Page 28 of Claiming Sarah

Red grips my other shoulder, fingers digging in, pain tethering us. Red manipulated my body, using it to defend us, to shield me from pain, absorbing all of it and turning it into rage. Nostrils flaring, he nods his head, giving his approval, stepping back, and locking eyes with Blue.

I close my eyes, refusing to witness them disappear and leave me like Little Brother. A snap, heard only by me, ricochets in my head and I know they’re gone.

It’s time to end this.

I’m coming back, little raven.

22

A WEEK LATER

SARAH

Aheaviness rests on my heart. I ignore it, adjusting the pillows behind Ms. Delores, a smile not reaching my eyes, promising to check back on her in a few minutes. She nods gratefully, a silent dismissal.

Stepping out of her room, my hand snakes to my sternum, pressing on the ache resting behind it. A week. A week and no word from Dayton or the five coworkers that went on leave, never returning on the date they gave human resources. Travel nurses run rampant through my unit like little cockroaches. And maybe it's my imagination, but whispers follow me every time I exit a room.

Circles rest beneath my eyes. I shrug off the lack of sleep. It pales to the sleepless nights spent at Lauren’s bed whenever she got sick. She’s not of my blood, but she definitely inherited my stubborn streak.

I nod to Cynthia, the charge nurse, blindly walking to my next patient’s room, non-slip shoes squeaking over the linoleum floors, antiseptic scenting the air. A quick check atthe clock adorning the wall reveals an hour is all that remains of my shift. It can’t come soon enough, and I pray none of my patients go into labor, energy reserves too depleted to focus on bringing a new life into this world.

Dayton. I don’t allow my mind to dwell on him long, bitterness and heartache soaring every time his name pops into my head. He took what he wanted and disappeared. End of story.

Ms. Cynthia smiles brightly at me when I enter her room after knocking, hands resting on her rounded belly. At thirty-eight weeks, her skin glows, and a peculiar light shines in her brown eyes.

“How are you feeling, Ms. Cynthia?” I ask, eyes cataloging her tells. A steady pulse throbs in her neck, with no spike indicating distress. The machines beat steadily without alarm. I’m moving to her side, sliding a hand to manually check her pulse before she answers.

“Oh, I’m feeling good. I’m starting to think Paul and I were being paranoid coming in for a little cramping,” she replies blithely, inhaling deeply. I frown, watching her chest rise and fall, counting her respirations. My lips move without my knowledge, keeping her talking, but my eyes remain focused on her chest, years of experience honing in on an innocuous sign.

Shit. Twelve breaths per minute. She keeps talking, oblivious to the amount of work her lungs are performing to keep pumping air into her and her baby. My face remains jovial, smile fixed in place, and I promise to return after confirming the machine has an accurate heart rate. One hundred beats per minute.

Retreating, I ignore the grumble in my stomach, a reminder I skipped breakfast and ate a bag of chips in between five patients. Whether she knows it or not, Ms. Cynthia isn’t far from entering premature labor.

It’s going to be another long night, and I beeline for the breakroom’s coffee machine. I’ll call Dr. Scott after I am caffeinated. Delivering a child without caffeine for blood is asking for trouble.

ZAIDEN

A WEEK AGO

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Alright, I’m coming! Hold your horses,” a gruff voice calls through the thin piece of wood posing as a door.

“Kick it down.”

“Break in and kill him.”

“She’ll never love you.”

My eyes shut, molars grinding against each other. It took everything within me not to go straight to Sarah as soon as flames licked the insides of Daniels’ Manor. After leaving the basement, I’d performed one final farewell before setting a match to the place.

Sheba. I set her free near the woods farthest from the manor, running back to finally finish what my mother and I started.

Staring into the dancing flames, saying farewell to my mother and imaginary companions, I couldn’t ignore the other apparitions stalking the grounds and voices loitering in my head.

I no longer know what’s real and what isn’t, trees blurring into shadows stretching toward me with spindly limbs. Showing up at Sarah’s door, smoke and ash staining the same clothing I’ve worn for three days, isn’t an option.

“Know when to ask for help,” Dr. Shaw used to say. His eyes always lanced me, seeking the root of my problems. The door cracks open. A narrowed green eye looks me up and down.

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