“No.” I walk inside, suddenly lost for words when I see Erik lying on the hospital bed. I’ve never seen him in a hospital bed. I’ve never seen him injured or sick. And he’s usually so tall, such a big, confident presence, but not today.
Fidgeting with everything—my hair, my clothes, Elise's bag—I move to stand beside his bed. He doesn't look big or tall today. He looks small.
A part of me wants to climb up onto the narrow edge of that bed, the way I used to when I was nine and the nightmares came, fold myself against his side, let him be the warm thing I used to trust.
Before he became the other thing.
When I try to touch his hand, something rubber presses against my palm. I pull away almost instantly. A cannula. He also has a horrendous-looking tube jutting out of his throat. I study his face and all the new colours. Dark reds and blues from deep bruising, greens and yellows from ones that have started to heal.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes.
"Only family is allowed in here,” a man says from behind me.
"I'm his sister." I watch him walk in; obviously a doctor given his white coat. “Is he okay?"
He looks up from his clipboard. "So you’re family?”
"I just told you; I'm his sister."
"Ah,the sister.”
That sounds like an accusation…
He goes on, “Mr Bellamy is in serious, but stable condition.” He crosses the room, checking the machines and making notes on the medical chart in his hand. Then he stops in front of me. The weight of his scrutiny is like lead on my shoulders. “He has already been to Theatre.”
I hold my breath.
My hand reaches through empty space for something to grab. Elise grips my hand and squeezes. "What happened in Theatre?" I hear her say, though she seems far away.
"We had two specialists assess his injuries. He'll require facial reconstruction. Our primary concern, however, was a subdural hematoma, so we induced a barbiturate coma and ran an MRI. There's midline shifting consistent with intracranial pressure and some localized subarachnoid bleeding. He needs time for that to resolve. The mandibular fracture we've stabilised with intermaxillary fixation. The tracheotomy was necessary to maintain a patent airway while sedated. He's on a drip, IV fluids, and we're running neuro checks every hour."
Huh?
"How long will he be under?" I whisper.
"Probably about two weeks, give or take, depending on how the pressure resolves and whether we see any secondary insults to the brain tissue." He narrows his eyes at me. "I want to be very clear: the neurological picture here is still evolving. Withholding information from the clinical team at this stage is not a minor thing."
What is it they know?
"Okay, can we be alone with him?” I ask. I'm staring at the ground, but I can hear his shoes shuffling as he moves through the door. "Did that sound a little like he doesn’t trust us?" I collapse into the chair beside my brother.
Elise exhales and moves to stand beside me. "Maybe Erik said something before they put him under?”
“We didn’tlieto the police.”
She shrugs. “Not entirely. Your brother’s boss made the call not to press charges. Guess it wouldn’t look good on their company record or something…”
Or something…
The beeping of the monitor fills the silence between us. I watch the line on the screen climb and fall, climb and fall. At some point Elise sits down. At some point I do, too. After a while, I pull my phone out and look over the texts from Konnor.
Konnor: Answer your phone! Dammit, Duch, you are fucking me up!
Konnor: I'm sorry for swearing at you, Duchess. I'm sorry. I should never do that. Just talk to me.
Konnor: Alright, Blesk, alright, just remember I'm here. If anyone ever hurts you. If you ever need a ride, a cuddle, a bodyguard, a friend, a servant, a wizard, lol. Anything. I'll be there for you.
Konnor: This is not happening. It can't.
