8

It was quiet. The people gathered in the hallway had gone home yesterday afternoon, and the nurses who had been checking my vitals had eased back, coming in only when one of my alarms sounded, which was pretty much never. They wanted me to rest, or at least that is what they said, even offering to give me something to help me sleep. I didn’t want to close my eyes, never mind sleep, but I took the meds anyway, hoping they would take me to a place my dreams couldn’t reach. They didn’t. The nightmares were always there, lurking, waiting for me to close my eyes and let go.

I rolled my head to one side, the scent of bleach and stale coffee stinging my senses. I’d grown used to it, actually found it comforting. It kept me grounded.

Blinking long and hard, I resumed my careful study of the ceiling. It hadn’t changed in the three gruesomely long hours I’d been staring at it. It was white, a large beige streak running down the center where there obviously used to be a divider. They must have taken two separate rooms and mashed them into one. It hadn’t worked; the scar was still there for everyone to see.

A lone tear traced a path down my cheek. It felt good to cry when nobody was watching. Every time I woke up, Alex was there, holding my hand, assuring me that in a few days everything would be okay. I wished I had his faith.

Right now, he was sleeping in the chair next to my bed. Mom and Dad were there, too. They were sleeping, their bodies crammed onto the love seat in the corner. Dad looked worn, tense, his body fidgeting while he rested. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was trapped in a series of nightmares like I was.

The door to my room scraped open and the night nurse walked in, surprised, I think, to see me awake. “Not tired?” she asked as she fiddled with the machine that tracked my vitals. “I can give you something else if you want.”

“No,” I said. Truth was, I was exhausted, more tired than I ever remembered feeling. But falling asleep, reliving the few details I could piece together, was destroying me.

“My sister. Ella,” I whispered, hoping not to wake Alex or my parents. “Can you tell me anything about her? Was she even alive when they brought her in?”

The nurse’s eyes darted toward my parents.

“They won’t tell me,” I said. I’d already asked them a thousand times. They kept shaking their heads, telling me not to think about that right now. I asked Alex during one of the rare moments my parents stepped out of the room. All he could say was that it wasn’t my fault. As if that was somehow supposed to make me feel better, less guilty.

“Please, I need to know something. Anything,” I continued.

“I don’t work in the emergency room, so I don’t know how much I can tell you.”

“Can I see her? I mean, I know she’s not…” I paused, unsure of how to explain the urgent need I had to see my sister. A sister I didn’t remember having. “Please, I want to see her.”

She wavered for a minute, her hand tapping nervously on the rail of my bed. “All right,” she finally said, and I simultaneously felt relief and dread. I needed to do this. I wanted to do this, but the thought of coming face-to-face with what I’d caused had me wishing I’d never asked.

I sat up, wincing as my bare feet met the cold tile floor.

“Here,” the nurse said. She handed me a pair of socks, but I pushed them away. I liked the chill, the jarring sensation reminding me that I was alive.

Alex heard the nurse’s muffled words and stirred, his eyes opening as I stood up. “What’s going on? You good?” he asked, his eyes darting between me and the nurse. “Why are you out of bed?”

I put my finger to my lips to shush him. “I’m good,” I whispered. “She’s gonna take me to…” I trailed off, unsure of how to explain the desperate need I had to see my sister or the overwhelming sense of loss that plagued me.

“She’s gonna take you where?” Alex asked as he put his hand around my waist to keep me steady.

I lowered my eyes, then let the words fall from my lips. “To see my sister.”

Alex’s eyes widened in shock, his arm tensing around me as the color drained from his face. “What? Why? No.”

He let go of me and turned to wake my parents. I stopped him. “Please, I don’t want them there.” I don’t even want you there, I added silently.

“Maddy, listen to me. Seeing Ella won’t bring her back. It will only make things harder for you, make it more real.”

“It already is real,” I said. “I miss her, Alex, and I don’t know why. I don’t remember anything about her. Not what her voice sounded like. Not what her favorite TV show was. Not even if she preferred chocolate or vanilla ice cream. All I know is that something inside me is missing, gone, and I need to see her to make sense of it.”

I didn’t expect him to understand. I didn’t get it myself. But what I wanted, what I needed was for him to let me do this.

9

The nurse insisted on wheeling me down to the family viewing room that was attached to the morgue. I wanted to walk and went to tell her as much, but Alex picked me up before I got the chance and deposited me into the wheelchair, then pushed me toward the elevator himself.

I expected to be led into a dark basement room where the walls were lined with steel cubbies for bodies. I wasn’t prepared for a quiet room with two metal chairs and an altar for praying. One of the orderlies wheeled in a metal gurney, the still body underneath it covered with a plain blue sheet. Funny, I thought the sheet would be white and starchy, and have PROPERTY OF CRANSTON GENERAL emblazoned on it, but I guess it didn’t make a difference either way.

The orderly looked at me, then to Alex, before handing the nurse a clipboard and a pen. She signed her name on the form, pausing once to check the time on her watch before logging it on the paper.

“Do you need anything else?” the guy asked, and I shook my head. “Then I will … uh … give you some privacy.”

The room was silent. Too silent. The nurse was still there, tucked in the corner watching … waiting. I couldn’t move, couldn’t bring myself to get up from the wheelchair and take those few steps to where Ella’s dead body lay. I had begged the nurse to bring me here, and now I wanted to leave.

“Maddy?” Alex questioned as he knelt in front of me. “You don’t have to do this. Nobody expects you to do this.”

I could hear the offer in his voice, the hope that I would change my mind and retreat to my hospital room and the promise of more mind-numbing drugs.

“I’m fine,” I said as I got up and willed myself to take that first step and then another until I stood next to the steel bed, staring down at the impossibly still form.

“You ready?” the nurse asked.

I nodded and she reached for the corner of the sheet, easing it down to where my sister’s shoulders met her neck. Even staring at the floor, I could feel her there, as if she was calling to me, daring me to look at her. My hands started shaking, my entire body drenched in a sweat that contradicted the chilled air of the room. I steeled my resolve, had to count to five three times before I found the courage to look up.

“Where are her clothes?” I don’t know why I asked that. I knew her clothes were probably bloodstained and covered in glass. But I thought perhaps seeing them—the color, the brand, something as simple as whether she wore tank tops or bras would jar my memory and connect me to her in some way.

Alex shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess they probably gave them to your parents.”

“Do you know what she was wearing? Did you see her when they brought us in?”

“No,” he said, and looked away. His answer was curt and filled with an anxious quality I hadn’t heard from him before. I briefly wondered what he was hiding, what he was afraid to tell me. “Your clothes were gone by the time I got here. They’d cut everything off to get to your injuries.”