by Gia Riley
I thought things were as bad as they could get, but if Tess gets locked up, I’ll never see Winnie again. Even if she survives, it’ll be like she didn’t. They’ll ship her off to some foster home, and she’ll become the property of the state.
“We have to get her back, Ace.”
“Talk to Trey,” he tells me. “I have enough to fix around here tonight. It’ll be a miracle if I still have a job in the morning.”
Trey left for a reason. He’s calculated, and I guess that comes with the territory. Nobody actually knows what he does or where he goes at night. They just know he’s out there, always watching and waiting.
That’s why I have to find him.
Trey’s my only hope to keep Winnie in Carillon.
And that hurts almost as much as seeing her on the ground in a puddle of blood. Because I know she loves him.
Three
Jasper
When my grandpa died, I thought a lot about what death was like. I hadn’t thought much about it before then. I mean, I knew it was inevitable, that we all eventually had to pass from this life to something else.
But what happens in those moments between life and death? Is it cold and unforgiving when the body shuts down, organ by organ? Or do angels carry us to the clouds before we feel an ounce of pain, just like we learned in Sunday school?
For me, both are hard to think about in any real sense. I guess I can’t imagine my mind ever not functioning. Every second of every day, I’m thinking, and for that to end, wouldn’t my soul have to be gone, too?
Maybe.
Probably.
I don’t know.
Seeing Winnie on the ground took me back to that night when my grandpa passed away. It was one of those nights that felt like it was over in a minute or two, yet it somehow managed to stretch on for hours.
I wasn’t ready to live a day without him, and he wasn’t ready to leave me either. But, as the rising and falling of his chest slowed, I realized I had to be the one to let go first. I leaned down and whispered in his ear that I’d be okay without him. That was a lie, but I said it anyway, so he could have some peace. And, as soon as he heard my words, his eyes closed, and he sucked in a couple of breaths, gasping quickly after each one. Lips parted, he pressed his lids closed like he was in pain, and once his lashes met his cheeks, his eyes never opened again.
I thought it was over, that he’d died, but his lips lifted into a smirk, and he smiled. There was no way to tell if that smile was his last moment of life or his first taste of death, but I knew I’d never forget the peacefulness that surrounded me during those few seconds. That tiny smile meant he wasn’t suffering.
Whatever happens during those final moments between the edge of heaven and earth, I hope they’re that peaceful for everyone. If Winnie’s headed there now, I hope her dad’s waiting for her, welcoming her with open arms. And, if it’s not her time, I hope he gives her back to us and convinces her to stay with me forever.
“She’ll be okay,” I tell myself. “She has to be okay.”
But there was so much blood. Too much blood. That’s why I have to get to the hospital before it’s too late. Because the difference between a minute and a second could be the difference between seeing Winnie alive or dead.
After ducking under the yellow tape surrounding The Whip, I take one last look at the pool of blood staining the parking lot and say a silent prayer that Winnie still has enough life left inside her to make it.
I say two more prayers in the time it takes the bus to pull up. As soon as the doors open, a slew of half-drunk men file off, completely unaware that their favorite drinking hole has been shut down for the night. I’m sure the shooting’s all over the news by now, but I’m too afraid to check my phone for any updates. If Winnie’s gone, I want to find out from a doctor. Not on some app that delivers the facts without caring who they hurt or whose life they change.
She’s not dead, Jasper. Winnie wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye.
I pick a seat in the middle of the bus, and as soon as my butt hits the hard plastic, my knee starts to bounce. If Winnie wakes up in the back of the ambulance, she will probably be so scared. She’s the toughest girl I know, but she has more secrets than a magician. All it’ll take is one nurse or doctor to get too close or ask the wrong question, and she’ll panic. I’ve seen her shut down. Her turquoise eyes zone out, and her entire body drifts through some dark nightmare. They won’t know how to pull her out of it.
The bus jerks forward, and I grip the metal bar on the back of the seat in front of me. There are at least five or six stops before mine, and everyone’s moving so slow, like they have no place to be.
Maybe it’s the fumes that blow through the bus when the doors slam shut, or maybe I’m slowly losing it, but I grip the seat so hard, my knuckles turn white. There are plenty of open seats around me, but an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair insists on sitting in the seat next to me. Even the driver finds it odd, as his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.
“You look worried,” she says.
“I’m on my way to the hospital. My friend was…” I can’t say the words out loud to finish my sentence.
It’s like, if I say them, it’ll mean it’s really happening. Winnie has a bullet inside her body.
“Your friend was injured?” she questions the way a mother would.
“Yes. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know anything.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
Loosening my grip on the chair, I crack my knuckles and rub my sweaty palms on my shorts a couple of times. I have to get my shit together before I get to the hospital. They’ll never let me see Winnie if I’m freaking out. And, when she sees me, I need to be calm for the both of us.
When I don’t answer her, the woman presses me further. “Do you need a place to go? There’s this group home on Edgemore. They’ll keep you for a night or two until you figure things out.”
“No,” I whisper. “It’s nothing like that. I’m just trying to get to the hospital.” That’s when I realize she’s wearing scrubs and likely works there.
“What happened? Sometimes, it helps to talk about it.”
“My girl’s dying.” Why I chose those words, I’m not sure.
I could have told her there was an accident or the truth—that Winnie was shot. Instead, I gave the worst-case scenario. Maybe I’m trying to prepare myself for the news I might get once I get to the ER, or maybe it’s Winnie sending me some kind of signal from the other side. But she’s in trouble, and this time, there’s nothing I can do to help her.
The woman loosens the colorful scarf around her head. Little wrinkle lines by the corners of her eyes pop out along with a scar on the side of her face. For a split second, it’s all I can focus on, and I think about the marks on Winnie’s leg. There’ll be new scars from the bullet, inside and out, and the trauma might be too much for her to carry around.
How much pain can one person endure before they give up?
The woman reaches for my hand. I didn’t realize I was gripping the seat again. She pries my fingers off, one by one, and then takes my hand in hers.
“I’ve worked at the hospital for thirty-two years. I’ve seen the best, and I’ve seen the worst. Life and death, there’s a very fine line, but if she’s in trouble, they won’t give up until every last option is exhausted. You’re one of those options.”
“Me?”
“Yes, your girlfriend needs everyone she loves praying for her.”
“You believe in prayer? I said one back at the bus stop, but I don’t think God heard me or anything.”
“How do you know that? For all you know, your prayer is being answered as we speak.”
“I don’t want her to die.”
“Then, choose to believe,” she says so easily.
Choose to believe.
I shouldn’t tell lies if I’m asking for help. “Winnie’s not really my girlfriend. I just want her to be.”
A little chuckle slips out of her mouth, and she tries to hide her smile. “God forgives, son. He won’t hold a little white lie against you.”
Son.
I haven’t told my own mother what happened at The Whip or where I am going. I left her with Lydia and took off. She probably has no idea Ace is being interviewed at the police station or that he could be in a lot of trouble, especially if they shut down The Whip for good. He’s gotten warnings in the past about cleaning the place up and keeping the drugs out.
I thought he was doing good—until I started working there. That was when I saw how bad it really was, how messed up people’s lives are. They might keep it hidden behind closed doors, but you can still see the damage.
Ace has always been too good for a place like that. But he got caught up in the dollar signs, like the rest of them. Add a little girl with a mother who took off to the mix, and what choice did he really have? He wants the world for Lydia, and working at The Whip gives him the kind of money he needs to save for her future.
What kind of future will she have if he’s behind bars?
“Fuck, everything is so messed up.”
“Just breathe,” she whispers. “We’ll get you to the hospital, and then you’ll figure the rest out from there.”
I hope she’s right.
Four
Jasper
The woman from the bus walks me into the hospital and guides me toward the emergency room. I’m glad she knows where she’s going because, even though the bright red arrows point me toward the department, all the words and letters on the signs start to blur. I don’t even realize I’m crying until the dampness hits my cheeks.
When the hallway ends, I’m left staring at a metal detector, like we’re at the airport. I empty my pockets and walk through, swiping beneath my eyes to get rid of the weakness leaking from them.
The woman follows behind me and then points to the desk. “Check in with the receptionist first. Then, I want you to sit down and get your head on straight before you see her.”
“It’s fine. I’m good,” I tell her.
But she knows better. I’m not okay. Not even a little bit.
“What if Winnie doesn’t make it?” I ask her as I wait in line.
Her jaw tenses, and she takes my hand in hers, squeezing it the way my mom would. “We can’t think like that. Believe in the best possible outcome, and there’s a better chance it’ll happen.”
The best possible outcome would be starting this entire day over, so I could erase the sound of the gunshot from my memory. That way, Winnie would never know what a bullet felt like as it tore through her body. Her DNA wouldn’t be lying in a puddle in the parking lot of a shitty bar where people were probably more concerned about the beer they were missing out on than the life that could have been taken.
If I could go back in time, I’d go all the way back to the morning when we woke up next to each other—when I had her in my arms and the only thing we had to worry about was time. Time before my mom found her in bed with me. Time before Tess noticed she wasn’t in the trailer. A bunch of perfect seconds that added up quickly and showed me what I could have with Winnie.
“Thank you,” I tell the woman. “For getting me this far.”
She nods, and then I take a step toward the desk. The woman in front of the computer finishes what she’s doing, and when I take a nervous glance over my shoulder, the woman’s gone. I didn’t get her name, the department she worked in, or anything that would help me find her. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks.
She blinks a couple of times, and I realize I’m staring, looking through her instead of at her.
I try to say Winnie’s name, but it takes a couple of seconds to form the syllables. “Winnie Dawes.” My palms are damp, and they stick to a piece of paper lying on the counter. Seconds from now, I’ll find out the truth.
“Just a minute. Let me look.” Her long nails clack against the keys, and I swear, she types ten more letters than she needs to.
Isn’t there a list or something?
She bites her lip and tries something else, and my stomach flip-flops.
If Winnie’s gone, how will I go home? Every time I look out my bedroom window, I’ll see the trailer. When school starts in a couple of weeks, the familiar sight of her fighting with her combination lock each morning will disappear. And that shy smile of hers will be missing from the end of my day.
“It doesn’t look like she’s a patient in the emergency department anymore. Do you know when she was brought in?”
If I wasn’t holding on to the counter, I’d be on the ground. “Maybe an hour ago. Does that mean…is she…” I can’t say the words, so I say something else, “Could she be somewhere else?”
More typing, and then the girl’s eyes brighten. “Here she is. She’s an inpatient now. You’ll want to wait for her in the surgical waiting room on the fourth floor. They’ll be able to tell you more once she’s out.”
Surgical waiting room. Fourth floor. Surgery?
“Thank you.” I turn toward the double doors, step inside the first elevator that opens, and press the number four.
I wish I still had the woman from the bus with me because there’s nobody at the desk when I get off the elevator. The sign on the counter says to sign in and take a seat, so I scribble my name next to Winnie’s on the clipboard, and then choose one of the couches by the window. It’s dark outside, and I can’t see anything but my own reflection. I look as bad as I feel.
Then, I take a look around the room and realize I’m the only one who’s going to come here, looking for Winnie, the only person who even knows she was shot. She doesn’t have a mother or a father huddled in the corner, saying prayers. No sister or brother screwing around on their phones while they wait for news. All Winnie has is a stepmother being processed at the county jail for shooting her. We’re in this situation because of Winnie’s family.
Minutes turn into hours, and each time someone wearing scrubs gets close, I lift my head, hoping it’s news about Winnie. But nobody comes. I even get up to look around, just in case there’s someone waiting that I didn’t see come in—a distant relative, a cousin, a neighbor, anyone. There isn’t.
Her surgery continues through a shift change, and a new receptionist sits behind the computer. The one finishing her shift points to me and then whispers to the new girl. I’m not sure what she says, but at least they know I’m still waiting. By two in the morning, my eyes are so heavy that, if I don’t get up, I’ll be asleep. All the other families are long gone, and I’m the only one left waiting. I should have heard something by now, one way or the other.
Just as I stand up, the receptionist walks toward me.
“Do you have news?” I ask her.
She shakes her head, killing the little bit of hope she carried across the room with her. “Not about her condition. But Winnie’s on the sixth floor. In the trauma-neuro intensive care unit.”
“She is? That’s good, right?”
“It’s progress,” she says.
“How long has she been out of surgery? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I’ve been watching the screen for you. Unfortunately, the surgeons will only talk to immediate family about their patients.”
I knew there was a chance this could happen, but I thought for sure that Winnie’s circumstances would be considered special. Because, if there was no family to report to, wouldn’t the doctors at least want to speak to someone who knew her? Someone who cared?
As I take another elevator to a new floor, I decide honesty isn’t going to get me anywhere. If I want to hear about Winnie, I’m going to have to pretend I’m her family. I don’t care how much trouble I’ll get into as long as I can see her tonight.
This time, when the elevator doors open, the hospital stench is stronger—like they just doused the floor with some bleach or something. A narrow hallway leads to another shiny floor with a bunch of quiet nurses stand
ing behind desks on wheels. There’s no way I’ll find Winnie or get by them without some help.
The first person to notice me is a younger nurse. She’s unloading a cart of supplies. I’m sure I look like a fish out of water, and I desperately hope she throws me a life raft.
“Who are you looking for?” she asks in a warm, calm voice.
I lick my lips and clear my throat, and then I tell her, “Winnie Dawes.”
Without looking at a computer like the receptionists did, she glances to the right. I follow her eyes to the guard standing against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Room seven-eleven,” she says. “But I’m sorry; she’s not allowed to have any visitors.”
I forgot all about the security. Winnie was shot, the victim of a crime, and getting through a line of nurses should have been the least of my worries.
“I’ve been here for hours. You have to let me see her.”
“Her father left strict orders. Immediate family only.”
The word father slaps me across the face, and I almost blurt out something stupid. Winnie’s dad is dead.
My tongue is heavy, like it’s afraid to spew a lie, but I risk the bad Karma anyway. What other choice do I have? “I’m her brother.”
Our last names don’t match, so it’ll be a tough sell, but a lot of kids have different moms and dads these days. I can’t leave until I figure out who is in that room with Winnie.
The nurse motions me to the desk, and she hands me a piece of paper. “Sign this form, and then I’ll give you a new sticker. You’ll be able to come and go during visiting hours as long as you’re wearing it.”
I jot down my real name and pull the old sticker off my shirt, crumpling it up. Once the new one’s in place, she glances at my chest and asks for ID. I’m sure my hands are as shaky as my voice when I hand it over to her. A quick glance between the plastic and my sticker, and she seems to approve. I watch her scribble something down on a clipboard, and then she points to Winnie’s room.
“You can go in. She’s still sedated.”