Into the Fire

by Patrick Hester

  “I will,” Chase promised.

  “If you can get him to talk, that would rock. Maybe a guy-to-guy thing?”

  “I can try. If I’ve learned anything about the Kane family, it’s that you can’t force them to talk about something before they’re ready to.”

  I frowned.

  He smiled.

  “Stop,” I took a breath. “Stop being all insightful. You’re freaking me out.”

  His smile deepened.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll try to bring Mom down, too. She’s got to be starved by now.”

  “All right. We’ll be there.”

  “And don’t tell him about Jorge.”

  “Roger,” he said.

  “Or that I cried.”

  “I think he could handle such an earth-shattering revelation as the mighty Samantha Kane shedding a couple tears,” he said.

  My frown deepened.

  Chase disappeared after my little brother. One down …

  Probably not the best idea I’ve ever had, asking my ex-boyfriend to convince my little brother to talk to him, but it wasn’t the worst, either. Chase had a way with people. If anyone could get Simon to talk, it probably wouldn’t be Chase, but I was just desperate enough to give anything a try. Still, I’d owe him a favor, and I cringed at the thought.

  I moved across the room to a desk where a woman sat behind a glass wall with a little speaker set in the middle. The setup reminded me of county lockup and a movie theater all at the same time.

  “Hi. Sam Kane,” I said. “My dad is here?”

  Never did she look up or acknowledge me in any way. She scanned a clipboard, nodded to herself, and pressed a button to open the double doors to her right.

  “Follow the blue line,” she commanded, voice sounding tinny coming through the speaker.

  Follow the blue line … was that a joke about being a cop?

  Stepping through, I saw blue, red, and green lines painted on the floor. Green went right, red straight ahead, and blue to the left. I followed the blue line until I found 604 painted above the door.

  * * *

  The feelings coursing through me as I walked into the room could be categorized as “all of them.”

  Focus, I whispered through my brain in a raspy kind of voice.

  My stomach had gone back to that cold, hard pit of guilt and despair I’d felt driving here. Mom stood talking with a doctor. He wore one of those long white coats over pale green scrubs. I enveloped Mom in a hug as tight and comforting as the one Chase had given me. The doctor stepped back and gave us a minute. I thought I’d cried all I could cry. Still had a bit left.

  “This is my daughter,” Mom said. “Please tell her what you told me.”

  “Miss Kane?”

  Pulling away from Mom, I nodded.

  “Doctor Byers.” He offered a hand, and I shook it. “We met—”

  “I remember,” I said, crossing my arms. “Last year. Pop’s heart attack.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “Correct. I’m the cardiac surgeon.” The doctor had beady black eyes and half-moon glasses resting on the tip of his nose.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  My father lay on the bed, tubes going in and out of his body, machines wrapping around him like a cocoon. He had a peaceful expression, relaxed like I hadn’t seen him in a long time. He also had such a thin frame I thought a strong breeze might blow him away. The room smelled of antiseptic and death.

  My stomach roiled.

  “Your father had a stroke,” the doctor said bluntly.

  The floor did not just melt away beneath my feet, free-falling me down into a vacuum with me screaming my head off in vain frustration.

  “He is showing signs of paralysis on his right side, an indicator of a left-brain stroke. We were able to wake him, briefly, but he did not respond or communicate. This could mean a loss of his ability to speak. Honestly, we won’t know for sure until he wakes again—something we don’t want to push, given his overall health issues.”

  I nodded.

  Mom moved to clutch my arm in a death grip, nails digging into my flesh.

  There should’ve been pain there, some reaction from the flesh of my arm. There wasn’t.

  “Right now, he’s stable,” the doctor continued. “You need to remember that, all right? We’re going to keep him overnight for observation. We’ll know more in the morning, and can make an intelligent decision about the next step then.”

  “Okay. Thank you,” I said.

  He left, and Mom and I hugged again.

  Neither of us wanted to let go, but eventually I did. I walked over to my dad, stood over him, and stroked his hair, pushing it back and away from his face. His skin was waxy and cold. The spots stood out in this light, ugly and ragged on his skin. I pulled his blanket up, tucked it in a little tighter, and then kissed his brow.

  “Hi, Pop,” I whispered. “Sleeping in, I see?”

  “Where have you been?” Mom asked.

  I took a deep breath. Turning to face my mother in that moment may have been the bravest thing I’ve ever done. Her arms were crossed, face flushed nearly purple.

  “I had to work, Ma.”

  “Work. You sound like him. When he missed birthdays and anniversaries. When he should have been with the family. He said ‘work,’ too.”

  I turned away and smiled down at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say here, Ma.”

  “I want you to be here! I want to know when I call, you’ll answer!”

  “I’m sorry, I am. Work—”

  “No, Samantha!”

  I jumped.

  “I put up with that shit from your father for thirty-five years now. I’m done. I hate what it does to you, that job. You don’t even realize how it changes you, do you? Well, no more. When we need you here, you should be here. You should be here, Samantha.”

  The tears streamed down her face.

  What could I say to her? I think I’d always known, just as Pop knew, how Mom felt. How our jobs drove her crazy with worry. Didn’t make it any easier to hear her say it out loud.

  Guilt is like a cancer, and I had more than my fair share of guilt.

  A voice came over the intercom and broke the silence between us. “Shift change in ten minutes. Visitors are instructed to please exit all rooms during the shift change.”

  Mom said, “We can come back at 6:30, but we have to leave the room now.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Mom had already gathered her purse and coat. In a short span of time, she’d become an expert on how the ICU ran. No one should become an expert on how the ICU is run except the people who work there.

  Leaning over my dad, I kissed his brow again. “I’ll be back,” I whispered. “I’ll take care of them.” Standing, I said, “Come on, Ma. Simon is waiting for us in the cafeteria.”

  “I’ll wait in the other room until they’re done.”

  Taking her by the shoulders, I said, “You need to eat something. So do I. There’s nothing else we can do here right now. Simon is waiting. Come on.”

  “All right,” she agreed. She had to go and do all the things I’d just done, smoothing Pop’s hair, adjusting his blanket, and kissing his forehead before she’d go, but she did let me lead her out and to the cafeteria.

  I didn’t even have to ask for directions.

  * * *

  To my utter surprise, Jenni sat at the table with Chase and Simon.

  Not three steps into the cafeteria, my best friend flew from her seat and gathered Mom and me up into a group hug. Felt good.

  Jenni gave my shoulder a squeeze before taking my Mom by the hand and leading her off to get food.

  Chase stood up and flashed me the sideways grin he used all too well. “I called her before I found the info on your dad,” he admitted. “I didn’t know what else to do. You will never ask for help, so I asked for you.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  Having Jenni there did make it easier. She guided Mom through the
line, piling a pair of plates high with stuff to eat. Didn’t matter; Mom would only pick at it. The only other person in the room, an old man bent over his walking stick, shuffled out of the room as we came in.

  I followed Mom and Jenni, choosing a small tapioca pudding and a Diet Coke, then paid for everything despite Mom’s protesting she could do it.

  After I slid my ATM card, I wondered, how would I get paid now? Would it come from Mayfair, or still from the DPD? I shook my head to banish that thought. Focus.

  We sat together, pulling two of the small tables together. Mom picked at her food as I predicted, but she ate, while Simon devoured his cheeseburger and fries. My food tasted like ash in my mouth. Didn’t smell any better. The pit of guilt and despair in my stomach roiled, washing over me, causing my skin to prickle. I swallowed it down, kept it there with Diet Coke.

  Simon’s cheeseburger smelled like burning flesh.

  The way the Werewolf had smelled when I killed it. Another death on my hands.

  So, yeah, pudding and a Diet Coke for me.

  Jenni said something, and everyone laughed.

  On autopilot, I smiled.

  Jenni had a way with people, charming and nerdy all at once. In just a few minutes, she had put everyone at ease, talking recipes with Mom and video games with Simon. Simon, who never talked to anyone.

  I envied her ability to do that.

  At which point I noted the little perv’s eyes kept drifting from her eyes to her breasts.

  I kicked the little horn-dog under the table. He shouted and gave me a death glare. Chase laughed out loud. Mom just happened to be facing the other direction. Jenni gave the little shit a sexy grin. Right, encourage the teenage boy to undress you with his eyes.

  “Where’s Mikey?” I asked Mom.

  “Maryland, remember?” she replied.

  No, actually.

  “The lecture?” she said. “At Annapolis?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. Apparently, being asked to give a lecture at Annapolis tended to be a pretty big deal. Pam and Aidan, my four-year-old nephew, had gone with him. They made a family vacation out of the trip, trying to see whatever sights Annapolis in October had to offer.

  “They’re due back late tomorrow,” she added. “I spoke to Pamela but told them not to change their plans.”

  Pop was stable, so it made sense. Might cost a small fortune for them to come back early.

  “I called your brother Sean,” Mom continued. “He’s trying to get a flight home tonight, but it doesn’t look good. He’ll call when he knows more.”

  That, too, would be expensive. A last-minute airplane ticket from California? Pricey. Plus, how would he get out of school for however long he’d be here without his teachers flunking him?

  Luckily, not my problem. My little brother could handle himself better than my other little bother, that’s for sure.

  I finished my pudding while everyone around me talked politely amongst themselves. Staring into the empty dish, I couldn’t help but feel like something inside me had broken. Jorge had died, and not very long ago, it tore me up. Now? My mind had shifted it aside and focused on other things. Sure, I had a lot going on, but it didn’t feel right.

  Had the magic somehow changed me? One minute my emotions flooded me; the next, they were locked behind a wall in my head. Like right now. Everything distant, at arm’s length. Could anyone else see this? Chase? Jenni? Mom?

  Simon finished the last of his cheeseburger, fingers dripping ketchup onto the plate. He’d gone to a club full of Vampires. Why didn’t it bother me more? My little brother’s life had been in very real danger, and I’d moved on? Shouldn’t I have told him not to go there anymore? Or better yet, found a way to close the place down so no one else could get hurt?

  My mind kept coming back to the magic and the thing in my head. What if it did more than keep the magic tamped down? Hadn’t someone told me it—

  A stab of pain shot through my head, centered right between my eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Jenni asked.

  All the conversation at the table stopped.

  I gave the best approximation of a smile I could manage and said, “Yeah. Sorry. Headache.”

  “You don’t eat enough,” Mom said.

  “Do me another favor?” I asked Chase. “Take Mom and Simon home?”

  Protests erupted from my family.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” said Mom.

  “If she’s not leaving, neither am I,” said Simon.

  This went on for a few moments. I waited.

  “Mom,” I said, “you’re exhausted. You need some rest. And Simon? I can’t send Mom home alone. You need to go with her and make sure she gets some sleep.”

  He sat up a fraction straighter.

  Mom opened her mouth, but I kept going.

  “You’ve been here all day,” I said. “I’ll stay with Pop. If anything happens, I’ll call. You’re not far, and you need the sleep.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Chase said, standing. He pushed back Simon’s hoodie and tousled his hair. “Come on, kiddo. Maybe I’ll let you drive.”

  “Seriously?” Simon asked excitedly, the first sign of life I’d seen in a while. He practically jumped out of his chair.

  “No,” Chase said quickly. “But maybe this weekend. If your mom says you can,” Chase offered.

  Mom pulled me aside. “Samantha, you need rest too. When is the last time you slept?”

  “I’ve just had a stressful couple of days,” I replied. “I’m here, though. A hundred percent. I’ll get some rest, I promise. Right now I’m concerned about you and Simon.”

  “We’ll be fine, but you have to take care of yourself too,” she said. “Tapioca pudding is not dinner. You won’t do us any good if you collapse from exhaustion.”

  “I know, Ma,” I said, then hugged her. “I promise I’ll get some rest and eat something.” I meant it, I just didn’t elaborate on when. Still, it was enough to convince her to go home.

  Which took fifteen extra minutes.

  Eventually, Chase led Mom and Simon from the cafeteria. Simon turned to me, but I couldn’t see his face due to it being hidden deep inside his hoodie.

  All I could do? Hope he wasn’t wishing me dead by giant spider attack.

  * * *

  Jenni and I moved to a small table near the back wall. She procured a couple of coffees and a package of chocolate chip cookies for us.

  I told her about my encounter with Maria, about breaking down and shutting down.

  Retelling the story proved more difficult than I thought it would be. Tears didn’t well up again, but I had this growing sense of anxiety as the words came out. Like, by confiding in her, I’d broken a rule. But I needed to tell someone.

  She said all the right things, touched my hand when it needed touching, that sort of thing. But I felt like I stood back from it all, watching two strangers. I didn’t feel anything.

  If she noticed, I couldn’t tell.

  “How’s your dad?” she asked.

  “Not good.” I did and didn’t want to talk about Pop. I had to, needed to, but had this fear that doing so would somehow be bad. My head ached even thinking about it. And then I spewed out everything I’d been thinking about my family, my job, and Jorge over the last couple of days. I left out the bit about Vampires, Werewolves, and magic. Jenni came around the table to hug me. I hugged her back.

  We stayed that way for a bit.

  “I’m so sorry, Sam,” she said. “I knew it was bad. You should’ve said something sooner.”

  We cried together.

  When the moment ended, she moved back to her seat and gave me a teary smile.

  “I know not to push you,” she said. “You bottle everything up inside. Trying to get you talking before you’re ready has never worked.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said, staring into the bottom of my coffee cup. The cookies were gone, too. When had that happened? “I’m not good at talking about these things. I should
’ve said something sooner.”

  “I could’ve asked. We’ve both been busy lately.”

  True enough.

  “I need to go. Sit with my dad,” I said. “I should be there.”

  Because it was my fault. I never should’ve left him last night. I’d been so caught up in my own shit, the magic stuff, I didn’t see how much he needed me to be there, how much Mom needed me there too.

  The guilt settled on my shoulders again like a favorite old jacket.

  I opened my mouth again to say something like, “goodbye, thanks for this, I’ll talk with you tomorrow,” and instead started talking about the apartment building, the Ghost, the Werewolf, and everything else I’d left out a moment ago.

  In the odd blue-white light of a hospital cafeteria, I spilled my guts, telling my best friend about magic, Wizards, Werewolves, Vampires, dragons, elves, alternate universes—the whole lot. Something had shifted again inside of me, like a dam breaking loose. Talking about it all was okay; I don’t know why.

  When I finished, my throat dry, I wished I’d refilled my coffee cup first so I’d have something to sip now.

  Jenni didn’t react at first. I couldn’t even look her in the eye. I expected shock, disbelief, maybe even a little talk of getting some mental health help, given we were in a hospital. What I didn’t expect? Laughter.

  Jenni laughed. Hard.

  “Stop it!” I said. Indignant, I stomped my foot. “Knock it off. It’s not funny.”

  “I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, then started giggling, which quickly turned into more laughing.

  My face flushed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, waving her hands at me. “I am. It’s just—Come on! Wizards? Ghosts? If I told you a story like that, how would you react?”

  “I’d laugh my ass off,” I said with a sigh. I wanted to prove it to her, help her to believe. Maybe turn another box of tissues into ashes right here in front of her. I’d even settle for a tiny blue flame a la Jack Mayfair. Neither of which I was comfortable attempting at the moment.

  Wanting to do magic—that was new. I really did want to pull a rabbit out of my hat, so to speak. Magic. Me. How dangerous could it be?

  “I know how it sounds,” I said instead. “But it’s all true. Every last word. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.”