An IV is hooked up to his wrist and a small tube vanishes into one of his nostrils.
When I reach him, tears cloud my vision, and I can’t stop my chin from trembling. For the longest time, I stand there, watching him through the tears and listening to the metronome of his heart monitor as I try to regain some composure.
A small v forms between his eyebrows and I wish like hell I could take the pain away for him.
“Wade, I’m so sorry. I wish there was something—” My words get stuck in my throat and I clamp my mouth shut. Instead, I reach out, taking his hand in mine. His skin is cold and clammy, but there’s no way I’d ever want to let it go.
With my foot, I tug the small hospital chair closer, and I take a seat at his bedside.
It’s almost as if hospitals are portals to a realm where all time slows down. For what seems like days, I sit there, vaguely aware of the ticking of the clock and the beeping of the machines monitoring Wade’s condition.
Every once in a while, someone wanders in, checking on Wade’s vitals. They smile apologetically at me and leave as quickly as they come.
The only saving grace is the fact that Wade seems more relaxed than before. The crease in his forehead has diminished a bit and luckily, he hasn’t had any of his episodes.
I lean forward, resting my head on the edge of the bed. But I no sooner set my forehead against the blanket than I hear the door to the room open.
I glance up and find Mom walking into the room.
“Here’s your backpack, sweetie. It has some essentials in it. Clothes, toothbrush, that sort of thing. I even dropped a few snacks in there in case you get hungry,” she says, shooting me her worried-mom face. She passes the backpack to me and I set it on the floor by my feet.
“Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it,” I say, trying to smile.
Her lips curve upward slightly, and she walks to the other side of Wade’s bed. Placing a hand over his, she looks up at me. “How is he doing?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s been relatively quiet since I got in here. They keep checking his vitals, but he hasn’t really moved or anything.”
“That’s the hardest part, for sure. The waiting,” Mom says.
I nod.
“Are you hungry? Do you want to get a bite to eat in the cafeteria before they close up for the night?” she asks, eyeing me. “We never got to eat our turkey, and I’d be surprised if you ate anything after you left.”
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Autumn, you need to keep up your strength. Besides, you’re not just eating for you.” She tips her chin toward me and raises her eyebrows.
She’s right, I know she is. But I don’t want to leave his side.
As if sensing my apprehension, Mom says, “How about this… I’ll run down and get us something to eat. You stay here and keep an eye on things. Deal?”
Relief spreads through me and I nod. “Yeah, that would be better.”
She winks at me and without another word, she walks out. Time spreads out again while she’s gone, and I find myself unable to keep my eyes open while I wait.
I drop my head again to the side of the bed, resting my forehead beside our hands.
Focusing on the hospital noises, my body is suddenly drifting…
Once again, I’m sitting on the edge of the dock.
My bare feet splash in the cool water, and I can’t help but feel somewhat happy in the way the water droplets cascade across the surface. They ripple outward, interacting with each other the way we ripple across the lives of those we meet.
Suddenly, the Angel of Death is by my side and I’m once again seven years old.
“Big things are coming your way. You know that, right?” he says to me. His words are soft, spoken the way a kindergarten teacher speaks to her students.
“I suppose,” I say, unsure what response he’s looking for. In my hands is the wooden box he’d given me. For some reason, I can’t stop staring at its unique carvings. “What does this do?”
“There is plenty of time to puzzle on that,” he says, smiling softly.
“That doesn’t help, you know,” I say, frowning.
He chuckles. “Understanding its purpose isn’t all that hard, Autumn,” he says, his voice still soft and deliberate. “You just need to read its inscription and it will tell you everything you need to know.”
I wake up with a jolt.
Beside me, Wade’s forehead is beaded with sweat and his lips have taken on a bluish tinge. I feel absolutely useless. There’s nothing I can do to help him—but I can’t just sit here and wait, either.
Inhaling sharply, I glance down at my open backpack. The box is tilted on its side, half-buried by my sweatshirt. Reaching it, I pull it out, turning it over in my hand.
Maybe Mom was right about the sigils. I wish I’d had more time to look into it. Along the edges, there are markings that look like words from some sort of long-lost language. I continue to turn it over, eyeing it from every angle.
If the inscription is the key…
How in the hell do I figure out how to read the damn thing?
Chapter 19
Merry Christmas
The etchings on the outside of the box make absolutely no sense in my brain. But in a strange way, the longer I stare at them, the more they remind me of a combination of hieroglyphics and modern-day Chinese. Beyond that, it’s like no kind of writing I’ve ever seen. Yet, my mom seems to think that’s what it is. Assuming she’s right, and assuming the dream was real, I need to learn what this means. Fast.
If I could just understand why the Angel of Death gave me the box, or hell,
