Chapter 10 #2
When the doctor asks if they’d like to come say goodbye, they say yes with agony written all over their expressions, and the four of them follow him down the hall. The sudden silence of the tiny waiting room crushes me.
The non-parent couple returns thirty minutes later while I sit frozen, both of them crying softly. It takes much longer for the parents to return with the doctor trailing behind them.
“W-we couldn’t watch it,” the mother whispers to the other woman in stuttered sobs. “But we said our goodbyes.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and it takes everything inside me to hold back tears.
The other woman nods in understanding, and they all leave together.
It’s the most heartbreaking, gut-wrenching thing I’ve ever seen.
I sit in stunned silence until the doctor, who’s still standing in the same place, approaches me. In the painful aftermath of watching parents lose their son, I’ve forgotten to channel the magic from the necklace. “I’m sorry, but who are you here for?”
The tears that spill down my cheek are genuine, just not in the way he thinks. “I’m here for Ben,” I say, using the name I’d heard the family use and nodding in the direction the four of them had left. “I… I just wasn’t sure if I could handle seeing him.”
It’s not a complete lie.
The doctor gives me a sympathetic nod, still speaking in that same gentle tone. “Well, if you want to say your goodbyes, now is the time.”
“Okay. I’m ready.”
I’m not ready. This isn’t okay. What the hell am I doing?
I follow him anyway, down the cold, impersonal labyrinth of hallways to the room where a boy is about to die.
That’s what I keep telling myself. He’s about to die. What I’m about to do will not affect anyone besides myself and Ambrose—him for the better, me for the worse. But this will change nothing for the kid.
The doctor opens a door and gestures to the bed, saying, “I’ll give you a few minutes,” before he shuts me in. The room is silent aside from the steady beep of the heart monitor and the almost inaudible hum of the medical machinery.
Holding my breath, I take slow steps toward the hospital bed.
God, he’s so small. So still. He can’t be older than seven or eight, with blonde hair that falls across his forehead in messy waves. I can so easily imagine him running around a playground or sitting in a classroom or grinning to show off the gaps where he’s lost his baby teeth.
Closing my eyes, I take in a slow, shaky breath. This feels so wrong. It’s too real.
I remember what it was like to lie in those too firm hospital beds under scratchy blankets that seem to do nothing to ward off the cold.
The only difference is that the last time I was lying in one, I had desperately wanted to die.
This boy doesn’t deserve death. He should have his entire life ahead of him.
He never got the chance to fall in love, or go to high school, or drive a car, or find his passion in life.
Instead, he’s lying here like a statue, only breathing because of the machines he’s attached to.
None of this is fair, and right now, I desperately wish I could trade places with him.
This sweet, innocent soul deserves to live a hell of a lot more than I do.
A part of me wants to leave now, to pretend like this never happened and go back to rotting in my bedroom.
But I know that if I don’t do this now, I never will.
If I leave now, I won’t be strong enough to try something like this again, and I’ll be stuck with Ambrose forever.
If I can’t prevent this little boy from dying anyway, I’ll at least make sure something positive comes from his tragic death. One day, I’ll use my eventual freedom to do some good in the world, somehow.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, I take Ben’s hand in mine.
“I’m so sorry this is happening,” I whisper. “I wish I could help you.”
A part of me expects his eyes to pop open at any second, for him to smile and tell me this is all some elaborate joke. But he doesn’t. I’m only answered with more silence.
“Your parents love you so much,” I choke out, thinking of the couple in the waiting room whose grief was so visceral it still seems to weigh down the air in this room.
There’s a knock at the door, and the doctor pokes his head in. “Do you need a few more minutes?”
I shake my head. There’s nothing else I can say or do to make this better.
“No. But can I stay in here when it happens? I just don’t want him to be alone.
” My voice cracks on another sob, partly because it’s true—I want to be here for him even if he has no awareness left to understand my presence—but partly because I don’t know how close I need to be for the necklace to absorb the years of his unlived life.
And that makes me hate myself even more.
The doctor nods. “Yes, you can stay.” He comes into the room followed by a couple other medical professionals.
He explains what they’re about to do, but the words don’t register.
I nod numbly, all the while holding this boy’s tiny, cold hand in my own.
The only thing that gives me any solace is that I have proof of the supernatural, and maybe that means there’s something beautiful waiting for this boy beyond death.
The medical staff moves around us in a blur, and I stare down at the boy’s face the entire time. When they take away his life support, silent tears roll down my cheeks until the shrill flatlining of the heart monitor fills the room.
He’s gone.
The moment he passes, the stone against my chest seems to vibrate with energy as it absorbs the years of the little boy’s life lost to a tragic accident.
My teeth clench so hard I worry they might crack, but I can’t let myself fall apart yet. I need to be alone, where no one can see or hear me break down.
I leave the room in a daze, suppressing every emotion I possibly can, and manage to find my way outside to the car. My body functions on autopilot as I put the keys in the ignition and pull out of the parking lot and onto the road, managing to get to the highway through the blur of silent tears.
I drive in silence, numb, but there’s a thread inside me threatening to snap at any second. Somehow, I manage to make it back to the cabin, and I steel myself to prepare for the possibility of confronting the evil, loathsome man inside.
Ambrose is in his usual spot, sitting in the armchair in the living room with a book in hand.
When I shut the door behind me and hang the car keys on the ring beside the door, his eyes flick up.
I pull the necklace off and drop it into a zipper pocket of my purse.
Right now, it feels less like a piece of jewelry or a supernatural artifact and more like a noose.
Ambrose’s gaze burns into my skin the entire time.
I ignore it, turning my back to him to head into the kitchen. I need some water after all the tears I’ve shed. My head is already starting to pound, and it’ll be even worse tomorrow if I don’t hydrate at least a little.
And because he seems intent on not allowing me even one moment of peace, Ambrose appears in the doorway as I’m chugging a glass of lukewarm water
“Rough day?” he asks. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely asking or if he’s mocking me, though knowing him, the latter. I ignore him while I sip my water, then return to the sink to refill my glass.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I mutter. I really don’t want to deal with him right now.
He quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. “Wouldn’t I?”
How can he be so fucking casual about all of this? Even now, I’m certain he’s holding back a smirk, like this is some game to him instead of people’s lives.
“No, you wouldn’t,” I answer through clenched teeth.
“Why?”
“Some of us don’t enjoy watching people die.” Watching children die, I think, but I don’t say that part aloud. The less ammunition he has against me, the better.
“And what makes you think I enjoy it?” He crosses his arms over his chest with infuriating calmness, and something snaps inside me. The despair and sorrow turn to white-hot rage.
“Because you’re a fucking monster!” I shout, slamming my now-empty glass onto the counter. It doesn’t shatter, even though I fully expect it to.
He stalks toward me, covering the space between us in a few long strides.
My stomach drops as fear constricts my chest. I don’t even notice his hand reaching toward the countertop until he slides a butcher knife from the knife block in stride, all while imposing upon my space and forcing me backward until my back hits the wall.
The knife glints, catching the light as he raises it with inhuman speed. The blade is against my throat before I can register what’s happening.
I hold my breath, terrified to move. In our conversations over the last week, I had become complacent and almost forgotten what he was—a cold-blooded killer. A stalker. Inhuman.
“Careful, girl. This monster can still take your life without a second thought,” he sneers.
He’s so close I can smell the dark, woodsy scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body as he towers over me.
His dark eyes reflect his fury, like fire burning in the black pits of hell, the true nature of his evil hiding behind that charismatic facade.
I deflate. “Then do it. If this is all some elaborate scheme to torture me, then just slit my fucking throat and put me out of my misery.”
Emotion flickers across his expression for a fraction of a second. I’d almost think it was regret if I didn’t know who or what he is. But he takes a step backward, lowering the knife to his side.
We stand in silence, staring at each other for too long as the weight of whatever just happened presses down on us. His mask falls back into place, calm and cool, but something heavier lingers in his eyes.
Finally, he says, “You should probably eat something.”
“Go fuck yourself.” I brush past him and stomp upstairs, slamming my door behind me before bursting into sobs that wrack my body and breaking down entirely.