I believe that Jackson will survive his surgery, but at this point, it’s likely his injuries will be permanent. His father’s death is permanent. I have had a lasting toll on his life; I’ve changed it forever. And he’s changed mine.
I send him a text so that it’ll be there when he wakes. It’ll be there in case I’m not.
I love you, Jackson. You continue to be the most reckless and selfless person I know. Thank you for loving me, even when you weren’t sure you wanted to.
He’s going to be so confused when he gets this message. He’ll also know immediately that something went wrong. I only hope I can answer when he calls.
I hit send, and then I jog forward to walk downstairs to the lab with Annalise.
24
I’m lying on a padded bed, and I’m grateful that it’s not the metal slab Winston threatened us with. Annalise sits in a chair next to me, an assortment of instruments and computer equipment that she pulled from her bag waiting on a tray.
In the back room, there’s a murmur of voices as Valentine works on Leandra, using the red light to repair her skin with grafts that’ll only show a small amount of scarring. Unlike Annalise, Leandra isn’t proud to wear her history. That’s her choice and we respect it.
“I don’t understand,” Marcella says, standing at the foot of my bed. “How is this going to work? When you go in there, what if you cut the wrong wire or something?”
“It’s never the blue wire,” Sydney says, and winks at me. She’s trying to make light of the situation, but I can tell that she’s scared. And she doesn’t even know how scared she should be for me yet.
“It’s not about a wire,” Annalise says calmly, opening her laptop before attaching several electrodes to the skin on my upper chest, and then more on my ribs. She hooks me up to a heart monitor and wheels around behind my bed.
She takes out a syringe and taps at the liquid inside.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Something for the pain,” she says, but meets my eyes. In her sharp look, I realize it’s not just a painkiller. It’s a killer.
My desire to live almost makes me knock it out of her hand. I don’t want to die, but if my death saves us… I close my eyes, swallowing hard, and then I nod for her to continue.
“Will the procedure hurt?” I ask her. She looks down at me, her expression serious.
“Only for a moment,” she says. And then she slips the needle under my skin and depresses the plunger. “This is also a narcotic, so expect…”
Heat races up my arm from the injection followed by a wave of sedation. “Whoa,” I say, the room moving in front of me. “That’s strong stuff.” I can hear my speech slur. Sydney reaches to take my hand, and when I turn to her, her expression is painted in concern. Behind me, the heart monitor begins to beat rapidly. Erratically.
“Why did you give her that?” Sydney asks. “I thought this was a simple procedure.”
“Let me work,” Annalise says. She begins clicking buttons on her computer, the sounds echoing. There is itching under my skin, not entirely unpleasant, but somehow it makes me cold. I think I say it out loud, but I can’t be sure until Brynn is next tome, tucking the blankets all around me. She also looks worried.
“Something’s wrong,” Marcella says from somewhere in the room. “Annalise,” she calls, “tell us what’s going on. Why are her lips turning blue?”
And then Annalise is in my vision, a tool in her hand. I’m only half-aware when she feeds that tube behind my eyes, only half-aware when it touches my brain. I watch through blurred vision as Annalise takes a metal tool and slides it into that tubing.
“What are you doing?” Marcella demands, her voice shaking. “You’re killing her!”
“I discussed it with Mena,” Annalise replies. She looks at me, but her image is hazy through the tubing. “This is what she wanted.”
“What does that mean?” Sydney says, her voice ticking upward. She drops my hand. Annalise ignores her. The monitor no longer sounds like heartbeat, just a set of drums hitting random, rapid beats.
Annalise leans in close to me, and even through the blur, I see the tears falling from her eyes. “I love you, Mena,” she whispers. “Are you ready?”
“I love you, too,” I try to say, but I can’t feel my lips.
Brynn puts her hand over her mouth, looking horrified. Sydney is yelling at Annalise, telling her to stop. Marcella is running into the back room to get Leandra. The heart monitor sounds like it’s about to explode. The room is erupting in chaos and emotion.
“Annalise, please!” Sydney is sobbing, gripping my limp hand once again.
And I imagine it’s the drugs, but I picture Jackson, standing at the foot of the bed, shaking his head in annoyance. Furious at me.
