Unforgotten(64)

I was relieved when Cody suggested we bring Zen back to his house. He immediately ruled out a hospital, claiming it was too dangerous, especially since he didn’t have valid identification and they’d immediately quarantine him in suspicion of having the white fever.

Not to mention the fact that I knew as soon as Kaelen realized I was gone—which was probably about an hour ago—he’d start looking for me again. And that means we have to go back to being extremely careful. No records. No documents. No hospitals.

Apart from this suggestion, Cody hasn’t said much. I think he might still be in shock, processing the information slowly and methodically like any good scientist would.

The drive is short. We arrive in less than ten minutes. Cody’s town house, as he calls it, is lovely and spacious. It has a warm, welcoming feel to it with rich colors and dark woods. But I don’t really pay much attention. I’m too focused on moving Zen from the van to the room Cody refers to as a guest room.

At first Zen attempts to walk, sluggishly putting one foot in front of the other, but his knees give out too many times and I eventually scoop him into my arms and carry him the rest of the way.

My effortless action causes a ripple of suspicion to roll over Cody’s face, but he doesn’t say anything.

I lay Zen down on the bed as Cody gets to work setting up all the equipment he borrowed from the basement warehouse of the building where he works. He inserts an IV into Zen’s arm and hooks him up to a variety of machines to monitor his breathing, heart rate, and blood pressure.

I feel a rush of sickness come on as I’m instantly reminded of my hospital room. After the plane crash they thought I’d survived. When they needlessly injected things into my veins, and attached me to tubes, just like Cody is doing to Zen now.

Except this time, it’s not needless.

This time, it’s vital.

I remember when Zen appeared in my hospital room the first night I was there. He tried to take me out. He tried to transesse with me. That was before we knew about the deactivator in my locket.

Now everything is reversed. Now he’s the one hooked up to the tubes and monitors. He’s the one in that bed. And I’m the one trying to get him out. In whatever way I can.

Zen is restless in this new place. He hasn’t stopped twitching and squirming and whimpering since I laid him down. Like he’s trying to escape his own skin. He shivers with fever and I cover him with a blanket only to have him kick it off a few moments later when the chills morph back into heat flares.

Every time I try to touch his face or smooth his hair or rub his arm, he feebly bats my hand away like he’s swatting at a fly.

“Zen.” I try to talk to him, hoping the sound of my voice will calm him. “Zen, it’s me. Can you hear me? It’s going to be okay. We’re safe here. Remember Cody? My foster brother. We’re at his house. He’s trying to figure out why you’re sick. He’s going to make you better.”

Cody shoots me a stern look, warning me not to make promises we both know he can’t keep. But I ignore it.

“Zen,” I repeat, trying once again to stroke his hand. “Cinnamon.”

But he pulls it violently away, nearly slapping me in the face in the process. His heart monitor ratchets up as his pulse quickens. It’s clear from the torment on his features and the agony in his moans that he’s miserable. That whatever sickness is running through his blood is destroying him a little bit more every minute. But I don’t know what to do for him. I don’t know how to help him.

As he flails restlessly and lets out an agonizing cry that punctures my heart, I look to Cody. “Do something.”

Cody bites his lip and then riffles through one of the boxes until he comes across a small vial of liquid. He draws it up into a needle and inserts it into Zen’s IV. “This should calm him down.”

I watch the drug work almost instantly. Zen’s spasms slow to a stop. His features ease out of their contortions. His breathing seems to settle into a steady rhythm. He falls into a deep sleep that I pray is peaceful and dreamless.

I crumple into a chair next to the bed and scoop up Zen’s hand. This time, he doesn’t fight. I wipe away the few stray tears that squeezed out of my eyes during the commotion.

For the first time in a long time, when I look at his face, I see the old Zen.

The one I used to watch sleep. Who always looked so still and serene. Shielded from all the horrors of the world by the protective bubble he somehow managed to keep firmly locked around himself. No matter how chaotic things got.

It’s something I always admired in him.

Something I always aspired to duplicate, but never seemed able to.