Chapter 14 Behind Closed Doors #2
Always waiting. Always some man in a white coat telling me it was stress, or dehydration, or “psychosomatic,” like my body’s betrayals were character flaws I could fix with better choices.
Now Amy was behind those doors, and I was waiting again.
An hour blurred by, maybe more. My limbs went numb. My throat felt like sandpaper. Every second was its own question: What if she doesn’t wake up? What if she’s gone? What if, what if, what if…
Finally, a nurse with a kind face approached, clearly exhausted.
“You two here for Amaris Lane?”
We stood so fast our chairs screeched against the linoleum. Luz’s grip on my arm was iron.
“Yes,” I croaked.
“You can come see her now. She’s stable. The doctor will be in shortly to talk with you.”
Relief slammed into me so hard my knees buckled. Luz caught me before I hit the floor.
“She’s really okay?” I asked, desperate to hear it again.
“She’s resting. Vitals are good.” The nurse gave us a gentle smile. “This way.”
We followed her down a maze of corridors. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making my headache spike. The smell of antiseptic grew stronger, and machines beeped from behind curtains. Someone moaned in pain down the hall.
The nurse stopped at a door and pushed it open. “Just buzz if you need anything.”
We stepped inside.
Amy lay in the hospital bed, small and pale beneath a thin blanket. Her face was slack with exhaustion, eyes closed, and breathing slow and steady. An IV ran from her arm. Monitors beeped softly, tracking her heartbeat.
Luz nearly broke down at the sight of her. We flanked both sides of the bed, each taking one of Amy’s hands.
“She looks so…” Luz couldn’t finish.
“Small,” I whispered. “She looks small.”
There was no trace of the bubbly, fierce Amy we knew. All that remained was this fragile shadow of her.
Luz brushed a lock of hair from Amy’s forehead with trembling fingers. “She’s going to be so mad that they damaged her favorite jacket.”
The absurdity of those words hung in the air.
For the first time in hours, I laughed, the sound like glass cracking under pressure. Luz’s lips twitched as well, and soon she was laughing too. We clung to that ridiculous thread of humor like it could stitch the world back together.
We sat on each side of Amy’s bed, gripping her hands and willing her to wake up.
An older doctor stepped in. He was a portly man with white hair and a trimmed beard. He reminded me of Santa Claus, his face framed by wire-rimmed glasses and kind eyes. He moved with unhurried care, his presence somehow calming.
“I’m Dr. Montgomery,” he said gently. “I’m glad you’re here. She’s going to need her friends when she wakes up.”
When. Not if. The word was a gift.
He checked Amy’s monitors, making notes on a tablet.
“Her vitals are stable. That’s the most important thing right now.
Heart rate’s good, oxygen levels are normal.
We’re running a full toxicology screen to see if there’s anything in her system that shouldn’t be there.
” He paused, glancing at us. “Does she have a history of epilepsy?”
“No! She’s never had a seizure before. But she is in a clinical study,” Luz said. “Through the university. They’ve been giving her some kind of nootropic supplement, they called it.”
Dr. Montgomery’s eyebrows rose. “That’s good to know. We’ll test for that specifically.” He typed more notes. “Do you know what the supplement contained? Any ingredients listed?”
“They called it proprietary,” I said, frustration bleeding into my voice. “Wouldn’t tell her exactly what was in it.”
Something like concern or recognition flickered in his expression. “I see. Well, if there’s something unusual in her blood work, we’ll find it.”
“Will she be okay?” Luz asked, voice small.
“We have to run more tests,” he explained, his smile genuine, not the practiced kind doctors usually wore. “You did the right thing getting her here when you did. If this had gone on much longer…” He didn’t finish, but we understood.
“Can we stay with her?” I asked.
“Of course. One of you can stay overnight if you’d like.” He glanced between us. “I’ll be back to check on her in a bit. The on-call physician will want to examine her as well.”
He turned to mark down some notes, and I looked down, finding the bracelet on her wrist.
“Why didn’t they take that off?”
Luz’s face darkened. “The EMT tried when they were getting her set up. It wouldn’t come off.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s locked or fused or something. She couldn’t get it undone.” Luz’s voice dropped. “And when she tried to force it, Amy started seizing again for a second, like her body couldn’t handle it being removed.”
My blood went cold. “It shocked her?”
“No. She just… reacted. The nurse stopped trying after that until the doctor could examine more closely. I guess they decided it couldn’t be removed.”
Another pit formed in my gut as I stared at the bracelet.
The door opened again, and a new doctor entered. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
He was tall, all sharp angles and cold efficiency. His white coat was pristine, his movements were measured, calculated. He carried a tablet like a shield.
“Ah, Dr. Sloan,” Montgomery perked. “I was just finishing up.”
Dr. Montgomery turned his attention back to us. “This is Doctor Sloan, he will be the head physician on your friend’s case.”
Dr. Sloan gave us a cool stare, eyes like chips of ice. “Thank you, Dr. Montgomery. You may go.”
Montgomery glanced at us, then back at Sloan. Something passed between them; some unspoken hospital politics I didn’t understand. But I saw Montgomery’s jaw tighten before he nodded.
“Of course. I’ve logged all the initial vitals and ordered a full tox screen.” He gave us an apologetic smile. “You’re in good hands.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly the room felt smaller. Sloan approached the bed with clinical detachment, checking Amy’s monitors without looking at her face as if she were data, not a person.
“You’re her friends?” he asked, still not looking at us.
“Yes,” Luz said, her voice tight.
“And you were with her when she collapsed?”
“We were right there,” I said. “She had a seizure. Full convulsions, her eyes rolled back, she stopped breathing—”
“Syncope can look alarming to the untrained eye,” he interrupted, turning to face us. “But it’s quite common, especially in young women under academic stress.”
The words landed like a slap.
“This wasn’t syncope,” I said, anger overriding fear. “She had a seizure. Her whole body was convulsing. Foam was coming out of her mouth—”
“Seizure-like activity,” he corrected, his tone patient in a way that felt condescending. “There’s a difference. True seizures show specific patterns on an EEG. What you witnessed was likely syncope with muscle contractions. It is the body’s response to sudden loss of blood pressure.”
Luz bristled. “She didn’t just faint. She—”
“I’ve seen this countless times,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “High-achieving young women pushing themselves too hard. Not eating properly or sleeping enough. Dehydration. The body can only take so much strain before it simply shuts down. Forces rest.”
I balked at the insinuation, outrage flooding my mind.
“The preliminary results show no organ damage,” he went on. “No infection. Her vitals have stabilized. Frankly, this looks like a classic case of exhaustion and stress.”
“She’s in a clinical study at the University,” I explained, biting back the anger rising in my chest. “They’ve been giving her this supplement, and we don’t know what’s in it; it could be a—”
“University studies are carefully monitored,” he said smoothly. “If there were adverse effects, the research coordinators would have identified them. More likely, your friend wasn’t following the protocol correctly. Perhaps taking too much, or not following the dietary restrictions.”
“They didn’t give her any dietary restrictions,” Luz snapped. “And she followed everything exactly.”
“Well, we’ll know more when the labs come back.” He made a note on his tablet, dismissing us. “The best thing you can do is let her rest. Her body needs time to recover from the stress she’s put it under.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait,” I demanded. He paused at the door. “What about Dr. Montgomery’s tox screen? Will that show what’s in the supplement?”
Sloan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “If there’s anything unusual in her system, yes. But I wouldn’t worry. These reactions are almost always benign.” He gave us a practiced smile. “She’ll be fine. Young people bounce back quickly.”
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
“I don’t like him,” Luz grumbled.
“Neither do I.” I stared at the door, skin crawling. “And I don’t believe him either.”
“Doesn’t have much bedside manner, does he?”
We both jumped.
Amy’s eyes were open, glazed over with exhaustion, but open and fixed on us.
“Amy!” We were both on our feet instantly, leaning over the bed.
I wanted to hug her, to shake her, maybe even scream at her for scaring us like that. Instead, I just gripped her hand like I could keep her here through sheer force of will.
“Hey,” she rasped, managing a weak smile. “Did I miss anything good?”
Luz made a broken sound of relief and wiped at her eyes. “Gods, Amy! Don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what? Take a nap?” Amy tried to joke, her voice cracking.
“You had a seizure,” I whispered. “You stopped breathing. We thought—”
I couldn’t finish.
“Oh.” Amy blinked slowly, processing. Then, softer: “Well. That’s embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” Luz’s voice rose. “Amy, you almost died!”
“But I didn’t.” Amy tried for her usual brightness, but a touch of fear lit up behind her eyes. Her hand trembled in mine. “See? I’m fine. Dramatic exit, grand entrance. Very me.”
“This isn’t funny,” I said.
“It’s a little funny.” But her smile faltered. “I remember feeling dizzy, and then… nothing.”
“You collapsed in the hallway,” Luz explained, voice breaking. “It was really bad, Ames.”
Amy looked away, biting her lip.
“One doctor said it might be the supplement,” I added. “From the study.”