Chapter 9
Sky
I press my forearm against my stomach and hold the phone to my ear. "Please tell me everything went well," I implore June in English.
Please, please, please, I repeat in my mind, even though I know it won't change anything.
"I wish I could," she sounds like she's carrying a ton of weight on her chest.
"Is he... dead?" I whisper with my last bit of strength, and even though it's significantly warmer here in Milan than in Stockholm, I feel colder than ever since I learned about Father's accident.
"The surgery itself went well, and we were optimistic. However, the effects of the anesthesia have already worn off half an hour ago, without..." She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, he's in a coma."
Breathing heavily, I focus on the gray facade of the airport building. The wind tugs at my hair. "But he'll wake up, right?"
"Well, he's suffering from a cerebral edema, likely due to swelling from the surgery."
Because of the surgery? The one I allowed? Oh no!
"What does that mean?" I ask with growing anxiety.
At the other end of the line is a moment of silence that feels like an eternity. "There's too much pressure on his brain."
"Could that cause permanent damage?" Didn't she say something similar about the brain hemorrhage yesterday?
"It depends on many factors," she answers evasively. "We're treating the edema with medication. Additionally..."
June lists more measures. It sounds like they're using every available means to fight the thing in Father's head. But she doesn't say how long it will take. When will we know if the treatment is working, and how fast it needs to be to ensure that Father is still himself after waking up?
I grit my teeth to keep from breaking down right then and there. "So you think he could wake up just fine next week, next month, next year, or never?"
This can't be happening.
She awkwardly apologizes even though she's the least to blame. "It's better to prepare for the worst," she adds to top it all off.
I can barely stand. "Okay, thank you," I whisper weakly into the phone. "Thank you for calling."
"That wasn't all, unfortunately," she says when I'm about to say goodbye.
What? There's more? It gets worse? My legs threaten to give way. "Yes?"
She clears her throat conspicuously. "Stig Hansen."
I gasp for air, clinging to the handrail of the airplane stairs. "What happened to him?"
"His condition deteriorated rapidly last night. There was nothing more we could do."
Father's deputy is dead? The man who was supposed to help me with Touch av lyx is gone?
"I'm very sorry," the doctor says.
"Mm-hmm, yes, thank you," I manage to say, then I end the call.
I just want to get away.
I want the world around me to disappear. I want the pressure to ease, the pain, and the fear.
I want to be free. To fly.
That's what I need right now, but I know I mustn't give in to this urge.
I control my actions.
Dance. I have to dance. As quickly as possible.
With my last ounce of strength, I call for Kjell, plug my headphones into my ears, and turn the music up so loud that I can only see his lips moving but can't hear what he's saying.
I gesture toward the airport building and sprint off. Faster and faster, I rush out to the taxi stand. Kjell watches me skeptically, but I don't care.
Nothing matters to me except this one thing.
Hang on, Sky. Hang on.
When we arrive at the hotel, my clothes are soaked with sweat. I check in, leave Kjell to his fate, and hurry up to the fifth floor, where Father has reserved the penthouse suite.
My fingers tremble so violently that the card reader on the door takes an unbearably long time to read the code.
Finally, the lock clicks open.
With the music that has sustained me all the way here still in my ears, I slam the door shut behind me. Then I throw my jacket, scarf, and bag on the floor, kick off my shoes, and spread my arms.
Even the first dance steps bring me the relief I so desperately need. The twirl soothes my inner turmoil. I spin around, tiptoe to embrace myself, and sway to the rhythm of the music.
I dance all the stress out of me, gradually rid myself of the compulsive urge, and shake off the panic. Tears of relief well up in my eyes.
Done.
I control my actions.
I'm not free by any means and never will be again. But I'm empty, and that's the only kind of peace I can have now.