“Listen to your daughter.” My dad gives his wife a warm smile, hoping to coax her into listening to our request.
“Will you check on Kade while your brother is with the doctor?” Mom’s bloodshot, puffy eyes focus on me.
“Of course. And I will text you an update as soon as I have one. Now please, go home. I’ve got this.”
My mother releases Deacon’s hand, and reluctantly stands from her chair. There’s no hiding her disappointment with having to leave, even if it’s only for an hour or two. She wants to be here to understand what’s happening in her son’s head. We all want to understand, but I think I will get a hell of a lot further than any doctor. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Deacon’s eyes haven’t left the ceiling since I came out of the bathroom. He didn’t even budge when both parents leaned in to kiss his forehead before heading home. Taking a seat in the chair that my mom has dubbed hers, I grab my brother’s hand and wait. I want to see if he’ll acknowledge me in any way, with a squeeze of the hand, eye contact, anything at all.
Precisely fifteen minutes tick by from the time I began watching the third hand on the wall clock pass the twelve for the nine-hundredth time, and I still haven’t received any response from Deacon.
“D, at least look at me, please.” I keep my voice soft and steady. I fear that if I speak any louder, he will go back to repeating those awful words. Slowly, he turns his head to face me, and the look in his eyes scares the hell out of me. Vacancy. Nothingness. It’s like looking into a black hole. “Hey there,” I respond with a smile, hoping to bring him back from the darkness. In return, he resumes his previous head position and continues to stare up at the ceiling.
Everything inside me hurts. Not being able to get through to Deacon is breaking my heart. He’s the strong one. He’s the rock in the family. He’s the hero. He’s my big brother, and I can’t fucking reach him. All I want to do is shake him and scream at him until he snaps out of this isolated state of mind he’s trapped himself in.
“Deacon, I know you can hear me, so please listen. I’m begging you to listen to me. I know you’re torturing yourself, but you don’t deserve this. Talk to me. Yell at me. Cry. Be angry—anything except this, this distant silence you’re doing. I’m here for you. I love you. Please, let me help you.” As I squeeze his hand to drive home my desperation, I feel the tears sliding down my cheeks, but I don’t move to wipe them. “D, please,” I beg, closing my eyes and bring his hand to my lips to kiss it gently.
Opening my eyes, I look back to my brother’s face; only this time, his eyes are screwed shut as tears trickle down through the stubble on his face.
“Knock, knock,” a female voice comes from behind me. Turning my head, I see a nurse approaching with a cart. “I’m Jenny. I’ll be Mr. Winslow’s nurse today.”
“Hi. I’m Britney, Deacon’s sister.”
“How’s the patient doing?”
Glancing back to my brother, I see he’s focused on the ceiling once again.
“Awake.” That’s the best I can give her since he’s shutting everyone out. My phone chimes, notifying me of a text message. My dad wants to let me know that my mom fell asleep during the car ride home, so he’s letting her nap for a couple of hours. He asked me to text him with any updates on Deacon and Kade.
The nurse takes Deacon’s vitals and asks him if he has a headache or any other post-concussion systems. He shakes his head no even though he’s told me it hurts, but I choose not to interfere. Just as the nurse turns to leave, someone walks in with a tray of food.
“Try to get him to eat something. Dr. Harrison should be here in an hour,” Nurse Jenny informs me.
“I’ll try, but I won’t promise anything.” She nods her understanding and leaves, closing the door behind her.
“D, do you want to use the bathroom before you eat?” I know I’m talking to a brick wall at this point, but I’m not giving up on my brother.
My cell phone chimes again, and this time it’s Sydnee asking me for updates. I fill her in the best I can. She told me to have a drink and just be here for my brother. She then tells me she’ll bring me real food when she gets off work and not to argue. I know it would be pointless anyway. If anything, Syd will force-feed me if she deems it necessary.
Deacon is still unresponsive, so I grab the remote to his bed and raise the back to bring him to a sitting position. Now his focus is on the wall before him instead of the ceiling, but at least this way, I can try to get him to eat or drink something.
“Here.” I hold up the soda can and lift the straw to his lips. “Take a sip, please.” Shockingly, he obliges. I feel like I just took one step in the right direction. I press on and switch the soda for the bowl of oatmeal. Scooping a small bit of the hot cereal onto a spoon, I bring the pint-sized bite to his mouth. He opens, and my heart soars. Now I’m getting somewhere. After alternating bites of the oatmeal, soda, and some water, I feel better that he at least ate half the bowl of food and drank all of the ginger ale and an entire reusable bottle of water.
“Did the food help?” I ask, hoping he will talk to me now, but instead, he shrugs his shoulders and returns his focus to the wall. Baby steps. Taking it upon myself, I turn on the television, and I’m now kicking my ass for doing so. As my bad luck would have it, the first thing that pops up is a news update about the shooting. Fuck my life. I fumble with the remote to turn off the television when Deacon snatches the remote from my hand, turning the volume up.
“We have confirmation that Jesus Hernandez, a Mexican cartel affiliate who was reported to be in critical condition following a shootout a couple of days ago, has since been moved from Saint Luke’s Hospital to the prison hospital, where he will remain until he recovers. Once Hernandez is well enough, he will then begin the arraignment process.
The two underage girls found at the residence with Hernandez are currently in child protective custody. Both girls identified their kidnappers from mugshots and confirmed they were taken with the intent to be sold into prostitution.
At this time, we have no further updates on the status of Kade Beaumont, the police officer shot by Jesus Hernandez.”
I take a deep breath in, thankful that no mention was made of the innocent casualties. But my relief is cut short when Deacon jumps out of bed as if it were on fire, and heads straight to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The noise makes me jump.
Running to the door, I try the handle, and when that doesn’t work, I start banging on the door, begging my brother to open it. The last time he went into that bathroom, he came out fucked up. I’m not ready for another episode.
“D, let me in, please. Don’t make me call security to bust down this fucking door.” I hear pounding and then something break, so I turn and run out to the nurse’s station, yelling at them to get someone in here to open the bathroom door. I know my brother is hurting psychologically, and I’m praying to any God that will listen that he’s not doing something stupid.
It’s not long before security is in his room and opening the door to the bathroom. Blood is everywhere, and my brother sits in the corner of the shower, knees pulled to his chest, and he’s crying—hard. I think I heard a security guard tell the nurse to get the doctor, but I’m not listening to him. My focus is on Deacon and the urgency to get to him. Pushing my way past the large body, I walk across the glass-covered floor and climb into the shower with Deacon. Grabbing his head, I force him to look at me, and that’s when I see the large gash on his forehead.