Mercy

by Rhiannon Paille

  She shoved the phone into her pocket and felt the metal cylinder resting there. She scowled at herself for forgetting where it was and shoved it into the steering column, bringing the Sundance to life. She glanced at him, shallow breathing, eyes crunched closed, hands trembling, lips alight with blood. It dripped onto the carpet and he stilled, unconscious.

  She threw the Sundance into reverse and sped, passing the business district, Red Boot, and his flat before crossing the slick wet bridge over part of the lake. He seemed comatose by the time she pulled up the Emergency Ramp and got out, keys in hand but Sundance rumbling. In the January cold there was nobody outside. A couple of ambulances parked on the incline, blocking her view of the doors. She glanced at Michael huddled in the back seat, adrenaline and fear singing in her veins. She left the driver’s door open as she climbed the sidewalk and triggered the sliding doors.

  She wrung her hands out along her sides, her boots squeaking on the tiled floor. The emergency waiting room was dead quiet. A few middle-aged people sat in chairs, waiting their turn. Maeva’s stomach turned to sludge as she approached the powdery blue counter, the nurse behind it on the phone. She tried to keep her cool but every minute more was another minute she could lose him. She let out a whimper and pressed her fist to her mouth trying to keep in the wave of emotions threatening to turn her into a hysterical wreck. She rubbed tears out of her eyes and waited for the nurse to look at her.

  Another thirty seconds went by and Maeva slammed her flat hand onto the counter to get the nurse’s attention. The woman looked up, blue eyes registering annoyance.

  “I need help,” Maeva croaked, her voice small. Tears welled and she angrily wiped them away, trying to gain control over herself.

  “You can put your name down and wait,” the nurse said, nodding to the clipboard and pen on the counter.

  “He can’t wait. He—” she couldn’t talk anymore. She cupped her hands over her nose and mouth, closing her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks in thick rivers.

  The nurse pushed up from the chair and placed the phone on its cradle. Maeva heard her talking to someone else, telling them to help. Another woman with dirty blonde hair emerged from a door marked “Employees Only.” The nurse wore white shoes and pink scrubs, a brown jacket over her shoulders. She turned Maeva towards the doors and gripped her elbow as she moved across the floor. “It’s going to be okay. Where is he?”

  Maeva took a deep breath. “In my car. He passed out,” she stuttered.

  “What’s your name?” the nurse asked as the sliding doors opened.

  “Maeva.”

  “I’m Sheila,” she said as they emerged in the frigid cold. Maeva pointed to the Sundance, driver’s door open, headlights on. She pulled the keys out of her pocket as Sheila rounded the car and two paramedics in crisp blue shirts and dark pants appeared with a stretcher. Maeva stood on the sidewalk looking at her boots. The stretcher clacked and squeaked as it passed her. Michael was a pale ghost; eyelids glued shut, dark eyelashes contrasting against his skin. Blood caked in the corner of his mouth, his lips a pale shade of pink.

  The keys jangled as he disappeared through the double doors. She took a step towards the car.

  “You’re not leaving are you?” Sheila asked, stopping at the doors.

  Maeva looked at her, unable to feel anything but dread, guilt, and worry. “I didn’t shut the car off.”

  Sheila nodded. “Do that and come talk to me inside.”

  Maeva went through the motions, leaning into the steering wheel, forcing the engine off. She left the ignition cylinder in the cup holder and locked the doors. Her feet felt like cement as she trudged up the incline. Her body felt heavy, and she wanted to collapse, but she forced herself into the quiet waiting room and fell into one of the blue leather upholstered chairs. Nobody bothered her until Sheila took a seat next to her, pen and clipboard in hand.

  “I need to ask you what happened.”

  Maeva didn’t want to think about it. She glanced at the doors and twisted her hands in her lap. “He threw up blood … it was everywhere.”

  Sheila wrote it down. “What were you doing?”

  Maeva’s cheeks burned. She didn’t want to talk about what he’d said at Big John’s, or the way he’d thrown her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing or how he’d brushed his thumb across her cheek. She shifted uncomfortably in the leather chair. “We were going to my house.”

  “Did you notice any weakness or other symptoms?”

  Maeva scowled. He was stronger than anyone she knew, from his aloof, cold, and terrifying presence to his physical strength and his words. She shook, thinking about what he’d said at the restaurant. It’s going to hurt a lot. “No, he didn’t seem sick.” Her voice cracked on the words, and she wanted to breakdown, but she couldn’t do it in front of other people.

  Sheila nodded. “Do you know if he has another next of kin?”

  “Uh … Tom Norton,” Maeva answered deftly. She frowned. “You didn’t call him?”

  Sheila stood. “We couldn’t reach him. Do you want some water?”

  Maeva shook her head. “Is he okay?”

  “We don’t know yet.” Her white shoes squeaked as she returned to the nurse’s station. Maeva got up, wandered down the hall to the vending machines. She found her wallet tucked into the front zippered pouch on her bag and found a twoonie and two loonies. She got PowerAde and a big soft chocolate chip cookie out of it. She glanced down the hall and not wanting to sit in the emergency room, took up one of the chairs lining the hallway and pulled off her scarf and gloves. School ended a while ago, and it was already darkening outside by the time they took Michael in. Her phone buzzed and she grabbed it between bites, resting the cookie on her thigh.

  Rob texted: “Still coming this weekend?”

  She sighed. He found her on Skype almost every night, and they talked about random things. His community college courses, her upcoming exams. She promised she would drive out there this weekend so they could go ice skating and tobogganing. She missed him. She dialed his number and waited.

  “Hey, Maeva.”

  She took in a shaky breath trying not to sniffle. “Hey,” she managed.

  “Did you get my text?”

  She nodded and realized he couldn’t see her. “Yeah, but I don’t think I can go.”

  “Oh,” Rob sounded disappointed. She heard him close a door and sit in a chair, the leather groaning under his weight. “Why not?”

  “Something happened with that guy at school and I don’t know what to do anymore.” She didn’t really keep Rob updated on the whole Michael thing. She brushed cookie crumbs off her leg, keeping the rest of the cookie balanced on her thigh.

  “Something … good?” Rob asked hesitantly.

  She sighed. “I’m at the hospital. I don’t know when he’s going to wake up.”

  “Shit, seriously?” Rob squeaked. She made out the sound of him shifting off the leather chair and pounding down the hallway. “Hang on.” The phone clattered onto a counter and Maeva listened to the muffled voices of Rob and his cousin in the background, unable to make out anything they were saying. She stretched her legs out in front of her and took another bite, swallowing hard on the cakey dough. Rob came back a couple minutes later.

  “Sorry, are you there?”

  “I’m here,” Maeva said, looking at the ceiling and taking another deep breath. The adrenaline was wearing off and all the numbness was making her tired. She finished off the cookie, swallowing another dry bite.

  “Are you staying with him?”

  “Yeah.” She knew she could leave at any time but the idea of leaving without seeing him awake, made her insides twist. He was so harsh, but contrary to everything he’d told her she couldn’t help but see regret in his eyes. She touched her cheek where he had, moth-sized butterflies attacking her stomach. She cared, she shouldn’t, but she did.

  “Do you want me to drive there?” Rob interrupted her thoughts.

  “No …�
�� She didn’t want Rob distracting her from Michael. It was obvious Michael was holding a lot back, she knew from the beginning there were things he couldn’t tell her, only it was so confusing she couldn’t wrap her brain around it. She gulped, fear washing through her. “Rob?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why do I feel like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m dying too?”

  Rob was silent for a long time and Maeva pressed her other hand to her chest, her heart burning and tearing like it might split in half. She didn’t want to be in a hospital hallway, waiting for the boy who was going to kill her to wake up from whatever was killing him.

  “Uh … I really don’t know …” Rob said, sounding awkward.

  Maeva let out a breath, he was completely useless. For once Rob didn’t make the heaviness in her fade. “Okay. I think I’ll sit here and freak out by myself for a while.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

  Maeva felt the last of her strength draining from her. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “No …” But her chest constricted and a lump formed in her throat and tears welled in her eyes for the umpteenth time. It was more than like for her, but she couldn’t tell Rob, she could barely admit it to herself.

  “I have to go,” she said quietly, pressing the red button and slipping the phone into her pocket. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the fluorescent lighting and bent over, picking up her PowerAde. She sat there and waited, taking small sips, playing games on her phone, pacing up and down the hallway, sitting in different chairs. She didn’t have more change so she couldn’t get another cookie. Hunger gnawed at her as hours passed. Everyone ignored her, the nurses too busy to worry about her. On the inside she was falling apart and on the outside she was bored out of her mind.

  Tom didn’t show up like he did last time. Instead the emergency room emptied, only a trucker with a broken finger, and an old lady attached to a portable breathing apparatus remained. Maeva sat in a chair by the doors, being blasted by the cold every time they opened. She crossed her arms across her chest and tried to get comfortable. She dozed off, getting warped images of a wide stream, and a waterfall crashing into it. She woke to her phone vibrating and thought it was Rob calling again. Groggy, she slid her finger across the face and put it to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  Maeva groaned, Grace’s voice cutting into her half asleep, half-awake state. She sat up straighter and adjusted the phone. “I’m at the hospital,” she said, unable to think fast enough to come up with some lucrative cover story.

  “What? What did you do?” Grace was hysterical.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Maeva mumbled, hoping Grace would give her a break for once.

  “Why are you there?” she asked, interrogation mode.

  Everything Maeva thought of saying didn’t sound right. She pressed her lips together, trying to think, knowing the truth wouldn’t be good enough for Grace. “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s midnight. Were you even watching the time?”

  “I fell asleep.”

  “You need to come home. Right now.”

  Maeva knew that tone. It was her I-want-to-yell-at-you-in-person voice. Maeva gritted her teeth, anger flashing through her. “I’m not going anywhere until he wakes up.”

  “You’re with a boy?” Her voice went up an octave on the word boy and Maeva felt nauseous. She was almost eighteen, almost old enough to leave Kenora forever. She couldn’t put up with Michael being unconscious and her mom acting like a drill sergeant. “You’re not at the hospital. You’re not allowed cell phones at the hospital. You’re spending the night with some guy aren’t you?”

  Maeva felt like she’d been thrown in ice-cold water. She hung up. She hadn’t really paid attention to the no cell phones signs posted on all the corkboards, but they were there. The phone buzzed in her hands, the caller ID stating “Home,” and she pushed the off button. She never cut Grace off before. The woman reveled in telling Maeva what a horrible person she was. She tilted her head back, looking at the crenellated light covers.

  “Maeva?” a timid voice interjected.

  A different nurse in blue scrubs stood in the wide hallway in front of the doors, her hands pressed together. She seemed uncertain, overly polite, and new. Maeva got to her feet, feeling dizzy.

  “He’s asking for you.”

  She followed the nurse as she led Maeva down the hallway past the vending machines. She reached the elevators and hit a button, shooting her a sidelong glance. “We moved him to the third floor.”

  “Is he okay?”

  The elevator opened and it was empty. Maeva stepped in and the nurse followed; a wan smile on her face. “He won’t let us touch him until he sees you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Visiting hours were over at eight, and technically only for family, but … he’s being persistent.” She rattled like she was worried about losing her job if she didn’t follow hospital protocol. The elevator opened and the nurse resumed her brisk pace down empty aisles, doors open along the hallway. She stopped in front of a door at the far end of the hall. “Tell him to use the call button when you leave.”

  Maeva moved into the room, heat inside her making it too warm. He was nothing like the boy she remembered. His eyes were bloodshot, thick reddish purple shadows around the edges. His lips were dry and cracked, skin a pale gray. His hair was messy, pulled to one side, still spiky. An IV stuck out of his right hand, and a light gray v-neck shirt stretched across his chest.

  He lit up when he saw her, and she sunk into the chair beside the bed, unable to take her eyes off the dull, unpolished nature of his blue eyes.

  “I lost a lot of blood,” he whispered as she laced her fingers together and stared at him, completely lost for words. She glanced at the machines, not recognizing what all of them were for. There were bags hanging from a hook, tiny plastic tubes threading into an IV. She felt lightheaded.

  “I don’t like hospitals,” Maeva said. She inched the chair closer as he shifted, pushing down the sheet, sitting straighter.

  “Neither do I … can we leave now?”

  She stood and lingered by the side of the bed, smiling because even after everything he was trying to be strong around her. “No, you need to rest.”

  She traced the contours of his face, wanting to brush the hair off his forehead, but kept her hands to herself, trying to snuff out all the compassion and emotions inside her. Everything she’d ever known about him had shattered and he was a fragile, broken boy. All she wanted to do was put her arms around him and tell him it would be okay.

  His expression became gloomy. “Why didn’t you leave me there?”

  “Masochist … I guess.” She tried to laugh but the sound came out more like a sob and she covered her mouth with her sleeve, trying to stop the torrential downpour. “How bad is it?”

  He seemed caught off guard. “It’s a stomach virus.” He blinked, looking at the pasty white walls in the eight by ten cubicle, barely enough room for a bed and a chair.

  Maeva scowled. “Bullshit.”

  He hung his head, moving his left hand onto his thigh. He kept his other hand out of sight. He looked like he didn’t want to answer. She curled one arm around her torso, leaning more on her left leg than her right, making her hip jut out at an awkward angle. She put her fingers on the blankets, wanting to touch him so bad it made her ache.

  “Or cancer,” he whispered.

  Maeva drew a sharp breath, instinctively pulling her hand away to cover her mouth but Michael curled his fingers around hers and moved his thumb along her knuckles. She pressed her other fist to her mouth, her stomach doubling in knots, fear and desire battling inside her.

  “It’s nothing,” he whispered.

  “Cancer isn’t nothing.”

  “It might not be cancer.”

  “And if it is?”
she pressed. His fingers trembled beneath hers and she gripped them harder, absently stroking the inside of his rough palm.

  “It’s already too late.”

  Maeva blinked, needing to sit. She untangled her fingers from his and pulled the chair to the edge of the bed. His eyes found her, full of sadness and regret. There were so many things she needed to know, things he hadn’t told her yet. She spent so much time focusing on the one thing scaring her and not the rest of it. “Try to make it to graduation.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I need you to … protect me.” She didn’t want to talk about the woman in red, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she wasn’t safe.

  “Protect you … from me?” Michael choked.

  “And them.”

  Michael sighed. “You’re the weirdest girl I’ve ever met.”

  Maeva stared off into space for a long time, not wanting to leave, but expecting a nurse to barge in and tell her she had to go. Either that or Grace. She leaned forward, keeping her voice low. “Who are ‘they’ exactly?”

  Michael looked defeated. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Mafia?”

  “No.”

  “Russian Mafia?”

  Michael smiled. “No.”

  “Drug cartel? Prostitution Ring? Tell me if I’m getting close.”

  Michael leaned forward, his eyes digging into her. “You know what you saw.”

  Fear tightened her throat at the memory of the red flaming sword. She hoped Michael would keep the woman in red out of it. “Vampires? Werewolves? I can handle it if I’m some kind of otherkin.”

  Michael coughed, it seemed to move through his entire body and she tensed, wondering if she should call the nurse. “Vampires and werewolves are reasonable.”

  Maeva pulled her eyebrows together, wondering if he just confirmed the existence of vampires and werewolves. She expected him to tell her she watched too much television or read too many books. She stared at his hand, tall knuckles, little white scars. She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of all the dreams, the pocket watch, the woman in red, and Michael. She let out a grunt and glared at him. He obviously knew who and what she was but wasn’t very forthcoming.