Page 62 of If Anything Happens To Me

He began pounding her chest so hard she could almost hear her ribs crack. She felt the rhythm—one-two-three-four. He breathed into her mouth, artificial respiration, like she’d been taught in junior lifesaving at the beach.

And then she woke up. She gasped, drinking air as if she’d been dying of thirst and it was cool spring water. Her breastbone and ribs felt as if they were broken instead of just bruised. She was no longer in the frozen north, but in her bed at home in Black Hall, Connecticut.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, crying and hurt, staring through tears at her brother.

“Because I thought you were dead,” Fitch said. “I was just about to call 911.” He gave her a half smile. “But I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“This is our chance,” he said. “I don’t want outsiders studying you.”

“Studying me? What are you talking about? Why would they do that?”

“Because you’re special. You’re rare. This was your first episode, right? You never had that happen before?” he asked.

“No, never,” she said.

“Good,” he said. “Because this work is going to be all mine.”

“Work?” she asked.

“Gale, I have been waiting for this. I know it might sound terrible, but I have been hoping you had the disease. It runs in the women in our family, and if someone has to get it, I’m glad it’s you—not Minerva or even Mom.”

“Well, thanks, Fitch!” she said, furious.

“Hear me out,” he said. “I believe this condition comes with gifts. You know how the legend is that the Sibylline sisters were clairvoyant?”

“Yes. You’re telling me I’m going to have second sight? That I’ll be able to tell fortunes every time I have one of those . . .” She tried to think of what to call the awful, freezing, airless feeling that had come over her.

“Seizures,” he said. “That’s what you had. And no, not fortune-telling the way you see in movies. More like heightened sensitivity.”

Abigail shivered. She wouldn’t wish her experience on anyone—how could her brother call it a gift? She had a friend in school, Jeannie, who had epilepsy. Jeannie had seizures, where she would feel an aura just before they came on. She took medicine that kept them under control.

“Do I have epilepsy?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “It’s something else.”

“What?” she asked.

“Never mind for now—I think I know, from things Daphne has said, but I’ll establish a definite diagnosis going forward. Meanwhile, don’t tell Mom what happened. About the seizure. Just for now.”

Abigail shrugged. Not telling their mother would be nothing new. Their mom was always so distracted, and she didn’t approve of complaining. Abigail knew that Fitch cared more about her than their mother did.

He was secretive in his own ways, always studying. At thirteen, he had the reading ability of someone with a doctorate. Birding was his only outdoor activity, and sometimes he came home with dead birds to dissect. Then he would embalm them so he could hang them from the ceiling. Abigail told him that was creepy and gross, but he said it was science, and that science was his life.

Eventually, she told her mother, who then sent her to Dr. César, a specialized neurologist in Boston. But Fitch decided he could take better care of her and learn more about the condition. So they let their mother think Abigail was still taking the train to Boston to see Dr. César, but instead, Fitch would bring her here, to the Miramar. Their mother never paid too much attention to medical bills—she had an accountant for that—and never even noticed that she wasn’t getting charged for the doctor visits.

Now, in the attic of the Miramar, I listened as Abigail spoke. If her episodes had started when she was twelve, she had been suffering them for almost four years.

“I’m so sorry you’ve been going through this,” I said to Abigail. “Not just the seizures, but being your brother’s guinea pig. Did he ever answer your question?”

“Which one?” Abigail asked.

“About the condition. What is it?”

“Parasomnia,” Abigail said.

Parasomnia—the word Daphne had mentioned. I turned the word over in my mind. Insomnia, parachute, parasol. “What does it mean?” she asked.

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