Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,2

contain myself any longer, though. Heavy sobs erupt from my throat, making it clear how hard it is to breathe.

Different members of the medical staff attempt to calm me, but I can’t stop the tears. “Felicity,” a doctor says, “you need to calm down. This isn’t good for your lungs.” How could anyone expect me to be calm?

I rip the mask off and attempt to push myself up on my elbows. “I need to find my brother. Now!” I grit my teeth. My anger takes over completely.

A nurse gently guides me back down to the table, and if I weren’t so weak, I’d fight back. “You need to calm done, honey,” she says sternly.

“No,” I try to scream, but my voice sounds like rusty air scraping through my throat. “I will not calm down!”

The doctor shakes his head, and I feel a needle pricking my skin. “Ouch,” I cry.

I’m cold. And I’m so tired…

* * *

I wake up to find Mom and Dad seated beside me. Mom has a tissue pressed up against her nose, her eyes glued to the floor. Dad’s forearms are resting on his knees; his head hangs between his arms. I want to sit up, but my muscles aren’t moving as quickly as my brain wants them too. Instead, I twist my head to the side, feeling disconnected, like my mind can’t keep up with what’s happening. The oxygen mask is still in place, but I pull it down to my chin. “Mom…Dad,” I slur. My voice sounds unfamiliar. It’s hoarse and gravelly. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed sandpaper. They lift their heads, and Dad falls to his knees, bringing himself to my bedside. Mom drags her chair over to the bed and grabs my hand. Her eyes are red and puffy, and mascara is streaked down her rosy cheeks. Her short blond hair is a mess, waves pointing in every direction. Her blouse is wrinkled and untucked, and she’s wearing tennis shoes with dress pants. I’ve never seen Mom like this. She’s always well put-together, no matter the occasion.

“Sweetheart,” Dad says. “You’re going to be okay. The doctors said you inhaled a lot of smoke, but besides that, you’re going to be fine.” If I’m going to be fine, why are they crying so hard? I’ve never seen Dad cry. Ever.

“What about Blake?”

Mom explodes with some kind of horrible moaning sound I’ve never heard before. Her chin is quivering; her lips are slightly parted. Her eyes are large with tears acting like reflecting pools beneath her lashes.

“He’s in a coma, but—” Dad’s cries grow louder as he attempts to speak through them. “They said it isn’t looking promising, Felicity. The burns are too much, and he inhaled too much smoke.”

Blake is going to die. No. He can’t.

Dad clears his throat and squeezes his hand over mine and Mom’s. “They’re waiting for you to say good-bye.”

I don’t want to say good-bye. I’ll be giving them permission to do whatever they’re going to do to make him go away forever. I’m the reason he doesn’t get to finish his life. I didn’t save him. “I can’t,” I cry. I’m scared.

“Please, Felicity,” Dad says, looking at me through his glossy blue eyes, “For us.”

* * *

A doctor who has visited my room frequently over the past forty-eight hours knocks before entering. “Good morning, Felicity. How do you feel?” His eyes are set on my charts, his pen dragging down from the top of the page in a line.

“Okay, I think. Everything kind of aches.” Especially my heart.

“That’s to be expected,” he says. “You know, you’re a very lucky young woman.” He looks up from his clipboard. “You really are.” I feel like laughing and explaining the definition of “luck” to him. He must see the look of disagreement on my face. Or maybe he’s wondering if I’m capable of any expression besides scowling. “There’s a detective in the waiting area who needs to speak with you. Once he’s finished, we’ll be releasing you.”

“Why does a detective need to speak with me?” I know why. And I don’t know why I just asked. Somewhere in the back of my head, I thought these details would all just work themselves out on their own.

“Standard procedure.” He moves in closer and places a hand on my shoulder. “Good luck with everything. I know this is hard, and it’s going to get harder, but you survived. And you should be thankful for that much.”

Almost the second the doctor leaves, another man