When I parked in the hospital lot, the black car parked behind me.
I didn’t want to be down on Y4 during the day. None of my co-workers would be there, just people from the P.M. shift, and my co-workers didn’t usually appreciate people from other shifts lingering. Most people were smart enough not to, like Charles. I hoped that the poor weather hadn’t grounded their plane and that by now he and his wife were someplace safe and far away.
The elevators let me off, and I walked onto Y4. I nodded at the charge nurse, walked around, and found Helen standing near Winter’s door. When I arrived, she reached out and leaned into me.
“Thanks for coming, Edie.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lynn gave me a wide-eyed look at Helen’s actions. I gave her a helpless shrug and wrapped my arms around the clinging were.
“I hate to ask right now, Helen—but what’s Deepest Snow going to do with the rest of the weres in the hall?”
“It’s possible the moon will help with their problems too. We’ll incorporate them into our group—just because they were Viktor’s doesn’t mean they can’t be ours.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just give them the shots?” I said from the vicinity of her hair.
“No. They made their choices. They have to live with them.”
“But—” I started.
She pulled away and looked up at me. “Life isn’t always fair.” I didn’t know what to say to that, as she nestled back into my neck. “Don’t worry. We’ll treat them kindly.”
* * *
Time passed slowly. I couldn’t see a clock from where I was, pinned by Helen just inside Winter’s room. I could see the monitor, though—his numbers continued as they had, circling one tier above the drain. We were maxed out on Levophed, dopamine, and Neo-Synephrine—there wasn’t anything else we could give.
Helen knew when it was time. “When things are done—if he doesn’t get better—can you close the door? And just leave him in peace all night, until we can return, tomorrow?” she asked. I nodded against her. She held me close then released me, stepping farther into the room. The change took her, and this time I saw it—she bent over, as if cramped. Her hands slid into paws, like there’d been furred gloves waiting for her all along, and her feet pushed out of shoes like they were kicking into paw-boots. Her clothing slid away, vanished, and she was naked for the blink of an eye before her fur caught up with her, sliding like a sheet down her back. Her face was the last to go, and she was facing away from me, so I didn’t see it change—I only saw when she trotted up to Winter, on all fours, and nudged him with her muzzle. She put her front paws up on the table, and if it hadn’t been meant for weres it might not have taken her weight—she leaned over him, gray in the room’s light, licking his face with a whine.
We all waited, Helen beside him in the room, me at the door, Lynn outside. Nothing happened.
Helen shook the bed with her paws, twice, rough, and then stepped off it and turned around. Her head was bowed—she sat down and let out a baleful howl. I imagined I could hear the loneliness in it like a distant train, traveling out of reach. She howled again and again, until the entire room, no, floor, echoed with her cries, one chasing another, filled with awareness that Winter would never chase anything, again.
When she was done, she sat there, looking at me and Lynn. Lynn came in. “I’ll do it.” Helen came over to me and leaned her wolf-form against my side.
When you withdraw care, you slide the drugs up as you slide the ventilator down. If you do it right, no one sees the patient, their relative, gasp for air. If you’re lucky, they take one big breath in, and let one big breath out, and that’s it, it’s done. Lynn turned off the alarms and the blood pressure pumps one by one. Then she stood by the ventilator, dialing the oxygen down as she ran the fentanyl dose up. His blood pressure dropped; his heart rate became uneven and slowed. Three breaths later—each one like a protracted sigh—and it was through.
Helen bowed her head, almost touching the ground.
“Did you want to stay?” I asked her. Sometimes relatives liked to wait nearby.
She shook her head.
“We can put her in the family conference room, overnight. I’ve got the keys right here. It’s three doors down, to the left, in the outside hall.” Lynn handed the keys over to me, and I took them. Helen and I exited the room together, and she stopped to look back.
“When we’re done, I promise we’ll shut the door.”
Helen nodded, in her wolf’s form, and I took her out into the hall. It took me a moment to find the right key, and then I let Helen into an empty room holding a conference table, chairs, and a bench. “We’ll come get you in the morning. We’ll bring scrubs.”