“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I kind of want to be alone anyway.” She went back to the living room and alone I was.
I took a hand towel and finished drying the dishes in record time. Once I was sure the nurse and mom weren’t going to come back through, I pulled the vial of TNV out of my jacket pocket.
The liquid glistened in the afternoon light coming in through the windows. I twisted it off and poured the remaining contents — I hadn’t taken any myself in several weeks — into the glass. Now it looked like nothing but a full glass of water.
I took it back out; grandpa was wide awake now, engrossed in the game show. I set the glass on his TV tray.
“Here you go, grandpa,” I said. “Drink up.”
I had to do.
chapter twenty
About a week after the TNV incident, I woke up and saw mom and Luke on the couch watching TV. They did this every morning, and every morning I joined them and tuned out the TV in favor of music or reading. But this morning mom motioned me over and said, “Come here, Kenzie. I think you’ll want to see this.”
The same blonde news anchor that had always been on the news was there again. She spoke with that annoyingly neutral accent that didn’t come from New York but from years of training it out of her.
“News out of The Necropolis this morning; yet another break-in. This is just one in a string of many burglaries that has plagued the city over the past year. As always, the burglars stole only a large supply of TNV. There are no suspects in the case so far, but police suspect it’s the work of an Immortal.”
They cut to an interview of a man named Emmett Osborn, an Immortal I didn’t know very well. He stood behind the front of his house like an ordinary citizen.
“I just don’t get it,” he said to the reporter. “ why would anyone who’s not Immortal want TNV? They just be prolonging a life of misery. No it has to be an Immortal.”
The report cut back to the studio and wrapped up. I thought back to my conversation with Jacey and Elizabeth when Jacey’s TNV has been stolen. They didn’t understand either why a non-Immortal would want TNV. But I had a feeling their perspectives would shift if they had a loved one they wanted to save.
Two weeks before school started we got a phone call. Grandpa had a kidney infection, among other things, and had been admitted to the hospital. Mom didn’t say much as we drove, but I could tell by her mannerisms and the way she talked to Luke in a hush, whispered voice that it wasn’t good. The home nurse was confused, mom said — grandpa had been slowly getting better and even walking some on his own. So why had his body started to fail him now?
I knew why, of course. I hadn’t given him any more TNV after that first incident. With a nurse around him almost constantly, I'd chickened out and didn’t want to risk getting caught.
Or had I? That’s what I told myself, but I knew the truth in the back of my mind: Grandpa was ready to go. He hadn’t taken TNV for years — at least not willingly — and probably wouldn’t have been happy to know I gave it to him against his will. As much as I wanted to keep them around, I had to respect his wishes.
I hate hospitals. Back when Luke was in college I went to visit him in his dorm a couple of times and the setup of the two places are similar: Bare, concrete walls, cold tile floors and food that looks like it came out of a processor. The food at least comes to you at a hospital...but then there’s that godawful smell of alcohol, like a doctor’s office times two hundred. And there’s always that one pesky nurse who orders you to wash your hands every time you so much as breathe too hard.
The room was dark and crowded as we walked in: Mom in front me, Luke in the back. Mom took my sweaty hand and led me through the crowd to the tiny bed. Grandpa was asleep but stirred and opened his eyes as I approached. A male nurse with a clipboard in hand stepped out of the way to let me stand.
Grandpa smiled weakly. “Kenzie,” he whispered. My entire family is fair skinned but he looked more pale than I’ve ever seen him, even up against the white bedsheets.
“Grandpa,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“Just...peachy.” He laughed softly and coughed loudly. I winced. He could barely move his hand to cover his mouth.
“You don’t have to talk,” I said. I stood there for several minutes with my hand in his while the noise in the room escalated. Everyone else was paying attention to their own conversations, telling someone how well a math test went or what co-worker was irritating them that week. Finally, grandpa was snoring, his hands and feet relaxed outward lazily.
The nurse turned away from his clipboard. “You’re lucky,” he said. “He hasn’t talked to anyone else all morning.”
A minute later, mom grabbed my hand and led me away. We didn’t speak as we took a seat on the leather couch squished up beside the bed, but she put her arm around me and squeezed my shoulders. She kissed my forehead and I lay my head on her shoulder.
twenty-one
Two hours later we were back at the house. Mom cooked pork chops for dinner and I ate mine slowly. After dinner I sat in front of the TV; the news was on, as it usually was, but I wasn’t listening or even registering what was happening.
Luke sat beside me. “Are you watching this?”
I looked up. “Huh? No, I’m
