The non-parent couple returns thirty minutes later while I sit frozen, both of them crying softly. It takes much longer for the parents to return with the doctor trailing behind them.
“W-we couldn’t watch it,” the mother whispers to the other woman in stuttered sobs. “But we said our goodbyes.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and it takes everything inside me to hold back tears.
The other woman nods in understanding, and they all leave together.
It’s the most heartbreaking, gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever seen.
I sit in stunned silence until the doctor, who’s still standing in the same place, approaches me. In the painful aftermath of watching parents lose their son, I’ve forgotten to channel the magic from the necklace. “I’m sorry, but who are you here for?”
The tears that spill down my cheek are genuine, just not in the way he thinks. “I’m here for Ben,” I say, using thename I’d heard the family use and nodding in the direction the four of them had left. “I… I just wasn’t sure if I could handle seeing him.”
It’s not a complete lie.
The doctor gives me a sympathetic nod, still speaking in that same gentle tone. “Well, if you want to say your goodbyes, now is the time.”
“Okay. I’m ready.”
I’mnotready. This isn’t okay. What the hell am I doing?
I follow him anyway, down the cold, impersonal labyrinth of hallways to the room where a boy is about to die.
That’s what I keep telling myself. He’s about to die. What I’m about to do will not affect anyone besides myself and Ambrose—him for the better, me for the worse. But this will change nothing for the kid.
The doctor opens a door and gestures to the bed, saying, “I’ll give you a few minutes,” before he shuts me in. The room is silent aside from the steady beep of the heart monitor and the almost inaudible hum of the medical machinery.
Holding my breath, I take slow steps toward the hospital bed.
God, he’s so small. So still. He can’t be older than seven or eight, with blonde hair that falls across his forehead in messy waves. I can so easily imagine him running around a playground or sitting in a classroom or grinning to show off the gaps where he’s lost his baby teeth.
Closing my eyes, I take in a slow, shaky breath. This feels so wrong. It’s too real.
I remember what it was like to lie in those too firm hospital beds under scratchy blankets that seem to do nothing to ward off the cold. The only difference is that the last time I was lying in one, I had desperately wanted to die. This boy doesn’t deserve death. He should have his entire lifeahead of him. He never got the chance to fall in love, or go to high school, or drive a car, or find his passion in life. Instead, he’s lying here like a statue, only breathing because of the machines he’s attached to.
None of this is fair, and right now, I desperately wish I could trade places with him. This sweet, innocent soul deserves to live a hell of a lot more than I do. A part of me wants to leave now, to pretend like this never happened and go back to rotting in my bedroom. But I know that if I don’t do this now, I never will. If I leave now, I won’t be strong enough to try something like this again, and I’ll be stuck with Ambrose forever.
If I can’t prevent this little boy from dying anyway, I’ll at least make sure something positive comes from his tragic death. One day, I’ll use my eventual freedom to do some good in the world, somehow.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, I take Ben’s hand in mine.
“I’m so sorry this is happening,” I whisper. “I wish I could help you.”
A part of me expects his eyes to pop open at any second, for him to smile and tell me this is all some elaborate joke. But he doesn’t. I’m only answered with more silence.
“Your parents love you so much,” I choke out, thinking of the couple in the waiting room whose grief was so visceral it still seems to weigh down the air in this room.
There’s a knock at the door, and the doctor pokes his head in. “Do you need a few more minutes?”
I shake my head. There’s nothing else I can say or do to make this better. “No. But can I stay in here when it happens? I just don’t want him to be alone.” My voice cracks on another sob, partly because it’s true—I want to be here for him even if he has no awareness left to understandmy presence—but partly because I don’t know how close I need to be for the necklace to absorb the years of his unlived life.
And that makes me hate myself even more.
The doctor nods. “Yes, you can stay.” He comes into the room followed by a couple other medical professionals.
He explains what they’re about to do, but the words don’t register. I nod numbly, all the while holding this boy’s tiny, cold hand in my own. The only thing that gives me any solace is that I have proof of the supernatural, and maybe that means there’s something beautiful waiting for this boy beyond death.
The medical staff moves around us in a blur, and I stare down at the boy’s face the entire time. When they take away his life support, silent tears roll down my cheeks until the shrill flatlining of the heart monitor fills the room.
He’s gone.
