“Kitchen is clear,” Knives says, inching his way around the dining room, then aiming his gun in the living room, swinging it back and forth.
I glance down the hallway and see a pair of feet on the floor. “Knives!” I yell for him and try to hobble toward her as quick as I can. “Knives, oh my God, is she dead?” I ask as he runs by me and squats next to her.
She looks pale and still has her pink silk pajamas on. There’s a mug on the floor next to her, broken in half with a brown stain on the floor from her morning coffee. Knives places his fingers against her neck to search for a pulse.
“She’s alive,” he says, then slides his arms under her to pick her up, lifting her as he did me. “We need to take her to the hospital, and we need to call Doc.”
“You’re good at picking people up,” I say, following him out the door. I wish I had a cell phone, but I don’t know where it is. I don’t have the apartment anymore. Reaper packed it up, paid off my lease, and moved my stuff into Eric’s house.
“Well, I unfortunately have a lot of practice picking up bodies,” he says sadly with a hint of a frown. He opens up the back door and lays Rachel in the backseat. “I’m not looking forward to calling Doc. This is going to kill him.”
I’m starting to wonder if the cancer is further along than what she told him. If she dies, a part of Eric will too. He’s been there for me and I’m going to be there for him.
No matter what.
When he falls, I’ll figure out how to catch him, even if it means ripping my stitches open.
I’m at my mom’s bedside in the hospital, and most of the club members surround me while I hold her hand. I’m reading her chart, trying to understand the numbers, trying to understand how it got so bad and I didn’t notice. I’m trying to understand why she didn’t tell me.
The room is silent minus the heart rate monitor. How has my life changed so much in the last few weeks?
I don’t even know. I don’t know how any of this has happened.
A knock at the door sounds, and I glance up to the door to see Doctor Halligan, a friend of mine when I worked here. I get up and hold out my hand, still gripping my mom’s with the other. “Ryan, it’s good to see you.”
“You too. I hate the circumstances, Eric. I’m sorry to see your mom here,” he says as his eyes roam everyone until they land on my mom. Ryan is the best oncologist I’ve ever come across, but the look on his face matches the numbers on the chart.
And it isn’t good.
“Yeah, me too.” I run my fingers through my hair, and Jo hobbles next to me on her crutches for support. She must notice the bad news written all over Ryan’s face. “Ryan, come on, man. Please have good news for me. She’s my mom,” I whisper, pained.
“I think it’s best if we talk alone,” he suggests.
I shake my head and wrap my arm around Jo’s shoulders and tug her close. “No, you can say it in front of everyone. They’re my family. They’re her family too.”
Ryan sighs, the day as a doctor weighing on him just like every other day. His shoulders deflate, his face sags with exhaustion, and he rubs the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. “Your mom’s numbers suggest the cancer has gotten worse. It’s metastasized.”
“To where? Is it operable? What can we do? Chemo? What? Tell me and … and we will do it, Ryan. You know I will.”
Ryan’s lips press together, not liking that decision, but I don’t care. He opens the folder in his hand and flips a paper over. “It’s everywhere, Eric. It’s in her lungs, her liver … it’s cut her time that the previous doctor told her she has.”
I stretch my arms behind my head and lace my fingers together, shaking my head in denial. A few of my brothers curse behind me, and Jo leans into my side, touching me, grounding me, and honestly if she weren’t here, I would yell and curse. I might even punch Ryan in the face.
My eyes water, and I stare up at the light, thinking about all the times we had together. How she busted her ass to get me through college and med-school. She gave me a home, she loved me when I didn’t think anyone did. I’m here because of her. My father would’ve killed me eventually. “No, no, I refuse to believe that. I refuse. She’s strong. She isn’t like other people, Ryan. Come on, she’s better; you know it.”
“Strong or not, Eric, the cancer is stronger, and I’m sorry, but the three months are gone. She has a month, maybe.”
“No.” I’m ignorant. I’m resisting. I can’t. I can’t handle this. I can’t do it. My hand lays against my heart. “No, no! Please, there has to be something. Ryan, I’m begging you. I’m begging you, do something.” Tears swim in my eyes, and like a broken man, they fall.
They fall right in front of my brothers, my woman, my friend. I don’t care. “No, not after everything. It can’t end like this. It can’t. We’ve been through too much.” I press my palms against my eyes, trying to dry them out, but the memories shared with my mom slam against the front of my mind, and like a movie, like watching my life play before my eyes, they won’t stop flashing.
A beautiful life, and now I have to prepare myself for a painful goodbye.
I can’t.
“Get out of my way.” Like a child, I shove Ryan out of my way and run out the door. I slam against the wall, almost making a nurse fall when she trips over my foot. She rights herself, and she doesn’t seem mad. “Move!” I scream at everyone in the hallway, and doctors, patients, and nurses pause what they’re doing, and I create a path as everyone gets out of my way. I pass the nurses station and suddenly feel drunk, like I can’t feel my legs, arms, or heart. It hurts. I feel like I’m having a heart attack, but I know I’m not.
My heart veins are tight, threatening to pop, just like a piano getting tuned, too much stress and pop.
No more music, no more life.
A sign above me that says ‘Chapel’ has me turning left and busting through the doors. It’s empty.
Figures.
God doesn’t live in hospitals, only the Devil does.
What god would decide to take a soul, a good soul, the kind who makes the world a better place? No great god, I can say that much.
No. My pain. My misery. My heartbreak. It’s the Devil on my shoulder, and he’s laughing, soaking up my torment like a sponge because that’s what keeps him alive.
Like a little boy, I fall to my knees in front of the candles that are burning underneath the cross. There are only a few, and the wax is nearly gone, the wick barely allowing the flame to keep flickering.
“Me and you, we’re going to go rounds,” I tell whoever is listening. “I found it difficult to believe in you before, but now? What the hell do you want from me? Huh? You gave me a father who skinned me, and now…” I snort, wiping my nose on the back of my hand. “And now you want to take my mom? My best friend? What the fuck did I do to you, huh? What did I do!” I scream, grab the cross from it’s holder, and snap it in half. “Fuck. You.” I spread my arms wide and shout toward the ceiling, then laugh. “Strike me dead, you sick, twisted, asshole. What else do you want to do to me, huh?”