Floating on a lazy river.
Detachment from a lifetime of sterile rooms and needles.
Death was almost a friend that I’d missed for far too long.
"Clear!" someone shouted.
The paddles descended on my chest. My body convulsed once, lifting off the table. They’d loosened the restraints circling my wrists and ankles. When my form thudded back down, it was sideways. I looked funny that way. Dressed in the thin surgical gown, pale legs nearly blending out of sight against the pale white material.
The shrill sound of me flatlining continued, unwavering.
I shimmered, as if I’d shake apart into afterlife glitter. I peered down at my hands, and they were becoming increasingly transparent. The out-of-body experience seemed to be ending.Where would I go next?There had to be something beyond this pitiful existence I’d led. A world past the confines of Brightfield House, beyond the limitations of my defective genes. I drifted toward the unknown, curious and unafraid.
"Again! Clear!"
Another jolt. Another convulsion. The ‘after’ of living beckoned more insistently.
Just as I prepared to surrender—to the everything or the nothing after death—something yanked me back with violent force.
A fish on a hook ripped from its peaceful waters.
Agony returned with breathtaking vengeance.
My eyes flew open as I gasped, lungs expanding painfully as they remembered how to function. The continuous tone from the monitors broke, steady beeping back where it belonged.
"Sinus rhythm established," announced a voice, thick with relief.
"Blood pressure returning," added another.
"Oxygen saturation climbing back to 90... 92... 94 percent."
The room seemed to collectively exhale. Doctor Mercer stepped back from my body—my body, which I now inhabited once more—his scrubs darkened with sweat despite the room'schill. He moved towards the monitors, checking over vitals for himself. A nurse continued to hold the oxygen mask against my face, her eyes locked with mine, searching for recognition.
"Lucy?" she questioned softly. "Are you with us?"
I blinked rapidly up at her. I was unable to form words past the oxygen mask and the rawness in my throat. For some reason I couldn’t process how to nod my head. Everything hurt in a dull, distant way, as if my nerves were too exhausted for full-volume pain.
"That was close," the Institute doctor said, his clinical detachment momentarily fractured by genuine concern. "Your body reacted more strongly to the secondary catalyst than we anticipated. We’ll run some bloodwork, but I feel confident now that you’ve made it through this round.” He said the last as if no one else had survived this yet. How many patients died trying this already? Had anyone beside me made it past the second phase?
They wheeled me to recovery.
Several hours passed. When I was wide awake, prepping for transfer back to my own room, Doctor Mercer arrived with Doctor Emerson close behind. The first looked elated; the latter looked apprehensive.
“Your numbers are wonderful, Lucy, and your cells are showing remarkable adaptation. It’s finally working.” Doctor Mercer wore a genuine smile. It warped his face in an unsettling way. He looked me over like I was a fascinating science project. Doctor Emerson hung back, his eyes locked on my face, his mouth slightly downturn.
I stared at the Institute doctor, my mind trying to process his words through the disorientation of having briefly departed my own body.Cells showing remarkable adaptation. Finally working.
My own words added onto his.
If I survive, it’s worth it.
My brush with death hadn't been for nothing. I could do this. I could live.
My gaze shifted to Doctor Emerson. I wanted him to be next to me. I wanted him to hold my hand. I wanted him to give me one of his patented bear hugs. I’d died today, but maybe it was so I could be reborn.
“Doc?” I whispered, but before Doctor Emerson could respond, Mercer butted in.
"We'll monitor you closely for the next twenty-four hours,” he said in a clinical voice. "If stability continues, we'll initiate the necessary between-treatment stabilizers, gene stimulators, and anti-rejection drugs. Ideally, we’ll proceed with session three five days from now.”
