falls, and my heart is in my throat. I watch as the dream of having her by my side in misery fades before me.
“I’m ready.” I open my mouth to speak, then snap it back closed. “One last question,” I nod for her to proceed, “What of my father, was he ever going to show up?”
I swallow hard, then answer, “No, your father died when you were young.” The anger that seeped from her irises strikes me like a thousand daggers.
“And my grandmother... my grandfather?”
My deceit continues to pile in front of me, but no more lies she is either going to stay or she isn’t. “Peter killed your grandfather the night before he ran you girls off the bridge.” I pause knowing the next thing I say is going to be the nail in my coffin. I stand and walk over to a tiny office in the far corner of the nook, pulling a photo off the wall. Once I am back alongside Emory, I hand it to her, “And... Niven... is your grandmother.”
The photo in her hands is of a thirty-year-old Niven sporting the stunning blue dress displayed in the Tailor shop. Her gorgeous dark hair is in loose curls on her shoulders, while her eyes gleam with pride, adding a sense of sophistication to the image. Emory doesn’t say anything, she walks out and doesn’t look back.
∞∞∞
We arrive at the hospital in silence, and as I guide her to the room, she looks around, then finally breaks the silence, “Why does it look like everyone’s body is lagging?”
Sighing, I answer. “At first, when your body is fighting, they can look normal, like they would any other day.” I glance over at her, “As your body slowly starts to fade, so does your perception of those living around you. If they are in good health, they will appear to you as… mists.”
Looking away, I can see her head lift in my periphery, and I feel her eyes staring holes into my profile. “So, the mist in the garden?”
“Is,” I interrupt her. “Your brother.”
“Wait, my brother?” She seems to soften her tone when asking. “I have a brother?”
“Yes, his name is Brennan, and he is your older brother.” She stops walking and just stares at me.
“Is that why our father left us?” I look down at my feet as she continues, “And what about Peter?”
“Don’t you cry for that scum.” I stop when I hear her whimpering, “He isn’t worth your tears.” I take her face in my hands as they pour down. Once she gains composure, her eyes open and lock with mine, “It’s not for him … is it?”
She shakes her head, “No, this whole time we thought our dad didn’t love us anymore?” She sniffles, “And it turns out, we have a brother and our father died... I just don’t know what to do with all this information.”
I take her in my arms, embracing every moment I have left with her, because in the end, the choice will be hers. “We can figure that out later, right now my job is to get you to your sister.”
Once in the room, I draw back the curtains, and she stands between the beds. Evelyn on one side, and her body on the other. “I’m scared, Oliver.”
