9: Chapter 8: hell!
part 2 9: Chapter 8: hell!
part 2 Jay’s pov: I knew.
I’d seen Kate’s panic attacks hundreds of times over four years.
The hyperventilation, the clawing at her chest, the words tumbling out faster than her mouth could form them.
The way she would grab my hand and squeeze until her nails broke skin, anchoring herself to me while her body convinced her she was dying.
The time a fire alarm went off at her elementary school, and I found her in a supply closet, wedged behind cleaning supplies, her throat raw from screaming words that made no sense.
The time a substitute teacher touched her shoulder, and she threw her desk across the room before collapsing into a ball so tight I couldn’t unfold her for an hour.
The time she woke up from a nightmare and didn’t recognize me, fought me like I was him, left scratches on my face that took weeks to fade.
“She’s had three episodes this month,” I said quietly.
“I didn’t tell you.
I didn’t tell anyone.
She made me promise.
She said she was handling it, said her therapist was helping, said I worry too much.” Margaret was quiet for a moment.
Then: “And you believed her?” “I wanted to believe her.” I turned to face her, and my voice cracked, seventeen years old and so tired.
“She’s ten.
She’s supposed to have nightmares.
She’s supposed to be scared of things.
How do I know what’s normal and what’s…
this?” “You can’t.
That’s why you have doctors.
That’s why you have me.” Margaret reached into her briefcase, pulled out a folder.
“I’ve pulled her complete medical history.
Every visit, every emergency, every time you brought her here for observation after an episode.
Jay, you’ve brought her to Henderson Private eleven times in six years.
Eleven times you recognized something was wrong and acted.
Covered in garbage.
Not breathing on her own.” “You found her.
You’re here.
You’re doing everything you can.” Margaret stood, smoothed her skirt.
“Now.
I’m going to speak with the hospital administrator about upgrading her room to the pediatric ICU suite.
Private nursing, twenty-four hour observation.
I’m also going to arrange for security.
No press, no visitors without your express approval.” “Thank you.” “Don’t thank me.
It’s my job.” She paused at the door.
“Jay.
When was the last time you slept?” I couldn’t remember.
Last night, Kate had crawled into my bed at 3 AM, shaking from a nightmare she wouldn’t describe.
I’d held her until dawn, then made her breakfast, then driven her to the bus stop, then gone to my own first day of senior year, already exhausted before the maids called.
“Call me if anything changes,” Margaret said, and left me alone with the machines and my sister’s mechanical breathing.
Dr.
Henderson returned at dusk, carrying two cups of coffee.
He handed me one, sat in the chair Margaret had vacated, and didn’t speak for a long moment.
“Her pressure’s stabilized,” he finally said.
“We’re weaning the sedation slowly.
If she responds well, we might try bringing her up in the morning.” “And if she doesn’t respond?” “Then we continue the coma.
Give her brain more time.” He sipped his coffee, watching me over the rim.
“Jay, I need to ask you something.
The head injury was significant, but not catastrophic.
In a healthy child, we might see confusion, vomiting, maybe a brief loss of consciousness.
Kate’s body shut down.
Her nervous system essentially…
collapsed.” “What are you asking?” “Was she taking any medication?
Supplements?
Anything that might have lowered her seizure threshold, interfered with her stress response?” “Her psychiatrist prescribed something last year.
For sleep.
I didn’t like how it made her, groggy and distant.
We stopped after two weeks.” “Nothing else?” “Vitamins.
The ones you recommended.
Nothing else.” Henderson nodded, but his expression didn’t clear.
“Her bloodwork showed something else.
Elevated lactic acid.
Muscle breakdown consistent with prolonged tension, as if she’d been physically fighting for hours before the incident.
But you said she was fine this morning.” “She was.
She was excited.
Nervous, but excited.
She made me braid her hair.” “And at the bus stop?” “I didn’t walk her.
She wanted to go alone.
Prove she was ready.” My throat closed.
“I watched from the window.
She got on the bus.
She was smiling.” Henderson was quiet.
Then: “The police want to speak with you.
They’ve reviewed the traffic cameras.
The bus stopped at the corner of Fifth and Main.
Kate got off three stops early.
Walked two blocks in the wrong direction.
Then the cameras lose her in the alley.” “Someone followed her.” “Or something triggered her.
A sound, a smell, a man in a brown coat who reminded her of someone.” I froze.