Page 35 of Earthly Ties

No. I can’t give up hope yet. The herald patch gives no hints if she’s fucked or not. It’s a matter of what direction the Pox erupts from it.

There’s still hope for Esther.

“East, look in the mirror,” I plead quietly, my voice trembling. I don’t want her to know yet. I want her to go on pretending everything is fine. But she’s getting dressed for work, and she can’t go to work; she’s already contagious. I scratch my own neck with her in sympathy. “You can’t go to campus. You have to quarantine.”

Esther, of course, ignores me. She can’t hear me. She simply scratches her neck again.

“Stop scratching it!” I press my hand over the patch, in hopes of cooling it off enough that she’ll leave it alone. The burn of Life is barely a distraction from the panic consuming me. “You’ll make it bleed!”

Humming to herself, Esther gets ready for her day, brushing her teeth and dancing in the mirror.

I don’t want to interrupt her peace, but I have to try. “East, look in the mirror!” I call louder, hands still pressed to her neck. “Please, please, please hear me. Look in the mirror!”

Dancing her way to the closet, Esther digs in deep to find the particular shirt she’s looking for. She shrugs one of her signature button-downs over her shoulders, white with green shamrocks dotting it. It must be March; Esther loves her holidays.

“East, stop getting dressed!” I shout, my voice breaking as I add, “You have the Pox.”

With a wince of pain, Esther unbuttons the collar of her shirt. Her face drains as she tentatively touches the back of her neck.

She darts back to the bathroom.

I follow her, my heart breaking at the quiet “shit” that escapes in a sob from her mouth. She’s bent over in the mirror, craning her neck to look at the dry patch of skin, bright red and swollen from how much she’s scratched it.

“What kind of mess did you get yourself into this time, Voigt?” Esther asks, sinking to the floor. With a sigh, her head hits the cabinet with a thunk.

“You can’t blame yourself, East.” I wish for the millionth time that she could hear me, because she needs a friend right now. A mild case is disorienting and anxiety-inducing enough. On the neck… “If anything, blame Gilda for making you come to campus so often.”

Esther wipes the tears from her eyes. “Fuck, I should call Gilda.”

“Or better yet, call the reporting line!” Of course, Esther would think of work, before her own well-being. The reporting line would send a notification to the Dean, though, so I can understand why she would want to give Gilda a heads up. But still, Gilda isn’t going to bring her a quarantine kit with the pain relief meds that no one has been able to buy over the counter since the plague began.

People panic-bought any and all fever-reducers at the start. And of course the shipping industry was the canary in the coal mine that was struck down first. Basic necessities were in short supply, including the ibuprofen to make me feel human when I was hungover. I learned to appreciate the ache in the brainstem once I no longer could vanish it away with a pill. Now, the only reliable way to find pain-relievers is through the quarantine kits the government brings when they seal off the front door.

Esther curls around her knees on the floor of the bathroom when she calls Gilda. “Good morning, Dr. Frederick.” She rubs the back of her neck again, yanking her hand away when she realizes what she’s touching. “So uh…I have some bad news.”

“Why can’t people ever call me with good news?” Gilda’s irritation is louder than her greeting, because I can hear her from a few feet away. Esther pulls the phone away from her ear with a wince.

“Sorry, but-”

“Don’t apologize. If you need to tell me bad news, you need to tell me. Don’t waste my time apologizing for it.”

Esther grimaces, catching herself about to rub her neck again. “Right. Um…”

“Well? Spit it out.”

“Damn, Gilda, if you give her a chance to talk, she will!” I snap, slipping my hand between Esther’s neck and the wall to try and soothe the irritation.

After a quiet sigh, Esther finally squeaks out, “I think I have a herald patch?”

The silence is loud on the other end.

“Dr. Frederick? Are you there?”

Gilda’s voice is so quiet this time, I have to lean in close to hear it. “How are you feeling?”

Esther and I both stiffen in surprise. That’s the nicest Gilda has sounded since…well, ever.

“I’m okay!” Esther insists. “I haven’t called it in yet, but I just wanted to let you know I’ll have to teach remotely for—”