Nothing can bring back my mother.
I close my eyes, try for just a few seconds to remember what it felt like to have her here, to not have death shadowing my every move. Time ticks by as I grasp at ghosts: Hers. Mine.
When all of this settles, will I ever feel truly alive again?
Notwhen, I correct myself.If.
What would my mother think of my decision to reach out for help from Vonn? It feels like a betrayal, in a way. Like all of her sleepless nights, and all of her stubborn resolve, were for nothing: like in one swift call, I’d be sayingYou were right all along, Vonn. We’d be nothing without you.I can’t help but think about how he may help us live but would never let us live it down.
In desperation, though, I think my mother would arrive at the same conclusion I have: saving lives is more important than saving pride.
I slide onto a metal stool, identical to the ones we have in Medical, and roll over to the panel deck’s message screen. I mentally prepare myself for the call as I pull up the directory, hope the systems on Radix have better connectivity than the ones down in Nashville. But as I swipe past our call history, I notice three new calls in the log—three new calls from Shapiro! I take a closer look: they’re all dated today, just this past half hour, two of them flagged asmissed. The third is timestamped at three minutes long.
He’s alive—Shapiro isalive!
And this isnotthe way I should be finding out about it. My blood goes from relief to simmer to boil in an instant. I buzz Leo immediately, without hesitation. As far as I know, he’s the only one who’s been around Control today, to look over the vid-feeds.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d spoken with Shapiro?” My words are a swarm of wasps before he even says hello. “I shouldn’t be finding this out from a blasted communicationslog, Leo. You know how anxious I’ve been to get in touch with him!”
“He’d called twice before—twice in a row—”
“That’s when you callme. Not him.”
Leo’s exhale crackles loudly in my ear. “You were stitching Haven up when he called, Linds, and I panicked, okay? I tried buzzing Heath to see if he could let you know, but he didn’t answer, so eventually I just picked up.”
“You could have at least sent me a message.”
“Idid.”
I don’t believe him—but when I check, sure enough, there it is:Shapiro calling. Should I answer or wait for you?Looks like I completely forgot to switch offdo not disturb. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like I missed anything else.
“He was only calling to check in on us, that’sit. But he asked to speak with... with your mother?”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “And what did you tell him?” I say carefully.
Leo’s not the only one who’s been less than honest. I should have told him the truth about the conversation I had with Shapiro. I should have toldShapirothe truth. I would have, if I’d gotten the chance.
“I told him she was unavailable. That’s it, I swear, Linds.” He waits a beat, then adds, “What didyoutell him?”
I bite my lip. “I told him I was her.”
He’s quiet on the other end. He doesn’t heap burning coals on my head, like:How could you? orHow could you keep that fromme?He doesn’t drag me through fire.
He must know he has no room to talk. He really could have tried harder than just sending me a single text half an hour ago.
“So that’s it, then?” I ask when he doesn’t offer any more. “Did he ask you to pass her a message?” It doesn’t sit quite right, that he’d call three times in a row after such an ominous stretch of silence, ask for my mother, and say nothing else. I told him we were holding up well, last we spoke—and would he not trust my mother’s word implicitly?
Of course, he’s probably been every bit as worried about us as I’ve been about them—and he’d be right to be worried. He doesn’t even know the half of it.
My heart twists at the thought of Shapiro finding out my mother is dead. Not just because there will surely be consequences for my lies, but because I know how it feels to be wrung out by grief. Of blood and sweat and tears running dry—like life is being drained, leaving nothing behind but dust—because how can you go on like today is just any other day when shecan’t? When she never will again?
“He didn’t leave a message, no,” Leo says. I hear a noise in the background, steel scraping steel, and then a resounding thud.
“What was that?”
“That was Zesi attempting to move Indigo Sutton without my help.” He cuts himself off abruptly, then says, “Wait—youdidwant us to take care of the body like usual, right?”
I resist the urge to tear my hair out. Indigo was almost certainly not amurder victim, judging by the details that don’t addup—but, I mean, performing an autopsy would have been good to do, just to make sure. What kind of detective am I—orscientist, for that matter—if I operate purely based on empirical assumptions?
