Page 39 of Whispers From The Dark

“I have notes that say we’ve called her emergency contact. Kathleen Russo?”

“That’s my aunt.”

“She informed us that your mother doesn’t have an advanced directive. Does that sound right?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Petra says, sounding irritated.

The resident’s posture shifts, and her lips purse.

“We can wait for the social worker to talk about that,” the attending interrupts, giving her resident a look. She has the exact demeanor one would expect from the head of neurology, and I briefly wonder if Joe, the brain-cancer-inflicted host I once inhabited, ever met her.

“Dr. Keller has assessed your mother’s neurological reflexes and reactions to stimuli. Her findings support yesterday’s tests as well.” She watches Petra for a moment, then suddenly seems to come to a realization. “Actually, wait, has anyone told you anything since you’ve been here?”

“A night shift nurse brought me a blanket, but I think they were really busy,” Petra says, and the older woman sighs.

“Let’s start over then. I’m sorry. I’m Doctor Walker, and this is my resident, Dr. Keller. And you are?”

“Petra.”

“Petra. Pretty name.” The woman smiles, sitting down on the plastic chair beside Petra. “Sorry to meet you under such circumstances. Yesterday, your mom was brought in for a fall, as you know.”

Dr. Keller schools her expression, but Petra notices it, and she tries not to squirm.

“Your mother was unresponsive and taken for a CT. She was struggling to breathe on her own, and we had to intubate her.” The woman places her hand on Petra’s, trying to soften a blow before it lands. “The images showed an extensive skull fracture and brain bleed. One of my doctors—Doctor Molloy, he’s excellent—did a brain activity assessment and ordered an EEG. Dr. Keller repeated the same physical assessment and I’m going to order another EEG to be absolutely certain.”

“So, she’s in a coma?” Petra asks, and I’m not sure which emotion is stronger—fear or hope.

“I’m sorry, Petra. But, so far, we have not been able to identify any brain activity.”

She keeps talking, explaining exactly what that means to Petra, but I don’t listen. I watch. A montage of memories flash across her mind. A few happy ones from when she was little, but mostly the shit her mother put her through. And at the end, over and over, she sees her own hand fling her mother backward.

I can’t tell if the memory is real or one her mind has created to place blame. Either way, it wasn’t her fault or choice. It was mine.

But she’s not seeing it like that. She’s seeing the butterfly effect from start to finish. That bringing me into her life, into her body, into her mind, has now caused her mother’s demise.

And she’s not wrong.

But I didn’t have a choice.

And I’m glad the bitch is dead.

“Is there anyone you’d like us to call for you?” Dr. Keller asks, surprisingly soft despite looking like she just ate a piece of roadkill. Perhaps Petra’s blank stare and wet eyes have made some sort of impression.

“I need to call my brother. So he can… if he wants to…” she trails off. “I guess I need to call my aunt, too.”

“Okay, why don’t you do that. Take your time. I’m going to have one of our social workers stop in so we can discuss next steps,” Doctor Walker says.

The cruel visions in Petra’s mind don’t stop. Her mom’s cigarette being extinguished on her flesh. A memory of the woman taking her to a park. Petra flinging her arm away. It doesn’t end when the doctors leave the room. It doesn’t end when Petra picks up her phone and calls her friend.

“Hey. Yeah. It’s…it’s not good, Gabs.” Petra sniffles, but she shakes her head and wipes her face, not allowing herself to get too emotional. “She’s brain dead. Yeah. Yeah, I need to—No. I’m going to ask him. Yeah, thanks.”

Her little brother comes on the line, and Petra explains what’s going on, meanwhile, behind her eyes, all she sees is the carnage that is her mother’s life and abuse and death.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to come,” Jack says. Strong and certain. Far older than eleven in spirit.

“Okay, that’s fine.” She almost breaks, her voice cracking. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The boy hesitates for just a moment. “What…happened? Gabi says she fell because she was drunk and lost her balance.”