Sammy’s lips are swelling, cheeks puffing. Mom made us run practice drills for moments like this. I know what to do, just hope I don’t screw it up.
“He’s having an allergic reaction,” I cry, lying Sammy on his back and running to the fridge. “He’s going to go into shock. Call 911!”
Eyes widening, her mouth moves, but no words come out.
I leap, fishing around the top of the fridge for the cup. Didn’t Mom put them up here? I know she did, I saw her! But there’s no cup, no EpiPen. Instead my fingers graze against something sharp and plastic, like Legos. I reach, grabbing a ball of them and as soon as I open my hand, my stomach drops. It’s the GoPro camera, smashed into pieces.
“Shit,” I mumble, glancing at Piper, standing frozen in shock, watching Sam struggle, her eyes flooding with tears.
“Piper, please!” I beg, my own tears exploding as I head for the stairs. “Call 911!”
In Sammy’s room, I rummage through his backpack. Mom always puts an emergency pen in the front pocket. But the pockets are empty, in all his bags.
“Fuck!” I scream, waves of panic keep crashing into me as I try to dial Mom, thrashing around her room. He needs his EpiPen. He won’t make it to the hospital alive without it. Where the hell are all the pens?!
Wait!
In my room, I dive under my desk, pulling out a file box. I dig around until my hand hits it. The extra EpiPen I threw into my self-care kit before we left Cali. It made me feel safe, knowing I could take care of my brother. I almost forgot about it. But . . . how long has it been in here? Do these things expire? God, Mom, pick up the phone!
Something black on my bedspread makes me take an impulsive step back, whimpering. I drop the pen, body going rigid.
FACT: Wait . . . no!
I take a step forward and on second glance . . . more Lego pieces. The remains of GoPro camera number two crumble in my hands.
Focus! There’s no time.
The stench near the bathroom is violent as I race by. Ghosts. Demons. They’re all trying to kill my brother. This house and everything in it has been trying to kill us from the start.
Back in the kitchen, Piper is standing over Sammy, shaking and crying.
“He. Can’t. Breathe,” she sobs into the phone, leaning over him.
Is she really on the phone? Is this all an act?
“Get away from him!” I scream, shoving her aside. She shrieks, her cries ear-piercing. I need to get Sammy out of here. The house can’t hurt us once we’re outside.
Sammy’s face is blue as I drag him by the armpits out the door, onto the porch. He strains, the gurgling noises horrific before he goes limp.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I mumble to myself, positioning him. “Grasp the pen. Orange tip down. Remove the cap. Swing, jab, three seconds, click.”
God, I hope this works!
Piper drops to her knees beside me, phone still pressed to her ear.
“He’s not breathing!” Piper shrieks.
“Please please please,” I whimper before lifting the pen in the air and stabbing it into Sammy’s thigh.
“He has always been so careful about his allergies,” Mom sniffs outside Sam’s hospital room. “Always looking at ingredients . . . he doesn’t even take trick-or-treat candy. Just pretends! I don’t know how this could’ve happened. And I wasn’t even home! I’m the worst mother! I can’t do anything right!”
Alec rubs Mom’s back, his forehead sweaty, tie undone.
“Babe, it’s okay. He’s fine. Mari got to him in time, she knew what to do, just like you taught her. You’re a great mom.”
Piper stands off to the side, staring at Alec but for a change, not interrupting our parents’ tender moment. Dried tears cover her face, her eyes red and puffy.
“Are you sure it was peanuts?” Mom sniffs. “We’ve been buying that same brand of oatmeal for years! He just had it yesterday and was fine!”
“Positive,” the doctor says, her tone clipped. “We’ll monitor him until the morning. For now, he’s safe and in stable condition.”
Mom cracks with grief and Alec consoles her.
Piper opens her mouth then closes it, twisting her fingers. She glances at me, then quickly diverts her eyes, staring at the floor in a daze. Maybe she felt the waves of hot anger radiating off my skin. Because if she takes one step in this direction, I might kill her. She has something to do with this. She knows it, I know it. Only a matter of time before we’ll be alone. Fuck an exorcism, I’ll deal with her myself.
Dad is on an emergency flight from Japan. He cursed and shouted all the way to the airport. He, too, knows Sammy. Knows he would never mix peanut butter in his oatmeal. Something . . . or someone did this to him.
I’m so busy staring at Piper I don’t even hear my name being called.
“Marigold,” Mom repeats. “Your brother is asking to see you.”
The hospital room smells like it’s been drenched in rubbing alcohol, the fluorescents blinding, and I’m immediately brought back to the last time I found myself strapped down to one of these beds. Puke in my hair, dried piss on my thighs . . . stomach cruelly empty.
“Mari,” Sammy moans, and I rush to his bedside. He’s wrapped in a clean white sheet and hooked up to a monitor. His face is so swollen that his eyes are almost shut.
“Hey,” I whimper, holding back tears. “Are you okay?”
He tries to shrug, words slurring over a swollen tongue. “I feel gross.”
“Sammy, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been watching you. Should’ve never left you alone in the house, not even for one second. I’m such a screwup.”
“Dude, you can’t watch me every second of every day.”
I sniff with a laugh. “Yeah. But I’ll die trying.”
“It’s not your fault,” he says, trying to reassure me.
I lean onto the bed and hold his hand. “I keep thinking . . . about how all you wanted was to just spend time with me or play video games with David. When really, you were missing Dad.”
Sammy quickly looks down at his stomach, not responding.
“You’re always hella chill,” I continue. “Who would even know if something was up with you? And what did I go and do? Blow you off, again and again, until you had to scrape me off the floor so I wouldn’t choke on my own vomit.” I hold back a sob. “You . . . deserve a better sister.”
“But I don’t want another sister,” he mumbles, trying to smile. “I saved you, then you saved me. So we’re even.”
I chuckle. “Dude, not even close.”
Wincing through a deep breath, Sammy glances over my shoulder at the closed door.
“Did you find the cameras?” he whispers, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” I sniff. “They were both smashed. Piper must have found them again.”
Sammy tries to swallow. “There was one more.”
It takes a moment for the words to register. “What?”
“There’s one more camera. One I didn’t even tell you about, ’cause it’s really old and I wasn’t sure if it would work. It’s in the glass kitchen cabinet, behind Mom’s china.”
Hope blooms. “Sammy! Dude, you’re a genius!”