Page 4 of The Restoration Program
Ryan slipped his hand into his pocket as he turned on his heel and started the furious march back the other way. His fingertips brushed the velvet engagement ring box. All his fretting over the proposal was so inconsequential. Childish. He wished more than anything that he had asked her sooner. Nicole was going to die before he worked up the nerve.
Fresh tears pricked his eyes. He thought he had already cried all he had.
A crushing, panicked loneliness made his knees buckle. He leaned against the wall, chest seizing with half-breaths. They had been squabbling over the color of the new bedsheets a week ago. The placement of the furniture in the living room. Which houseplant to place by the door.
He pushed away and began pacing again.
His parents might pretend to give a shit when he called them to break the news. Maybe he wouldn’t tell them at all. He had been debating on whether to invite them to the wedding. He was already shattered enough without having to endure their forced condolences.
“Hey, careful!”
He’d nearly rammed into another man rounding the corner. Ryan glanced at him, mumbling an apology before brushing around. The man stood in his peripherals before starting after him eagerly.
“Hey… Are you Ryan Northe?”
Ryan stopped and spared another glance. Hesitation gripped him. Wearing a tailored suit and expensive-looking glasses, this guy didn’t look at all like the hospital administration that had been pushing paperwork and insurance and power of attorney under his nose.
“Ryan Northe?” the man asked again. The enthusiasm in his eyes was too bright. “Nicole Zhou’s boyfriend, right?”
“You work here?” Ryan asked hoarsely.
That was as much affirmation as the stranger needed. Disturbingly pleased, he closed the distance and offered his hand to shake. “Bernard Witkowski. Can I buy you a coffee?”
Ryan didn’t take his hand. “Can you people just leave me alone? The receptionist said I already filled out everything—”
“I don’t work for the hospital, Ryan, but my organization operates in partnership with it.” The too-familiar way Bernard said his name reminded Ryan of how he spoke to clients when trying to gain their trust. He kept his guard up as Bernard looked him dead in the eye. “I know about the horrible car accident. T-boned by a semi-truck exiting the freeway… Just awful. The people I work for seek out patients like Nicole. We can help her.”
“What do you mean? The doctors said they’re doing all they can.”
“I’m sure they are. But what we offer is… different.”
Ryan sneered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time for a bullshit miracle cure pitch.”
Bernard stepped closer, his expression going hard. Ryan nearly backed away from the intensity in his gaze. “I’ve seen cases like this before. Dozens,” Bernard said in a soft voice. “The doctors are going come down the hall in half an hour and tell you your girlfriend is never going to wake up. There’s a limit to their resources, tragic as it is. My organization has other means at its disposal.”
He withdrew a pamphlet from his jacket and pressed it into Ryan’s hands.
“This isn’t a scam, Mr. Northe. If you’re a praying man, this is the answer you’ve been asking for.”
Ryan stared at the paper, his thumb brushing over a circular logo. “I’ve never heard of this place before. Is it… safe?”
“Less risk than a standard appendix removal.” Bernard gestured to the row of chairs against the wall. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll grab you that coffee.”
Startled into obedience, Ryan sat down. While he waited, impatient and lightheaded, he stared atSunrise on the Eastern Pond.
We can help her.
DAY ONE
Her mouth had never been so dry. Nicole wet her lips and drew a deep breath, nearly gagging on the taste of cold, sterile air. Sleep beckoned her back into its arms, but she resisted. Her eyelids fluttered and fought against the urge to open. She won the battle just enough to squint, immediately regretting it. White light burned from above.
“Ry, shut the curtains,” she groaned.
Nicole turned her head and was met with more white. A white pillow cradled her pounding skull, white sheets weighed her down, white walls caged her. All of it was blinding—nothing like the apartment bedroom she was still getting used to. Shuddering, she squeezed her eyes shut and blinked timidly to adjust.
Hospital, her groggy mind supplied. Had to be.
A cold gasp raced down her throat. Past events all blared through her at once—the heavy rain pounding the pavement. The car hydroplaning in her grasp. A deafening squeal of tires, the sound of mangled metal, and light more blinding than the one assaulting her now. Then, nothing.
