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Lilly was in the hospital for three days. Dad took her to a clinic that catered to the privacy of its patients. They whisked us into a room upon arrival. It was not a traditional hospital room. It was a full-on hotel suite with a queen bed, sitting area, and a spa-like bathroom.
Lilly was examined, cleaned, and her leg got stitched up. They ran a gazillion blood tests, gave her multiple transfusions, and monitored her for side effects. By some miracle, the psycho bitch didn't hit any major blood vessels.
A lot happened on the outside during those three days, but I didn't give two shits. My focus was on Lilly and making sure she was okay. I ignored my phone—let it die—and the only people I spoke to were the ones that came to us: Nate, George, Dad, and the medical staff.
Lilly and I didn't talk much either. I mostly held her, needing the constant contact. No one blinked an eye when they discovered me under the covers with her. The first time she was able to go to the bathroom by herself—with the help of crutches—my hands started trembling, and my entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat. After that, I made it a habit to follow her and wait outside the door.
The attending physician's main concern was monitoring her bloodwork. The amount and combination of sedatives and paralytic drugs her body had to process caused her to lose sensation in her legs twice more in the first day and a half. When that happened, my pulse would pound in my ears, and my entire body shook like I was the one experiencing the possibility of not being able to feel my extremities again. I would yell at whomever was in the room, go completely ballistic, followed by George or Dad having to restrain my ass before I lost it on the poor nurse checking Lilly out.
Nate’s neurologist also paid us a visit. Having money apparently makes the medical professionals come to you, not the other way around, but I didn’t complain. He ordered a CT scan as well as an MRI followed by several hours of more exams. The helplessness as we waited for the results was as excruciating as watching the nurse check on Lilly’s numb legs and not knowing if the sensation would come back this time. When the neurologist informed us that Lilly showed no signs of a tumor or brain injury, everyone in the room, including the two big bad Marines, had tears in their eyes.
No wonder my brain turned the events into a distorted movie. Who the fuck would want to remember all that in vivid detail?
One particular conversation, though, keeps replaying in Technicolor. And every single time, my chest feels heavy, as if someone has put a hundred-pound weight on it. I was sitting next to Lilly on her extra-wide bed, Nate in a chair to her left, Dad in one to her right. George had just returned and stood at the foot of the bed. It was day two, and Dad had let us know that Mom and Natty would be arriving in LA the next evening. Natty got excused from school for two weeks and would complete her work online—no issue there. She'd probably finish the entire school year in those two weeks if she had all the materials.
Arms folded across his chest, George eyed everyone in the room one at a time.
"G, what has your cargo panties in such a twist?" Nate smirked, hands interlaced behind his neck and legs propped on the bedframe.
Lilly's brother actually has a decent sense of humor once you talk to him about more than stalking reporters and rescuing his sister from her birth mother. Another trait that made me like him.
Lilly had a good day, no more losing the feeling in her legs, and we were all in a decent mood.
All eyes were on my BFF, and I was about to add an inappropriate comment when he blurted out, "Lakatos agreed to try and reverse Lilly's memory loss—as long as it's at a location of his choosing. I've been negotiating with him over the last few days."
Wha—? Dad said it was impossible.
Nate leaned forward in his chair, dropping his feet to the ground with a thud, and even Dad's entire posture stiffened. Did he know there was a possibility and lied to me back in his office, or did Lakatos tell his clients it was a one-way street? George's meeting with Hector Lakatos was a week ago, but no one had mentioned it since. We all had other things on our minds, which is why this felt like a punch to the gut. How could I have forgotten?
"That's okay." Lilly's soft voice came from the side, and every head turned to her.
I arched an eyebrow, and she whispered, "I don't want to remember."
"Are you certain? He said he has never done it, but he would try." George’s question was filled with concern, which was mirrored in Nate’s eyes when I let my gaze wander to him.
"I am."
I wanted to demand why, but her tone was stern, and it was clear that she wouldn't discuss it further. Not at the time.
My father pulled me aside later that day and assured me that Lakatos always said it was impossible—it was even part of his contract—and that he didn't lie to me. He knew my mind had gone there.
We’ve talked about it several more times over the last few months, especially after my parents' confessions a few days later, but Lilly has remained adamant. She says the only thing she regrets about her choice is that she may miss a memory of Brooks, but with everything in his video message, Emily herself, and what my parents revealed to her, Dad did the right thing.
Her forgiveness had my father bawl like a baby the day he and Mom told us the rest of the story—the day we learned more unnerving facts about Emily.
