“Do it,” Viggo said.
Something bit into my arm, sharp and fast, and I turned toward it. I was so drained I couldn’t even react as I looked at the black centipede wrapped around my forearm. Its pincer mouth was dripping blood, and I realized it had bitten me. I let out a shuddering breath and looked down at my feet, realizing I had never been held down. I was still in The Green, hallucinating. Soon I would die, and the eggs the centipede had just planted in me with its bite would feast on my corpse, until there was nothing left but bones.
“Violet?”
Viggo’s beautiful voice shook me from the quiet calm that had fallen over me as I accepted the truth. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, my voice slurring. I licked my lips, noting that they were dry, that my tongue felt swollen and raw.
“What doesn’t matter?” he asked.
“It bit me,” I replied. “I’ll be dead soon.”
I couldn’t say why, but then I laughed. I laughed wildly through the tears, choking on them, until my arms and legs began to feel heavy. Even then I chuckled. Then my eyelids began to droop, and suddenly I was so exhausted I couldn’t even find the energy to speak to Viggo, to tell him not to worry about me, to forgive me. I closed my eyes and drifted into a black sleep, certain in the knowledge I would never wake up again.
13
Viggo
I reeled back on my heels, staring at Violet as she continued to thrash and moan in her sleep despite the sedative Dr. Tierney had administered. Fear for her condition had cut through my exhaustion, sending me into a kind of surreal, hyper-alert state, my focus entirely on her. Dr. Arlan had said the bleeding in her brain would cause her to deteriorate, but I hadn’t expected it to be this fast—or this emotional. This was not normal for her, even on her worst days. She’d been ranting about things already in the past, dead and buried. But somehow, in her mind, they had been happening right now, all over again.
I shuddered, knowing Violet’s history was full of pain and betrayal. The fact she had survived it once was a testament to her inner strength and character. I wasn’t so certain she could survive it all a second time. And in her delirious state, given her final statement before succumbing to the drugs, she had given up hope. As she had said those horrible words, fear had started to creep into my mind, reminding me fate had been cruel enough to rob me of one woman I loved—it wouldn’t hesitate to do the same again. I’d saved her from a quick, brutal death by violence and explosions, but what would it be worth if she stopped breathing again, her beautiful mind and body deteriorating, this time while I watched helplessly?
Looking over at Dr. Tierney, I noticed she was still suffering the aftereffects of Violet’s wild attack on her. She was pale, taking long, slow breaths, and she was rubbing her stomach absently with one hand; that must be where Violet had elbowed her.
Cad, Ms. Dale, and I had walked into the room toward the end of the exchange. When I’d seen Violet pawing her head, a scalpel loose on her bed, her face a mixture of confusion and anger… the scene had been difficult to comprehend. The worst part had been when she had looked at me. There had been no recognition, no acknowledgement in her gaze, just a glazed, blank look, as if she were seeing me for the first time. And then the horror that had filled her silver eyes as I’d approached to help Dr. Tierney.
Nervous, I ran a hand over Violet’s hair and looked at the doctor. “Are you okay?”
Dr. Tierney gave a shuddering cough and forced herself to straighten from the hunch she was clearly sinking into. She nodded. “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with a troublesome or confused patient. She just caught me off guard.”
I winced. “Solar plexus?” I asked, and she nodded, her mouth turning down in distaste.
“Yeah. I’ve never felt torn between the decision to breathe or vomit before. So that was new and fun.”
A laugh escaped my throat as her quip took me by surprise, but it was only a momentary distraction from the current of worry that seemed to be all that was fueling my body right now. “Is she all right?”
Dr. Tierney gave me a hard look, then shook her head slowly. “No. I’m sorry, Viggo, but she is not all right. If she’s having hallucinations this severe… then it’s definitely worse than I thought.”
I looked over at Cad and Ms. Dale, who were hovering at the foot of the bed, silently listening to our conversation. Cad’s face was white as he looked at his cousin, while Ms. Dale’s had snapped shut in that familiar, neutral mask again, like someone had slammed the door closed on her face. I recognized it as a coping mechanism on her part—whenever she felt overly emotional, she would revert to that carefully crafted mask. But now, to me, that only made it clear she was worried as well.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked, turning back to Dr. Tierney.
She had moved over to the black case she had brought from the Liberator base and was in the process of opening it. She didn’t stop at the question, pulling items out of it and lining them up on the desk right next to her.
“I think Dr. Arlan was correct in his findings,” she said, her voice clinical. “Violet definitely has bleeding in her brain. It’s what’s causing her hallucinations and probably also part of the dizziness and difficulty with motor functions. If it’s really affecting her eyesight, too, at least I have an idea what part of the brain might be affected. Now that she’s really out, we can take a look at her with that portable scanner and see exactly what it is so I can operate as soon as possible.” She looked me straight in the eyes—compassion and deep, serious worry measuring equally in her gaze. “Having a concussion and a burst eardrum on top of that… I can’t imagine how Violet even sat up. She must have been completely panicked to even try to move. The only reason a person in this condition would do what she did is complete desperation.”
Dr. Tierney’s words settling in my gut like stones, I looked back at Violet. She had finally settled into her pillow, but that was somehow worse than her agitation. Under the bruising, her face was ashen, the blood completely drained from her lips, and dark shadows hid under her eyes. She looked gaunt, like she was wasting away. In fact, looking at her, it was hard not to see a woman who was about to die.
Letting out a curse, I turned my attention to Dr. Tierney. “What can I do for her?”
Dr. Tierney stood up and turned around, indecision on her face. Then she sucked in a breath and nodded. “Well, I’m going to need help, but anyone who can’t hack the idea of gross medical procedures, just get the hell out. Ms. Dale, if you would be so kind as to fetch your other doctor, I’m going to need him as well. I don’t care if he’s awake yet. This needs to happen now.”
Ms. Dale nodded and turned, heading out the door. Cad looked nervously at Dr. Tierney. “Can I do anything?”
She hesitated again, studying the younger man, her own lack of sleep becoming apparent for a moment as she blinked. “Who are you?” she asked.
“This is Cad Thorne,” I informed her, before Cad could introduce himself. “He’s Violet’s cousin.”
Dr. Tierney’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re the young man from the video,” she said, realization coloring her tone. “I remember you—the image of you was a bit fuzzy, but…”
“What video?” Cad cut in, his face reflecting his confusion.
I sighed and shook my head. “I’ll explain later. Right now we need to focus on Violet.”
“Right,” announced Dr. Tierney. “First things first. Cad, I need you to find rope or cloth to tie her down. The procedure I’m about to perform won’t hurt her, and the sedatives should hold her for plenty of time, but I want to prepare for every possible scenario just in case. If she wakes up in the middle of it and is able to move, it could cause severe damage. Irreversible damage.”
Cad nodded, his gaze going thoughtful. “My wife has been helping out with the washing for the camp,” he said, “and she was telling me we have… an excess amount of sheets. Would that work?”
“That’s perfect,” Dr. Tierney replied. “We need to have enough to secure her limbs, torso, and head, so get as many as possible.”
Cad was moving before she was finished talking, and I felt a surge of appreciation for the young man—he was clearly a man of action, which would be helpful in the days to come. As long, of course, as he didn’t go rogue on us like he had done yesterday.
As he left, I turned back to Dr. Tierney. She was examining her instruments, her mouth moving, reciting something to herself under her breath. I caught the words ‘catheter’ and ‘antiseptic’ and assumed she was going through her mental checklist for the procedure she was planning to perform on Violet. I was loath to interrupt her, but I wanted to help as well.
“Dr. Tierney, what do you want me to do?” The words felt odd as I spoke them. I rarely asked for advice on how to help people, trusting my gut instinct to see me through. However, I was certainly out of my depth when it came to medical training. Aside from the first-aid emergency response training I had received as a warden, I had no idea what to do. It was… more than frustrating.
Her blue eyes looked over at me, and she frowned, as if she had forgotten I was there. Her gaze flicked over to Violet, and she picked up a silver item from the desk and approached me. I held out my hand, curious, and she deposited a pair of clippers in my palm.
“I need you to shave off her hair,” she said.
I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach, and I eyed the clippers as if she had put a live venomous snake into the palm of my hand. “You want me to what?”
Dr. Tierney tsked and crossed her arms. “Her hair has to come off, Viggo. I need to be able to access her skull from all angles, especially since it’s fractured. It’s a good job for you—I know you’ll be gentler with her than anybody else.”
Numbly, I nodded, and then turned back to Violet. I sat down slowly and scooched a little higher up on the bed. Her hair was spread wildly all around her face, and though it was dirty and tangled, it was still beautiful. The brown tresses had grown since I had first known her, and the tips curled at the ends. The thought of shaving it felt… wrong, somehow. Like a violation. She had no way of consenting to this, and when she woke up, she would mourn its loss.
Just like I was mourning it right now. It was silly, but I loved Violet’s hair. I loved how in the shadow it looked like the darkest night, and how in the day it was warm and inviting, like chocolate. Hints of brandished gold and amber threaded through its tips, and I loved them too. I especially loved how it felt in my hands when I kissed her. It was a part of her.
Dr. Tierney, sensing my reluctance, dropped a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll grow back,” she said softly. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you for this one little thing. Besides, Violet is a practical girl. If it were a choice between her life and her hair… what do you think she’d choose?”
Grimacing, I turned on the clippers and, after taking a deep breath, I began to shave her head.
Even though it was practical, I still couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pain as each lock fell to the pillow, revealing the pale skin of Violet’s scalp below. I worked quickly, sometimes gently hoisting her up so I could have better access to the back of her head. In a few minutes, she was completely bald. I leaned back to examine my work, my heart pounding uncharacteristically. As if I’d had anything to worry about. She looked just as beautiful to me, even with her hair gone—with the exception of the large, swollen, angry bruise marring her scalp. I had winced when I’d uncovered that, but fought back my worry and finished the job.
I turned off the clippers and had begun to scoop up the hair when Ms. Dale bustled in, carrying a fresh set of linens for the bed. “These are clean,” she announced. “And Dr. Arlan is on his way.”
“Great,” replied Dr. Tierney. “Viggo, would you mind holding Violet for a minute while Ms. Dale and I change the linens? It’s not ideal, but any precaution we can take to avoid infection is better than none at all.”
I slid my arm under Violet’s knees and lifted her up, holding her tightly and taking a step back to give them space to work. Ms. Dale frowned at the loose hair, but refrained from commenting as she quickly pushed it to the center and gathered up the sheets. I waited in silence while they worked, pressing my cheek to Violet’s newly shaven head. She sighed under me, nuzzling closer, and I smiled faintly. My girl was still in there somewhere.
Soon they had the sheets changed, and I set her down again. Cad returned with an armload of bedsheets, and, following Dr. Tierney’s instructions, we quickly strapped Violet down to the bed. I tested the restraints one by one, making sure they were tight, but not tight enough to cut off circulation. By the time we were done, Dr. Arlan was there, and he and Dr. Tierney spoke in hushed whispers in the corner.
I stiffened, wondering if Dr. Arlan was going to resort to the behavior of a typical Patrian male and demand that he take over, but much to my relief, it didn’t look like he was causing any problems. I cleared my throat and looked at them.
“We’re done,” I announced.
Dr. Tierney nodded. “Good. Now… get out.”
I blinked. “What? You said you needed help. I’m staying.”
Her face was hard, any sign of sympathy now buried. “I can’t let you do that,” she said. “It’s admirable that you want to be here, but I can’t trust you not to react to what I’m about to do.”
“I shouldn’t have to convince you that I’m more than capable of—”
“I’m going to be drilling into her skull, Viggo,” Dr. Tierney announced, her voice calm and clinical. She picked the drill up off the table where she’d been organizing her equipment and held it up to me. “Possibly multiple times. The procedure is rudimentary and invasive, and I do not need you here to freak out when I do. Because I know that, while you are a practical person, this is the woman you love.”
My jaw slackened as she spoke, the sickness I felt validating her words: instantly I felt a very strong urge to pick Violet up and run, in spite of the logical part of my brain trying to convince me that Dr. Tierney was a good doctor who knew her stuff. It took me a minute to calm my protective instinct, and the best response I could manifest was, “You’re right… Good luck.” Then I turned and walked out.
I made it as far as I dared to go—the farmhouse living room—and sat down heavily on the sofa, staring blearily out the window as birds fluttered around in the early-morning light. Cad gave me a curious look as he and Ms. Dale entered the room after me.
“I’ll be outside,” he said. “Um, let me know if you need anything or—”
“We will,” replied Ms. Dale smoothly. “We won’t leave you in the dark. I promise.”
He nodded and left, which was fine by me; my overprotective nature was flaring up, and while I knew he was her family, the fact remained that I didn’t know him. Besides, he had a wife to hold his hand. I didn’t think I could handle his worry and mine at the same time. Ms. Dale turned her gaze back to me, her face pensive. After a pause, she went into the kitchen, and then returned five minutes later holding two large, steaming, slightly chipped mugs. “Try this,” she said softly, holding one out to me. I felt warmth flow into my hand from the mug, and a distinct sweet, herbal aroma rose from it.
“Chamomile?” I asked, an incredulous look on my face. It seemed like forever since I had done something as simple as drink a cup of tea, especially herbal tea… A part of me went straight back to when Miriam and I had lived together, to an evening cup after a long and stressful day…
Ms. Dale smiled as she lifted her mug to her lips, perhaps taking my surprise for my normal sass. “I don’t think you need any caffeine right now.”
Unable to argue with that logic, I lifted the mug and took a sip. The hot liquid almost scalded my tongue, but it eased down into my stomach with a surge of warmth that seemed to lift the anxiety that lived there, if only for a moment. I rested it on my lap, staring at the little patterns on the battered mug.
“Thanks,” I said, letting
my gratitude pour out into my voice. Ms. Dale just nodded, and we drank our tea in silence.
After a while, Ms. Dale stood up and put down her empty mug. “I hate to say it, but I have business to attend to,” she said. “I’m clearing your schedule for today, though—try to get some sleep, all right? I know things are tense, but we really need you fully functional. You’re useless to us in this state.”
I didn’t even bother to protest, just nodded at her, watching her leave, and then settled back into the mushy seats of the couch, trying to get comfortable. My adrenaline rush had faded—I didn’t remember when, but it felt like I’d been tired for my entire life—and, even with my stomach sick with worry, I drifted in and out of sleep.
Each noise of the house settling or sound from outside caused me to wake abruptly, instantly alert, searching for any news of Violet’s condition. Several times, I caught myself starting to stand up to go check on them, only to try to convince myself to sit back down. There were a couple close calls, but for the most part, I managed to find a hidden reserve of patience.
By the time Dr. Tierney came out, I was holding on to my control by a thin thread. I felt raw, on edge, a feeling with which I was becoming hauntingly familiar. I stared at the walls, at the floor, at the ceiling, so out of it I didn’t even notice Dr. Tierney until she somehow manifested right next to me. I felt dumb, sluggish, watching as she stared at the mostly empty, long-cold cup of tea before me, then picked it up and drained the rest of its contents in one gulp.
“It’s done,” she announced as she finished, setting the mug down on an end table with a decisive clink. I studied her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “We relieved the pressure in her skull and patched her eardrum with special paper—a trick of the trade, you know.” Her exhaustion was apparent from the way her words came out of her mouth, a little slower, a little less coherent than normal.