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“Shit!” she atypically curses, running back down the hallway and into Sam’s room. Her odd reaction has Piper and I both following in hot pursuit.
When we step into Samuel’s room, I’m hoping to see him sitting up and welcoming me into his arms. Sadly, I don’t. He’s still attached to all the machines, and there are still a group of doctors in white coats observing him.
Kellie is pacing, while Greg runs a hand over his jaw, his eyes glued on the doctors. “What’s going on?” I ask, rushing over to him.
My voice snaps him out of a trance. Looking over my shoulder, I know what his question is going to be before he opens his mouth. “Where’s Saxon?”
“He left. What’s going on, Greg?” I ask, this time not holding back my fear.
I’m seconds away from shaking him when he unevenly replies, “Samuel’s brain activity has been mounting in a slow, but steady pattern.”
My legs almost collapse out from under me. “That’s good news, right?”
He nods. “They believe something, some stimuli triggered this response.”
My breathing becomes deeper and deeper. “What stimuli?”
He looks defeated as he reveals, “They’ve looked over his charts and they believe it was some time yesterday, at around two o’clock.”
I close my eyes, my worst fears confirmed.
“What happened at two o’clock yesterday? We think we know, but we need you to confirm it.”
Everything is swirling around in my head, a torrential, wild river and I feel like I’m going to drown.
“Lucy? Sweetie? What happened?” Kellie begs, begs that I corroborate what we all know to be true.
The white noise is a steady rhythm, pounding against my skull. I wonder if it feels the same way for Samuel. Thoughts of Sam trapped within his body has me taking a deep breath. This is it. I know the answers—but it doesn’t make a lick of difference.
“I think it’s Saxon,” is all I can say.
Seven
The rest of the dayis spent holding Samuel’s hand, begging him to show any sign, no matter how small, that he can hear me. As expected, I’m faced with radio silence. Doctors and nurses wander in throughout the afternoon, their grim expressions saying it all.
Dr. Kepler confirmed that there has been no further improvement since this morning, and sadly, his current brain activity is stagnant. When I asked him if he believed it was Saxon’s presence that triggered the response, he simply said the link between twins is a mystery that only the twins themselves can validate.
Seeing as one twin is comatose, while the other is a selfish bastard, I have to accept it as being a riddle I’ll never solve.
As I ascend our pebbled driveway, it’s no surprise that Saxon’s bike is gone. We’ve all tried calling him countless times, and we’ve all come up with nothing. His silence speaks for him, confirming that he doesn’t want to help.
Slamming my car door shut, I stagger to the front door, so many emotions plaguing me. At the forefront, I’m disappointed that Saxon turned out to be what I thought he wasn’t—an asshole. I don’t know what happened to turn him into an asshole, and quite frankly, I don’t care.
Pushing open the front door, I slip off my Nikes and amble down the long hallway and into my bedroom. I have no appetite, except for sleep. I decide to have a shower, as I’m desperate to wash away the remnants of this disastrous day.
My shower is quick, as I feel my eyes grow heavy the moment the warm spray massages out the abundant knots in my body. Just as I’m done brushing my teeth, I hear a light rapping on the door. Reaching for the flannel robe off the back of the door, I tie the belt around my waist, covering my penguin print pajama bottoms and frayed Green Peace t-shirt.
I’m not exactly dressed for company, but it could be someone important at my front door. As I turn the porch light on, I gasp, as that someoneisimportant,veryimportant. My bare feet squeak along the polished floorboards as I race towards the door. Yanking it open, I don’t know whether to kick him off my property or welcome him into my home.
“Can we talk?”
“I thought you said all you had to say this afternoon?” I bite back, folding my arms over my chest.
Saxon looks a mess. Most of his disheveled hair frames his downturned face. As if on cue, he brushes a strand behind his ear. “You have every right to be angry at me. I was a complete jerk.”
“Yes, you were,” I agree, seeing no point in being coy. “You seem to be making a habit of it. This time however, no lollipop is going to get you out of it. What do you want?”
He huffs, exasperated. “Can I please come in?”
