I give up and focus back on the movie, but I'm still so tired and my eyelids become so very heavy.
When I wake up again, my head is on Fen's lap, and his large hand is on my head, fingers tangled in my hair. I can hear him breathing deeply. He's sleeping.
His leg is like a log under my head, all muscle. I smile and lay still, enjoying the sound of his breathing.
When he finally wakes, he moves me gently. "I must be off," he whispers in the dark, as he repositions a pillow under my head to take the place of his lap.
I'm still exhausted, and too tired to protest or get up, so I just watch him leave and wonder if I'll ever see this mysterious man again.
The next time I wake, I feel stronger, more rested. I stretch, use the bathroom, then head to the kitchen for food. True to his word, Fen cooked. Chicken stir fry with vegetables and rice. I heat a bowl in the microwave and sit to eat, my mind wandering to last night and everything that happened.
I take my time eating, because the next thing I have to do will be hard. I text Es and ask if she and Pete can come over. As much as I hate to admit it, I'll need a ride to the hospital later. I don't want to walk after what happened last night. Part of me thinks I should report the attack to the police, but I don't. Because as much as I don't want to admit it, this has to have something to do with vampires and demons. And how could I possibly explain that to the police?
Es and Pete arrive a few minutes later. They bring food, but I'm full and let them have at it. "Thanks for coming over. I'm going to pack a few of my mom's things to make her more comfortable at the hospital. Will you hang out?"
They agree, and I leave them downstairs as I head to my mom's room. This is the hard part.
There are clothes piled on a chair in the corner that she meant to put away. Her dresser drawer is still ajar. I walk over, running my hand over the faded faux wood until it lands on an 8x10 framed picture of my mom and dad smiling over me when I was just a baby. We all looked so happy. So free. I pick up the picture and study it, looking for hidden secrets. If what the man in the hospital said is true, how would my mom have even known how to make a bargain with a demon? None of it makes sense.
I put the picture down gently and move to her bed, which is still a slept-in mess. I can see the impressions of her body from where she was laying when I found her.
I sit on the bed and then lay my head on her pillow. It smells like her shampoo. When I close my eyes I can almost imagine she's still here, humming as she folds laundry or cleans the house.
The tears I've been fighting so hard to keep at bay finally unleash themselves, and once they start, I can't stop them. It's a tidal wave of emotion that demands its time. My heart breaks, my grief pouring out of me as I clutch her pillow and wish for a different outcome.
I'm drowning in the sea of my emotional waste when my cell phone rings. "Miss Spero, this is Tom, your mother's nurse. You need to come quickly. Your mother is showing signs of distress."
I jump up, my heart hammering. I want to ask more questions, but I can't waste time. I grab my bag and run downstairs to where Es and Pete are watching television. "Something's wrong with my mom. We have to go back to the hospital."
Chapter 4
THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HELL
"There are monsters in the world, Arianna. They are real. I am real."
—Asher
I'm in my mom's room, watching the machines pump life into her as the doctor explains what's happening.
"Her body is failing," Dr. Cameron says. "She doesn't have much longer, I'm afraid."
"I don't understand." I walk over and hold her hand, my finger once again brushing on the strange mark on her wrist. "Why can't the machines keep her alive longer? Can't people live for years this way?"
"Some, yes," the doctor says. "But not everyone. Sometimes the damage is too great. The body too weak." She's firm, calm, so sure of herself and her diagnosis.
But I can't accept this is it. The end of her story. "How long does she have?" I ask, my voice shaking.
"Hours, at most." She glances down at my mother's chart. "Maybe less." When she looks up, her eyes are compassionate, but in a detached, doctor way. She must see death all the time. "I'm sorry. I wish there was more we could do. I'll leave you alone to say your goodbyes."
Tom, the nurse who has always been so kind to me, squeezes my hand as he follows the doctor out. "I'm sorry, honey."
Once they leave and the door is closed firmly behind them, I sink into the chair next to my mother. I'm not ready to say goodbye. Not yet. Not forever.
My eyes fall to my bag. I still have the file Asher gave me. His note said it would show me the truth. I reach for it and tear it open, spreading the papers out on the edge of my mother's bed. There are newspaper clippings and police reports. I read through them quickly, then again more slowly.