by Abi Ketner
“Good, now sit on her hips, face me, and hold her arms down.”
Grace breathes hard and her arms shake as she holds Amber down. I draw my knife and hold my breath as I begin to cut Amber’s shirt down to her midsection.
“This time, sit on her shins facing away from me, and yank her shoes and socks off.”
As Grace does this, I hear a gurgling sound. I look down, and Amber’s about to heave. Scooting back, I hold her head with just my hands now and turn it to the side as she vomits. The smell of curdled milk sickens me. I force the bile burning in my throat back down and notice Grace gag.
“Breathe through your mouth and try to get her pants off.”
Amber continues to puke. Grace sits on her thighs and unbuttons her pants, and then she moves backward, still sitting on her legs, pulling the pants further down with her.
“Amber, can you hear me? Open your eyes. I need you to open your eyes for me!” I say. But she doesn’t.
“I’ll check the water,” Grace says.
Using my pointer fingers, I pull open Ambers eyelids and see her eyes have rolled back into her head. Using the towel next to me, I wipe the sweat off my face and neck. My tongue’s dry, and my muscles ache.
“It’s ready,” Grace says. “I put towels down to cover the floor, hopefully it’ll be a good enough cushion.”
“Good thinking.” I smile a weak smile.
We pick her up the same way as before. I back into the shower, getting drenched, and slide down, leaning my back against the wall. I spread my legs apart, and Grace hands me the towel for under Amber’s head. I allow her head to rest on my pelvic bone and hold it with my trembling hands. Grace sits on her legs and gets wet as well.
“I don’t want you getting cold,” I say.
“I’m fine; I’m just praying this works.”
Suddenly, I hear a loud banging noise. Fearing the worst, I reach for my knife, but something streaks through the bathroom so fast, I don’t have time to react. Not far behind, Bill follows, cursing up and down about something I don’t understand.
“It’s loose!” he says. “Take cover!”
A huge, dark animal of some kind darts across the floor and hides behind the lockers. Its nails on the floor sound like nails on a chalkboard.
“Bill, what the hell was that?” I scream. Grace sits frozen in place, unsure what to do.
“Fantastic! It worked. I knew it!”
“What are you talking about?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“That there was Zeus,” Bill says with the biggest smile painted across his face. “And you didn’t even recognize him.”
My jaw drops to the floor, and I’m about to get up to beat Bill’s ass. Grace sits and stares, and Bill smiles like a lunatic. I want to slap him.
“What did you do to him? If you hurt him, I’ll kill you, Bill. I swear on my life. I’ll kill you.”
“Oh, Lusty, relax yourself. He’s fine, just a bit embarrassed, I think.”
“Zeus,” I say. “Come here.”
He pokes his head around the metal lockers with flattened ears and sad eyes.
Grace and I still hold on to Amber who seems to be doing a little better. Her body only twitches now, no more flailing.
Zeus slowly makes his way toward us with his head down and his tail between his legs. The darkness of his fur makes it hard to distinguish him from the shadows around him.
“Turn on another light,” I say to Bill. “Now.”
Grace quickly throws a towel over Amber to cover her.
“Geez, you’re very demanding.” He laughs as he walks to the light switch. “One. Two. Three. Here we go.”
At first, the bright light causes me to squint, but after my eyes adjust, my nostrils flare in anger.
“He’s gray! No wonder I can’t see him.” Zeus is so dark, it’s hard to make out his black mask. My muscles tense, and I glare at Bill. “What’d you do to his fur?”
“Dyed it with hair coloring.”
“You’re unbelievable.” I shake my head at him because there’s not much else I can do at the moment.
Cole and Bruno storm into the bathroom with worry etched onto their faces. I’m sure they heard my blood-curdling scream.
“What happened? You all right?” Cole darts right past Bill and doesn’t even notice Zeus. But Bruno does. He cocks his head to the right and to the left before he laughs. Cole’s eyes lock on mine, and he scrunches his forehead waiting for my reply.
“No, I’m not all right.” I point toward Zeus. “Look what Bill did to him.”
Cole spins around; his back straightens as he makes his way toward Zeus. Zeus whines and runs back behind the lockers.
“He’s black?” Cole asks.
“No, it’s actually dark gray,” Bill says. “But the lighting down here sucks, so he appears much darker.”
“Bill dyed his fur,” I say. “And now Zeus is embarrassed and keeps hiding.”
“What did you do that for?” Cole spits at Bill. “He’s not your dog.”
“Camouflage.”
“Come again?” Cole furrows his brows at Bill.
“Damn … you’re good,” Bruno says to Bill.
“Stay out of this,” Cole snaps at Bruno.
“You know, man, being darker could actually save his life,” Bruno says. “Think about it. He doesn’t stick out. He blends in.”
“Bruno, sometimes I like you more when you keep your mouth shut,” Cole says.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. My words get stuck in my throat, my lips parted.
Cole glances at me while pointing at Amber. “I’ll deal with Bill later. What’s going on with her?”
“She started seizing because her temperature got really, really high.”
He lifts his eyebrows at me. “Lexi, you’re a good person. Do you realize that? That girl wasn’t nice to you … ever, yet here you are, taking care of her.”
“She’s still human, Cole. Besides, she was just jealous of us.”
Cole smiles his crooked smile, and his dimples make my heart ache for him, for the person I know he is.
“Would you mind turning the water off for us?”
“Sure, no problem.” He turns the knobs, stopping the flow. “I’ll grab towels and clothes for the two of you.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you,” Grace says.
“There are three of us,” I remind him.
“Can’t you cover her with a sheet or something?”
“Hey, try to be nice.”
“That is being nice.” He walks toward the lockers and goes around to the back to comfort Zeus. But the next thing I hear is Cole in hysterics.
“I’m sorry, Zeus. Really I am … but you look ridiculous, buddy.”
“He looks like he’s been rolling around in a pile of ashes. He looks geriatric,” I say.
“Even better. They won’t expect his big bite,” Bruno says.
“Okay, boys, would you mind leaving us alone so we can get dressed? Please?” I add.
Bruno and Bill leave, but Cole stays.
“I’ll carry her back for you,” he says.
“I’d appreciate that, because at this point, I’d be dragging her.”
After I get dressed, I retrieve a red t-shirt that matches Amber’s hair and meet Grace in the hallway. She looks tired, with dark circles forming under her eyes.
“You should get some rest,” I say, walking back to where Amber lies. “Let’s get Amber dressed quickly, and you can go lay down. Put her arms in the shirt first, and then we’ll pull it over her head.”
“Okay,” Grace says.
First, I pull Amber’s wrist through the arm hole, and then, in unison, we move up her arms. As they flop around, I can’t help feeling bad for her. She doesn’t make a sound, and her eyes remain closed as I manipulate her enough to center the hole of the shirt on her head. Then I glance down at her shoulder. My stomach plummets to the ground. I let out a cry.
“Cole,
come quick,” I demand.
“What?” He crouches next to me, and I point to what I just found.
Grace takes a quick look. “Please tell me that’s a bruise,” she says.
“Definitely not,” I say. “It looks like she was injected with something; you can still make out the needle stick.” I squint and examine the area around it.
“What’s with the black ring around the injection site?” Cole asks.
“I don’t know. Hurry up, we need to show Roméo.”
Cole scoops Amber into his arms, I help Grace to her feet, and we take off down the hall.
“Zeus, let’s go,” I say. When he comes into the light, I chuckle because he really does look like he was rolled in soot.
“I better grab something to eat and drink,” Grace says. “And I can get Roméo on the way if you want.”
“Sure. Can you please grab something for me to eat too?” I ask.
She nods. “Of course.”
After Cole puts Amber to bed, he sits next to me on the floor with his legs out straight. He pats his thighs, and I go to him. I sit sideways so I can bury my face in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around me and strokes my hair. “What do you think happened to her?”
“Not sure.” I wrap my hand around his arm, and it shakes.
“Are you afraid?” he asks, glancing down at my hand.
“Kinda.”
“You’re okay; I’m here.”
I kiss his cheek. “My dad used to say that to me. And I love that you say that to me, too.”
Cole clears his throat, and his arm stiffens.
Zeus finally comes in and plops next to me. As I rub his head, he lifts his face and licks my chin.
“You’re still handsome, Zeus,” I say to him.
He plops his head down on his paws with a hmmph. His droopy eyes give away his true feelings.
“Are you seriously counseling him?”
“He’s depressed.”
“Try traumatized. But dogs only see black and white—”
“Which would explain why he’s freaking out. He’s darker.”
Cole rests his head back against the wall. “Zeus, you look ridiculous.”
“Cole.” I elbow him, and he laughs.
Zeus licks Cole’s face, and Cole bats at him, trying to get him to stop. I can’t help laughing. Sometimes I think Zeus is the only reason either of us are still sane. Even in crappy situations, he still brings us joy, even if it’s when he runs away from his own farts.
Footsteps echo outside the room. I stop laughing and grab Cole’s hand tight.
“Here we go,” I say.
I hold my breath.
Cole’s arm stiffens next to me.
Roméo walks into the room with wrinkled clothing and unruly hair. He holds a pen and a pad of paper. His face is stern, and red veins spider around the whites of his eyes.
Roméo doesn’t acknowledge us. His eyes are glued to Amber. He slowly steps closer to her, focused and intense. He jots something down. I wonder what it is, but for now, I keep my mouth shut. Lifting the blanket off Amber, he inspects her feet, legs, stomach, and hands. He’s careful to never touch her skin. As he examines her, his jaw tightens.
“How high was the fever?” he finally asks.
“So high she was seizing. But the shower brought it down.”
Whatever Amber has isn’t good. He doesn’t even need to say it; it’s obvious by the way his hand shakes as he writes.
I hate the haunting feeling circling around in my head right now.
“Which arm?” Roméo asks.
“Right.” I point to it.
Roméo moves to the other side of the bed, pauses, and takes a cleansing breath before pushing Amber’s sleeve up to her shoulder. He swallows hard, but doesn’t move a muscle.
My palms sweat as I clench them together. Deep down in my gut, I feel it … whatever Amber has … Roméo knows exactly what it is. And judging from the frown on his face, it’s not something he wants to see.
I glance right. Bruno and Grace have appeared, his arm wrapped around her, their faces anxious while waiting for the verdict. When I hear a crinkling of paper, my eyes are drawn back to Roméo.
He writes more things down, but the jerky motion of his arm tells me he’s not writing so much as attempting to draw something. He sighs in obvious frustration.
“Would you like me to sketch it for you?” I ask.
“She’s good,” Cole says. “Really good.”
“The United Powers needs to see what the injection site looks like. Make sure it’s as detailed as possible. Can you do that?” He turns to me and scrunches his forehead. His eyes are bloodshot.
“Sure.”
He hands me his pen, and it slips out of my hand. He’s sweating too. He’s nervous.
I hold the pad of paper with my left hand and bend over to pick up the pen. I step toward Amber. She’s breathing fast, but her body’s placid.
“Here’s a chair.” Cole places it right behind me, and I take a seat.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, wait. Are there any pencils?” I ask Bill, who’s leaning against the doorframe, looking as perplexed as the rest of us.
“Yes, I’m sure of it. I’ll be right back,” he says.
While I wait for Bill, I steal another look at Amber. Her sharp nose and narrow face look the same, but different, like years have passed since I last saw her, instead of months. Her coloring is tinted the yellow of a sunflower.
I touch her forearm. It’s cool and dry. Taking a closer look at the mark on her arm, I try to figure out what causes the black ring. It can’t be dried blood under her skin, and I’m not sure, but I doubt it’s a hematoma. My mom had one once after she fell down the stairs of our High Society apartment. She was heavily medicated and slipped, causing her leg to turn variations of black, purple, and blue. It took weeks of rest and lots of ice for it to finally go away. But this doesn’t remind me of that. It’s too perfectly round to be anything unintentional. I wonder if it’s safe to touch. I want to see if it changed the texture of her skin in any way, but I pull my arm back and decide it’s smarter to wait and see what Roméo has to say.
“I even found colored pencils. How lucky is that?” Bill asks as he enters the room.
“Maybe if I was drawing a rainbow.”
Bruno chuckles, and it’s a welcome sound.
“Hey, maybe not right now, but you might want to later, so I figured you should have them.”
“Thanks, Bill. That was nice of you.”
“No problem.”
Holding a pencil in my hand feels so familiar that it comforts me. I place the tip down on the paper and get to work. I look up frequently and study the area before working on the next piece, shading in the area and making sure it’s precise. The ring is about the size of a silver dollar. I look from my drawing to Amber’s skin and compare the two over and over. I decide it’s perfect when I can’t tell which one is real.
“Okay, I’m done.” I hand the pad and pen back to Roméo, who inspects my rendition, lips pursed.
“Remarkable. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“She’s about to throw up,” Grace says.
“Grab a bucket or something—anything—towels,” I say.
We’re too late. Amber sits up and proceeds to vomit all over the sheet in front of her. Instantly, the smell reaches my nose, and I smash my hand over my face to prevent myself from getting sick as well.
Bill rushes in with a bucket and shoves it under Amber’s face. She wraps her arms around it and continues to heave. I’ve never seen anyone throw up so much at one time. She’s not even coming up for air, for breaks. Her face remains in the bucket, and I glance at Roméo, who’s writing away in his notebook.
“I’m out of here,” Cole says. “Your puke is one thing, hers is not.”
“Go, I’ve got this.” I stand and move from beside Amber so I can take Cole into a hug.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Please be careful around her. We don’t know if what she has is contagious or not.”
“I will.” I pause, thinking about Amber possibly being contagious. “Do you think you can find something to change her into? I want to get rid of these vomit-soaked clothes.”
“Okay.” He touches my cheek and kisses my lips quickly, and I want nothing more than to curl up in his arms and sleep.
He breathes deep and lets me go. Cole motions to Bruno, and they both take off. Grace stays behind looking putrid herself.
When Cole’s out of sight, I focus on Roméo. Amber’s still throwing up, although I’m pretty sure she’s just dry heaving at this point. I’m so grateful her fever’s gone, enabling her to sit up on her own, because I don’t want to get any closer to her. The copper tips of her hair look like they’ve been dipped in vomit. She tries to wipe her face but succumbs to another round of heaving. Her shoulder blades pop forward each time. They look so thin and frail, devoid of the liveliness she used to possess.
“Why … won’t … this … stop?” she asks between heaving. I glance at Roméo, who drops his head and stares at the floor. His pad dangles at his side, and his fingers are clenched white around it.
“Amber, it’s Lexi.”
“I hate you,” she says, pulling her head out of the bucket and turning toward me.
I raise an eyebrow. “What else is new?”
“Get away from me,” she says. She sounds like she’s been smoking for fifty years.
“Excuse me, Miss Pissy,” Bill says, “but Lusty saved your life. So show some respect.”
Our mouths fall open as we all turn toward Bill. He shrugs.
If Amber was strong enough to fight, I’m betting she’d jump out of bed in an instant.
“She’s making me sick on purpose.” Amber slams her head back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling in exasperation.
“Amber, you’re a piece of work,” I say.
She picks her head up and wipes her mouth with her forearm. “What’s wrong with me? Am I dying?”
My eyes wander toward Roméo, who’s still taking notes.
“Maybe,” he says without looking up.
Dang.
