One Past Midnight (17 page)

My eyes flickered open. I was shaking uncontrollably, the tension and confusion from the Shift only adding to my body's free fall.

I was back in Roxbury.

The room looked yellow; the halo around the ceiling light pulsed above my head.

Oh God. I couldn't breathe. My chest was pumping so hard, but slow. It hurt. There was yelling, someone called out for a crash cart. Not encouraging.

I squeezed my hand. Someone was still holding it, thankfully, acting as my anchor. Ethan?

I had mere seconds before my mind would slip away.

“Ethan,” I croaked.

People all over me.

Messing with tubes.

Sticking in needles.

“E-than!” I choked out.

Suddenly he was there, close beside my face.

“I'm here.” His voice was breathy. Scared.

It was now or never. “
Mein Name . . . ist Sabine
.” I had to pause, each breath shorter than the last. “
Ich habe zwei Lebensunterhalt . . . und ich mochte . . . Ethan mussen mir glauben. Bitte, bitte glauben . . . Sie mir
.”

Someone called out, “She's talking. Is she coming around?”

But I wasn't. I was going under.

Someone else: “Why is she speaking German?”

More urgently, another voice: “Where's the Digibind?”

Footsteps came running into the room. “We've got it. Here, we have it!”

Something cold pressed down on my chest. A needle in my arm.

“Jesus, her bradycardia is at twenty-six. I don't know how she's still conscious, but she won't be for long. Someone get that IV in.”

More jabbing. I was fading. Could feel my body taking over, pulling at my mind. It felt like I was drowning.

Then . . . “What did she say? In German, what did she say?”

Someone cleared his throat. “She said her name, that she has two livelihoods and that Ethan must believe. Then she
pleaded for him to believe. Or something like that; it was broken German.”

“What time is it?” Ethan's voice. It sounded near and distant all at once.

“Just past midnight. Why?”

Disorientation and pain reached their peak as the last of me started experiencing the full extent of the damage I'd done to myself. Even so, I heard him. His voice close to my ear, his hand squeezing mine tighter than ever before.

“Stay with me, Sabine. I heard you. Stay with me!”

But I couldn't.

Everything went black.

What happens when we die? Do we go somewhere?

I can't say I believe in pearly gates. Coming from the world,
worlds
, that I do, I'm more inclined to believe in some form of reincarnation—a sick flick of a switch and we start over. That's much more believable. Much less appealing as well—to be stuck on a constant setting of repeat.

I was pretty sure of one thing, though. Death didn't come with the monotonous sound of beeping machines. Or a raw, scorched throat. Or, for that matter, a body that felt as though someone had taken a meat-tenderizing mallet to every inch.

My hand fumbled with the oxygen mask. I hated the
feeling of something being over my face, even if it was there to help. As my eyes started to blink open, my struggling became more urgent.

A set of warm hands settled over mine. I relaxed instantly.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust and recognize the owner of those soothing hands.

I think I expected Mom. Even Dad.

As if he knew, he spoke. “Your dad was here. Your mom couldn't leave your sister alone and they didn't want to bring her in. He stayed until you stabilized, but he . . . he had to go.”

Ethan gently removed the oxygen mask.

I was so groggy I could barely keep my eyes open and I missed some of what he said, his voice dropping in and out of my consciousness. But just hearing it helped.

“. . . should sleep . . . body's been through a lot . . . if we hadn't known what you'd taken . . . was so scared . . .”

I opened my eyes again. One of his hands covered his face and his shoulders were slumped.

I swallowed a few times before I could speak.

“Do you . . .” I rasped, “believe?”

He sighed. “I . . . I asked your father if you could speak French. He said you'd never spoken a word of French in your life.”

I felt a wave of fury toward my father. “
Mon père peut être un idiot
,” I whispered.

Ethan smiled grimly. “I'm gathering those aren't words of love.”

“
Non
.”

Without thinking, I lifted my arm toward him, my hand cupping his face. His eyes widened, but he didn't move away.

“Need someone to know me,” I murmured. Begged. Because we both knew he still hadn't answered my question.

“Why?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“‘Cause no one ever has.” My hand dropped.

Ethan looked down, cleared his throat, and looked back at me. “They're moving you back down to your room after your labs come through. Was it only the digoxin you took?”

He watched me carefully as I nodded.

“And you just figured it might be handy to write the name of the antidote on your cast?” His eyebrows lifted gently.

“Don't want to die,” I said, and tried to shrug.

He half-laughed, but then sadness clouded over his expression. “Could've fooled me—and everyone else.”

My eyelids were too heavy. I was sliding back under. “Want a chance . . . to really live,” I murmured.

Ethan said something but I'd lost focus. I missed it.

The next time I opened my eyes I was back in my room. The first thing I noticed was that my closet had been mostly
cleared out. Just a few articles of clothing remained, folded on one shelf.

I felt under the sheets. I was back in a hospital gown. I knew without looking that my butterfly necklace was long gone. At least I wasn't restrained.

I turned my head toward the other side of the room. Macie was sitting in the armchair, watching me, an open magazine in her lap.

I swallowed painfully a few times, and she waited for me to settle.

“You were vomiting a lot and they had to intubate you at one point. Did you really write the name of the antidote on your hand?” she asked, her tone incredulous.

I didn't answer and instead asked, “What time is it?”

She rolled her eyes. “That's all you ever want to know.”

“Yeah, well, if you were me, it'd be on the top of your need-to-know list too.”

She stared at me like I was a puzzle she didn't want to have to solve. Eventually she looked at her watch.

“Congratulations,” she said mockingly. “You've been out of it all day. It's five p.m.” She stood up. “I'll let Dr. Levi know you're awake.”

Oh yeah, she had the hates, bad. I had a feeling it was more to do with me kicking Mitch in the face than anything else. If I had to guess from the looks they gave each other,
Mitch and Macie were sneaking visits to the supply room on a regular basis.

I must've drifted off again because when I opened my eyes Dr. Levi was standing over me, writing something on his clipboard.

“Hello, Sabine. An eventful evening, I hear.”

He started to take my vitals.

“You seem to be mending well. How do you feel about that?” he asked, his tone no different than if we were talking about the weather.

I couldn't think of an appropriate answer, so I turned my attention to the open door. A nurse I hadn't seen before was standing in the hallway, observing.

Dr. Levi put down his clipboard. “Sabine, the attending physician mentioned you spoke some German while you were semiconscious last night, and your father said that you told Ethan you can speak French. Is it true you can speak other languages?”

It was no major surprise. I knew I would have to deal with the fallout from my experiments.

I sighed. “
Je ne parle pas allemand, mais je peux dire ce que vous voulez en français. Je le parle couramment depuis que j'ai cinq ans. Et vous avez quelque chose de vert entre les dents
,” I said, explaining
that I couldn't really speak German, but that I'd been speaking French fluently since I was five years old and . . . that he had something green stuck between his front teeth. I couldn't resist the add-on.

Dr. Levi watched me carefully and when I finished he turned to the nurse in the hallway.

She was smiling and seemed on the verge of laughter. But when she looked at Dr. Levi, she sobered and nodded.

I suddenly realized why.

She was there to confirm what I'd said. She spoke French—or at least enough to know if it was genuine and not gibberish.

Dr. Levi took a moment, dismissing the nurse and then turning back to me. “That's very impressive, Sabine. How did you teach yourself to speak French?”

“I learned at school.” I shrugged. “Had a tutor at home.”

“She did not!” came a holler from the hall. A moment later my father appeared in the doorway. I flinched. I should've guessed he'd been hiding out there, waiting to pounce.

“Where did you learn French, Sabine? What game is this to you?” He was livid. Clearly the time for concern and compassion had passed—assuming he'd had such feelings in the first place.

“
Dad.
” I said the word sarcastically, since it was a name I no longer felt he was entitled to. “Nice of you to visit.” Before he could answer I rolled away from them onto my side,
wishing the locked window looked out to something more pleasant than a concrete parking lot.

“Dr. Levi,” my father ordered, and I could hear him stomp back out to the hallway.

After a considerable sigh, Dr. Levi followed, but he paused at the door. “I'll be back shortly, Sabine. Perhaps we could chat further.”

“Not likely,” I replied, not bothering to turn and look at him.

My father's words could be heard easily.

“Her mother has been put on Valium for Christ's sake! She can't have this . . . unrest. What's wrong with Sabine? How can she suddenly speak
French
?”

Good question,
Dad
.

Dr. Levi's tone was several decibels lower than my father's, but his voice still carried in the otherwise quiet hospital.

“She appears to have created an alternate world where she, in her mind at least, exists for part of the time. It also seems that this has been going on for many years. From what Ethan has written in his reports, she's extremely convincing. There's no doubt she has carefully constructed every element of this new life so that, despite any evidence we provide to the contrary, she has a way of explaining away our logic. It is . . . Well, it's obsessive but also quite brilliant. To have created such a complex world as she has, her mind would have to be borderline genius, as well as—”

“Insane!” my father snapped. “But that still doesn't explain the other languages.”

“Actually, it does. If she's submerged herself so com-pletely in this fantasy existence, it would also be believable that she could've given herself the tools to justify it. It's possible Sabine has been teaching herself French in private for many years—and with her level of intelligence, it's doable.”

Shit.

I tuned out from the conversation and wiped away a few tears. No matter what I did, I was going to be pegged as crazy. I'd been wrong to think I could make someone believe me. Ethan had written his reports, said I was
convincing
, but that was it. The worst thing was, there'd been a moment, I was sure, when I'd seen a small glimmer of curiosity—a suggestion that he was willing to know more. Had I just been seeing things because I wanted to? Things that hadn't been there at all?

When Dr. Levi returned, I kept my attention on the window. He asked question after question. Stupid, pointless stuff mostly. Every now and then I would answer in the hope that it would make him go away, but I offered no new information. It would only be manipulated to incriminate me further.

“Sabine, I need to know if you have any further intentions of harming yourself. Can you tell me that?” he asked, starting to sound fed up.

I didn't answer. He wouldn't believe me if I said no, and I'd be back in restraints if I told him the truth.

He sighed. “Then I'm going to have to keep a day nurse with you.”

I didn't react, even though I wanted to argue.

“Okay, Sabine. Get some rest.” As I heard him gather his things, I rolled over.

“Can I . . . Can I use a phone?” I knew I hadn't done anything to deserve it in his eyes, but I had to try.

At first I thought he would say no, but after a moment he gave a short nod. “Ethan will be here shortly. I'll tell him you can make one call, but he will have to be present for the conversation, I'm afraid.”

I nodded, relieved to at least have this.

Dr. Levi stopped by the door. “I can help you, Sabine, but you have to want the help. It's a two-way street, this talking stuff.”

“So is listening,” I replied.

He half-smiled. “Then I will try to listen more if you try to talk a little more, starting tomorrow.”

I turned back toward the window.

Talking was really not the answer. Talking had landed me in this mess. Talking—and the tests. But I'd
needed
to do the tests. And they'd worked. The physical didn't cross over anymore. I knew that now. The rules had definitely changed.

When I'd started all of this, I hadn't allowed myself to contemplate this moment. To actually let my mind go there—to that final step. The choice. But there were no more tests. Now I needed to make the final decision.

And do it.