by Kate Myers
Oh, how I have missed her. Longed for her to be here, to be alive and well, and safe. And maybe, just maybe, she will be. Maybe this might actually work. Skylar and I have an intense history, and I have always felt a power, something unknown but brilliantly massive, pulling us together. I know how crazy and foolish that sounds, but I can’t help but feel like we were meant to be on this path called life jointly. The idea of living in a world without Skylar is unnerving and hopelessly void. But perhaps the reason we were on this journey wasn’t for us to be together, but for me to save her, to rescue her from this anguish.
Knowing that I could be the person to save her, to sacrifice myself for her, that alone will be the idea I cling so desperately to as I fall deeper and deeper into this abyss, this darkness consuming me from the inside. With every ounce of her blood that enters my body, I feel heavier and further detached from reality.
“You still with me, buddy?” Dad confirms.
When I bring my eyes from Skylar’s delicate face to his, I see the worry lining his brow.
“She really does look better, doesn’t she?” I say, sounding hopeful.
Quinn appears in my line of sight. “Absolutely, even better than anticipated.” She hesitates for a second and continues. “Well, obviously we’ve only been speculating, this is foreign to us all.”
“What’s next?” I ask while maintaining my façade.
Quinn responds. “We’ve done nearly all we can do at this point. Now we just continue to monitor every single little thing we can until we have a bigger breakthrough.”
Dad adds, “Like I said, we’re about halfway through what we are expecting to transfuse, which is a massive transfusion for both of you. We have to play it safe and pay attention to any side effect or issue that may arise.”
“Speaking of which,” Quinn chimes in. “Here, put this under your tongue for a minute.” She waves a thermometer in front of my face.
It takes me longer than I want for my brain to tell my mouth to open. The sluggishness settles into me cripplingly.
Quinn frowns. “Close your mouth.”
The glass is cold at first, sending pricks of chilliness through my body, but then melts into the warmness of my mouth. An infinity passes, and she removes the now blistering hot thermometer.
This time its Dad who frowns, looking over Quinn’s shoulder to see the temperature.
“Is that one hundred something?” he asks.
“Yeah, but it’s okay.”
He raises his voice slightly. “What do you mean it’s okay? He has a fever.”
“It would be more worrisome if he didn’t have a fever. The fever means his body is doing what it’s supposed to be doing, fighting the virus that we’re essentially injecting him with.”
Realizing that he overreacted, he quietly says, “Oh, right.” His shoulders relax with each word.
“Granted, he looks like crap. There aren’t any other symptoms present, which is a really good thing, considering,” Quinn adds with confidence.
If only they knew.
My body feels like it’s being dipped into Hell and then thrown into a blizzard, alternating between the two and forcing my mind to blur into a massive puddle of incoherence. My heart aches with the thought that this is what Skylar has been experiencing these last couple weeks. Has she been battling this same hell on earth? I would go through this a million times over if it meant pulling her from this nightmare.
“You want to grab him some ice water?” Quinn asks Dad.
“Okay.” He lingers and then quickly strides out of the room.
Quinn leans down closer and speaks in a hushed voice, “You sure you’re okay?” Her eyes are pleading. “You can tell me.”
Now is my opportunity. I can trust Quinn. I know she would understand; understand the sacrifice I’m making for the girl I love. Understand that I would go through hellfire to save Skylar from an ounce of pain and anguish. If I tell her, maybe she can figure something out, figure out why I’m being dragged under and how to fix it, disallowing something worse to happen. Before I’m drawn too far and can’t fight my way back out.
But what if I’m wrong, what if she pulls the IVs, the whole incredibly risky experiment, or worse, she tells my dad and he completely disregards my blood being of any use.
I can’t let that happen so I do the only thing I can.
Maybe I’m foolish.
Maybe this is the wrong decision.
But there’s always the possibility that maybe this is the right thing to do.
The thing that I have to do.
I shake my head and say, “I’m okay,” and force a smile.
31
Quinn
I know Max is lying.
But I also know how much he cares for Skylar, and how important she is, not only to him but the people around us. So, it only makes sense that he would lie, pretend he’s fine when something is clearly wrong. I just don’t know the extent to which that something is wrong.
He could easily feel like crap, which would make sense, considering the known to be dangerous virus we are injecting in him. Or, he could be falling ill to said virus and succumbing to the same outcome that Skylar once did.
If it wasn’t for Skylar’s condition improving drastically, I would call off the procedure. If we can even call this a procedure. Keith and I don’t even really know what we’re doing. But somehow, we’re managing. Somehow, we seem to be well over the halfway point and making progress. Literal life-changing progress.
I can only hope that it’s life-changing for the positive.
If I were in Max’s shoes, I would do the same; I would go through any amount of torment to save Cynthia, liberate her from the demonic state she was in. But I know I can’t. There is no amount of wishing on shooting stars to turn back the clocks and save her. I can only do what I can to move forward and help Max and Skylar in this moment. And that’s why I’ll hold out a little longer, I’ll push on and keep monitoring Max’s vitals and do what I can to keep him teetering on this all-consuming edge.
He’s closed his eyes again, and although I can only assume it brings him comfort, it freaks me out that the virus has taken him under. The more color that presents itself in Skylar is the less color I find in Max.
Her breathing has become more consistent, her blood pressure and pulse have improved, even her body temperature seems to be normalizing itself. I’m not one to jump ahead of myself, but there is a great possibility that we might be able to pull this off. I carefully remove the nasogastric feeding tube from Skylar, partly because it’s nearly time to change, and because I’m hopeful it won’t be needed much longer.
Each second ticks by, and I wonder how much more time we have before Wiley and Alex return to the cabin. They’re bound to arrive at some point unless something horrible happens. I want them both back in one piece, safely, but I can’t help wanting more time. I haven’t even considered what will happen when they do arrive. Will we be able to keep Alex out of here? Keep him from knowing what we’ve been doing and provide him with some type of update to suffice him in the meantime?
Keith and I should really start figuring that out.
“Hey,” I speak, studying his face.
His eyebrows do this scrunchie thing they always seem to do when he’s spilling his brain onto a piece of paper.
“Just jotting down these last few notes,” he says gradually, careful not to break his own concentration. With a click of his pen, he finishes and gives me his attention. “What’s up?”
“What’s the plan for when the guys get back?” I ask expectantly, trusting that maybe he’s already come up with a plan.
“Good question,” he offers, scratching his chin. “I knew the inevitable was coming, just haven’t put too much thought into it.”
“You could tell them I need some time alone with Skylar.” The voice cracks as weakness sinks its teeth into him.
I turn to see Max’s eyes slowly opening, his heavy head lifting itself off of his chair.
>
“Tell them I’m upset or something, not handling things well, and I need some time.”
My heart breaks for him, not really knowing the pain he’s putting himself through, but knowing his love is so strong he would do anything for her.
“That could work,” Keith declares. “But I’ll have to have some sort of update, some kind of progress from the day. Alex is suspicious already.”
“You could just tell him you haven’t made any. That you’ve been at a standstill without the mind-controlled blood sample. That you’ll get update him once you analyze the sample.” I pause and then say the thing that no one wants to consider, “Given they make it back.” I immediately regret the words but know I can do nothing to erase them from existence. My attention wanders to the floor and sticks like glue, tracing the pattern of the butterscotch hardwood.
A noise startles me from my self-induced distraction, something close to a whimper.
I look to Keith and then immediately to Max, who is completely unfazed and has his eyes closed again, totally weirding me out.
It’s then that I consider the alternative, shifting my focus to Skylar.
I rush closer, grabbing Keith’s arm in anticipation as I approach. Her lip quivers, eyes flashing rapidly against her eyelids, flicking her luscious lashes.
“Max,” I say without removing my eyes from her. I don’t hear a peep, so I repeat myself, only louder this time, “Max.”
He grunts and opens his eyes, responding with, “What is going on?” A certain clarity, strength, and urgency return to his voice.
“Just, just… I don’t know,” I manage to reply.
“It can’t be,” Keith whispers to himself.
I grab Skylar’s wrist and immediately check her pulse, counting a steadier-than-ever heartbeat. I nearly jump out of my skin when her fingers tense slightly as I go to set her hand down.
Just then, her eyes flutter open, and she sucks in a breath. I find myself in complete disbelief that we did this, we brought her back. Somehow, despite having the odds stacked against us, we did the impossible.
In the smallest whisper, Max says, “Skylar.”
And when I turn to him, a single tear falls down his pale cheek.
32
Max
The world has stopped spinning. My heart, seemingly motionless and in utter shock. And then, rushing together all at once, I breathe and suck in a blissfully gaping lungful of life, for seeing Skylar, awake, has been like a defibrillator to the chest.
A million emotions rush through me.
Complete and utter gratitude, a welcoming euphoria purely from seeing her vivid eyes blink into existence.
Her dry and chapped lips part to speak, but she can’t seem to find the words or her voice. Her eyes, now lined with tears, frantically scouring the room, from person to person.
Quinn finally does the thing we all seem to be struggling with. Her voice small and comforting, she says, “Skylar, everything is okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
The burrow of Skylar’s brow seems to show no relief from Quinn’s words.
I start to speak but stumble on the lump that’s formed in my throat. Skylar’s gaze settles on me, looking me up and down, studying the things attached to my body, and then her gaze falls to her sides, at the contraptions attached to her.
“W-what’s happ-happening?” she manages.
Her voice like paradise to my ears, despite the gaspiness. Oh, how I have dreamed of the day when I would hear her speak again, even if it was Max, go away, just to hear her sweet voice would mean that she was okay.
A tear rolls its way down my cheek, and I dig down to find my strength to pull it together. I can’t make it this far to lose my shit here, not now.
“You’re going to be okay,” I declare, offering what I can of a smile, pain blistering from my insides, the darkness dragging me under.
She peers from her sides and then to me. “Are you?”
Her words pierce like sharp knives. Somehow, despite the hell she’s been through, she’s asking about me. A laugh bubbles up out of my chest, hysteria taking hold.
I begin to stand, to move closer to Skylar, but a hand on my shoulder pushes me into my seat. Struggling to get my eyes to focus, I attempt to swat away the resister, managing to pull at the IV in my arm, sending shocks of pain through me.
“Max, you need to sit still, you know you can’t get up right now,” Quinn’s commands.
I still can’t seem to see her distinctly. Blinking excessively, I wipe at my eyes, trying to rid the murkiness that has formed.
“I… I can’t see,” I say in a rush, mourning the words once they come out. I can’t say things like this. I can’t let them know anything is wrong. Just because Skylar is awake and coherent, doesn’t mean she’s in the clear. Who’s to say if we stop now, that she wouldn’t revert back to how she was. I can’t afford to let that happen, not after all of this.
Dad and Quinn are at my sides in a flash, hovering and murmuring words to each other that I can’t seem to make out. Through the mush of it all, one of them says, “We have to stop.”
Words shape and bubble out of my mouth, “No, no, we, no…”
Frantically, I find myself looking in what I think is the direction of Skylar as I catch the sweet sound of her voice, “What’s wrong? What’s happening? Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
It’s so strange that her voice is crystal clear like she’s some angel sent down from Heaven to greet me.
“Please, we can’t stop, I’ll be fine,” I command myself to say and simultaneously will myself to pull it together. Despite the fear creeping in, consuming me fully, I resist the urge to let it do its job. I remember reading once, or maybe I saw it on a show, that great things are on the other side of fear, the best things in life even. I have to believe that this is true for right now, greatness will come from this.
“Temporary vision loss could be a blood flow issue,” Quinn advises.
I scan the room to try to locate her body.
“Are you in any pain?” she says, an outline of her small figure appearing beside me, her too-warm hand on my wrist, finding my pulse.
I shake my head, lying because I know damn well I can’t tell them the truth right now. Not until I know Skylar is fine.
A loud thud startles me, followed by Dad saying, “What the hell was that?”
I panic, not being able to see clearly, almost like the lights have been turned way down and the autofocus on the room has completely been shut off.
I shift all of my effort to my hearing—straining. I’m able to make out what resembles footsteps.
Shit.
Either Wiley and Alex have returned or something worse has happened, someone has found us. Considering we’re pretty well hidden, and not many people know we even have a place out here in the deepest part of these thick woods, I have to assume the former. At this moment, neither option is appealing.
A deep, undoubtedly angry voice breaks into the room, “What the hell is going on in here?”
And then a rush of wind passes me followed by Wiley’s voice, “Oh god, Skylar. Skylar, is that you?”
“Who else would it be?” Her humor intact despite everything.
“I can’t believe this,” he says, his voice trembling.
“Neither can I. I can’t believe you’re okay. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Nothing can hold back ol’ Wiley,” he jokes.
“Someone had better tell me what’s going on,” Alex orders.
So much for the cover-up, the potentially dangerous distraction we talked Wiley into tagging along on. How much time has passed? What time even is it? Were they able to get the blood sample?
Question after question overflow my thoughts and distract me from the only question I can’t be bothered to ask: Am I going to be okay?
33
Skylar
Time ticked by, and I struggled with the realization that I might never make it out of the d
arkness. All things terrible—fear, pain, weakness, sadness, hopelessness—consumed every last bit of me until there was nothing left. There were fleeting moments of relief when I heard him speak; it was like a bright shining light was breaking through the forever endless depths of my despair.
Telling me to hold on.
That I was loved.
That he needed me.
That he would save me.
I held on to those words, those brief seconds of reprieve each time I fell deeply under. I fought every desire to give up in hopes that he was right. There were moments I’d never wanted to give up more in my life, the pain coursing through my body and the battle I fought inside my head, reliving past traumas I had long since pushed out. I convinced myself I wasn’t strong enough to handle the torment but when I was hanging on barely by a thread, his voice sang like a sweet melody, telling me to hold on a little longer.
The rawness, the ache and need filling his voice as he pulled me from the brink of the end, kept me going when nothing else could.
I needed him just as much as he needed me, and there was a calming comfort in the simple yet complete complexity.
And now, even gazing at his pale but somehow still beautiful face, I know he needs me more than ever. Whatever is happening, whatever he did to bring me back, is now pulling him under, and I can’t let that happen.
“These,” I say, shifting my focus to the IVs attached to my arms. “Take them off.”
Quinn shakes her head.
Who the hell put her in charge?
Max speaks. “No, I’m fine. We have to finish.”
“Finish what?” I say frantically.
The angry man, I think his name is Allen, reiterates, “Finish what? Someone needs to start explaining, now,” with a heavy emphasis on the last word.
Why are they being so secretive? Who is this mystery Allen guy, and why does he look so familiar? Why can’t they stop whatever they’re doing?