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“Mr. Valen,” we hear someone call out.
I look up to see a man and a woman standing at the doors to the ER waiting. Zane and I stand to go where they are. That they instantly recognize us is obvious.
“That’s me,” Zane says with a breath of impatience. “Where’s my sister?”
“I’m Doctor Jenkins,” the man says extending a hand. “I’m the attending who’s been caring for your sister.”
The woman, a petite redhead with oversized glasses, extends her hand. “I’m Doctor Thompson. I’m the psychiatrist that’s been assigned to your sister’s case. We’d like to talk to you for a moment in the counsel room if that’s okay.”
Doctor Jenkins looks at me questioningly. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to say family only. Would it?”
I shake my head. “She is my family.”
Zane places a hand on my shoulder. “He’s right. He’s her family just as much as I am.” He turns to look over his shoulder to Maddox. “Maddox should come too. She’s been living with him, so maybe he has some answers we don’t.”
Doctor Thompson looks over to Maddox, then nods in agreement. “I do have questions, so yes he should come.”
They lead us behind the large doors down a stark white hallway into a small room that I think is intended to make people more comfortable. It has framed art of cottages and streams hanging on the wall. Compact floral sofas line two walls while wingback chairs line the rear wall. There are two end tables with lamps turned on that provide soft lighting. I get the feeling this room is where bad news is delivered which makes my blood run cold and my palms clammy.
“How is she?” I ask with a shaky voice.
“Miss Valen is a very lucky woman. Miracle comes to mind, even though, as a doctor, we try to stay away from words like that,” Doctor Jenkins answers. I notice he’s not that much older than me. Maybe ten years. “She did well in surgery. We repaired the tendons that she severed. She’ll have to do physical therapy for a while to regain function and mobility. We can’t be certain about nerve damage at this point. When she cut herself, somehow, she missed the main artery. I’m going to be honest. I’ve seen this type of thing many times in the past. Most of the time it is considered a cry for help. She wasn’t crying for help. She wanted to die. The fact that she missed her main artery baffles me, and I call it miracle number one. The amount of cocaine in her system is another miracle, and honestly the one that has me most concerned. Given her size and the amounts that came back, she should’ve died from overdose before paramedics got to her. It also should have caused her to bleed out that much faster. I call that miracle number two and three. Naloxone and lorazepam have been administered to counteract the effects of the drug. At this point, we are waiting on her to wake up.”
“Why isn’t she awake?” I think I hear Maddox say, but can’t be entirely sure because of the roaring in my ears.
“Her body has gone through a trauma. It may take a while. Right now, we are monitoring her vitals. Later today, a CT is scheduled to check for any possible brain damage.”
I swallow hard as the questions forming in my head take root. “Will she wake up?” I manage to get out. I try to brace myself for the answer but quickly realize that’s not even possible to do.
“Until I see the CT, I can’t answer that truthfully.”
Cold sweat trickles down my spine. The air in my lungs feels like all oxygen has left my body. My chest feels like someone is trying to pull my heart out.
They can have it, I think. I don’t want it without her.
Zane’s head falls into his hands like mine has so many times in the last few hours. It’s not until I see his shoulders shake that I realize he’s crying. I know I should comfort him, but I can’t. Not when I can’t find any comfort within myself.
We can’t lose her. She has been our world. She’s his twin. They spent nine months in the womb together and another twenty-one years seeing each other every day.
She’s the love of my life. I know most twenty-three-year-old men would never say that, but I can. I can say it definitively and without hesitation. I will never love anyone the way I love her.
“I understand this is hard, but I have to ask,” I hear Doctor Thompson ask. “How long has your sister been depressed and had a drug problem.”
I glare at the doctor while Zane stiffens by my side. “What did you say?” Zane snarls.
“I know this may be a sensitive subject but we’re trying to help you sister,” the doctor replies unfazed by either of our reactions.
“I haven’t seen or talked to my sister in a year, but up until that point, the only drugs she’d ever done, were slipped to her at a party when she was fifteen.”
“I see. Why haven’t you seen your sister? It could be a sign she is bipolar or even schizophrenic if she just cut you off for no apparent reason,” the doctor said clinically. Too fucking clinically.
“Are you serious?” Zane asked with a tone of disdain and disgust.
“I’m just trying to get to the bottom of her issues, Mr. Valen. No need to feel insulted.”
“Are you looking at Zoey’s chart?” I ask with irritation lacing my own tone. “Have you bothered to look at her history, or are you just too damn excited to start placing your fucking psycho-babble labels on her?”
“There’s no need to get excited, Mr. McCabe,” Doctor Jenkins adds. “Sometimes it’s hard to see the troubles those closest to us may have.”
