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PROLOGUE
“What’re you drawing, Cas?”
Her father peered through the doorway to find her sitting on her knees, her tiny frame hunched over her art table. Papers, crayons, and pencils lay scattered across the surface in an artistically organized mess. Her elbows rested on the paper she was currently fixated on, shoulders scrunched as she hovered over her work. She was focused in a way that made him question whether she’d heard him or not, which became clear with her lack of a response. When he rounded to the front to sneak a glance, he laughed under his breath at the intense focus on her tiny, round face.
Curly brown hair spilled over her shoulders, little eyebrows scrunched together, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth as always when she was absorbed in her drawing. She loved to draw from the moment she could grip a crayon in her hands. After that, she’d spent countless hours in her room, reading books, then drawing and sketching the scenes of the pages, her dreams, anything she could imagine. At only four years of age, her skills had grown from unrecognizable scribbles to clearer figures, and it had become easier to see what she was drawing.
When she shifted, exposing her work, his brows knitted and he kneeled, scanning the other drawings she had. A number of drawings of castles, large parties with lords and ladies, and warriors fighting with swords littered the table, but the drawing that she was currently focused on drew his attention.
She wasn’t done drawing though, still working away with her black crayon. “It’s me, Daddy.”
He could see her in the drawing, a little figure standing in the forefront, but behind her stood a large, shadowed figure, the only recognizable feature its face. The inky blackness spread out around her, nearly consuming her. “Who’s that?”
“He’s my dark knight.” She scribbled away, adding more dark figures, like crouched creatures on either side of them. “He protects me from the monsters.”
“Monsters?”
“Yeah. We fight the monsters together to protect our kingdom.” Her tiny voice was casual, without a care in the world as she spoke of this knight from her dreams. “They’re scary, but he always watches my back.”
He walked around the table, kneeling next to her. The face in the shadows had markings running up and down his cheeks. “What’s wrong with his face?”
She sat up, her shoulders slumping, as if he were interrupting her creative process, and he chuckled. “Those are tears.”
“Why is he crying?”
She didn’t spare him a glance, just continued drawing. “He never says. Every time he appears, he gets rid of the monsters. But every time he sees me, he gets sad, because I can’t stay with him.”
She stopped drawing then and lifted her face to him. The look in her sweet eyes made his heart clench; the pain reflecting how affected she was by this dream.
“And it makes me sad to say goodbye every time.”
1
Death eventually came for everyone, but it was coming for me sooner rather than later.
Doctor Robertson slid his glasses back up his large nose with his index finger as he flipped through my medical file. In the years since I’d started seeing him, he’d gained weight, his hair growing more silver with each stressful year in the medical field. He stood from his swivel chair, turning to my mom as he flipped through the pages of my extensive medical file. “All right, Cassie, that wraps it up for today. Go ahead and change I’m going to talk with your mom, and we’ll discuss it more when you’re done.”
I nodded, a numb sensation filling my chest at the routine that had somehow become my norm. The cold rooms of hospitals and medical offices were all too familiar now. Twenty years old, and yet his tone, the way he spoke to me during the check-up still made me feel like a child. I parted my lips, wanting to correct his use of the full name I hated, but I could never voice my frustrations. The metal frame was icy under my fingers as I gripped the bed, irritated by how much of a pushover I’d become.
The warm smile my mother offered resonated from her pale hazel eyes, likely trying to offer me some sort of reassurance, but it did little. Years of stress, worry, and life etched themselves into her skin in the form of soft wrinkles. I knew every wrinkle, knew the likely cause of it had been one or another health scare.
“I’ll be right back, Cas. It’s gonna be ok.” My mom’s voice was as soft and reassuring as she could muster. The door clicked loudly as it closed behind them, echoing off the walls, showing how hollow and lifeless this place was.
My feet dangled from the padded metal edge of the bed. Bland, white walls surrounded me, decorated with diagrams of the heart and cardiovascular system. Various tools and odd gadgets sat on display along the counter of a nearby cabinet. It felt... lifeless.
The things that I’d experienced within the walls of a medical facility never truly left me, and while I did my best to act like I was ok, I wasn’t. I wasn’t ok.
I was tired, tired of hospital trips, needles, IVs, tests. Tired of doctors’ offices, the pitiful glances, the bad news, the dead ends, tired of… the monotony of it all.
The tile was icy under my bare feet as I stood, untying the string holding the gown in place. The thin fabric slid off my shoulders and I crumpled it, tossing it back on the bed. If it were up to me, I’d never set foot in one of these places again and live what little life I knew I had left. I’d let death take me when it eventually would. Nothing we tried to do would stop it, so what was the point?
Warmth. I needed warmth. I reached to the chair, grabbing my clothes, and dressed myself, eager to escape the chilled air on my skin. Hushed voices spoke outside the room, and I hurried over, pressing my ear to the ice-cold, faux wood door to listen in on their conversation. Doctor Robertson’s reaction had already made it clear what the verdict of my checkup was, but I couldn’t help but eavesdrop.
“…consulting with other physicians in our network, exploring other treatments available.” He drew a breath, pausing a moment and I could hear the faint flipping of pages. No doubt he was flipping through the pages in my thick medical file again. If only I could burn that heavy reminder of the countless medical procedures and tests I’d undergone. If only burning it would erase the misery of it all.
“She’s not responding favorably to the treatments we’ve tried so far. I’m sorry, Mrs. Hites, but we’ve run out of options at this point.” Doctor Robertson’s voice was apologetic as he spoke. I could almost imagine him rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, the way he always did when he had to deliver more bad news of our failed attempts to save me. I knew he cared, yet I couldn’t help but feel like a stain on his reputation.
The sadness in my mother’s sigh rushed over me, leaving a tight feeling in my chest. We’d hit the final dead end. “So, there's nothing more we can do at this point? No other therapy or treatment options?”
