Page 129 of Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

I just want to see Mom. Hug her. Tell her about my day. Maybe she’ll understand what I’m saying. Maybe she’ll tell me not to worry. That everything will be okay. That she’s glad I’m keeping an eye on Seb. That things will get better.

The reception lady, not Macy this time, tries to stop me, but I mutter at her something about emergency and run down the hallway to Mom’s room.

Entering, closing the door behind me, I walk right over to her and go to my knees in front of her. Mom, I want to say.

Mom.

But I can’t make myself speak the word.

And the illusion doesn’t even last two seconds this time.

She screams, batting at my hands, no recognition in her eyes. She’s saying something, but I can’t make out the words, and I’m too stunned to move, even as two nurses burst into the room.

“What’s going on?” one of them asks. “Who are you?”

“He’s her son,” the other one says, and I vaguely recognize him from my visits here. “Just give her the sedative, Jimmy. She’ll be fine.”

I don’t move as this Jimmy lifts a small bottle, shakes it and adds it to the IV going into Mom’s hand.

“What’s wrong with her?” I whisper. “She’s never done this before.”

“She’s getting worse,” Jimmy says. “Quick deterioration, that’s what one of the doctors said. So you’re her son?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Yes,” the second nurse says, ignoring me. “He’s here every other day. I think it’s safe to leave him with her.” He turns to me. “If you want to stay, that is.”

I don’t know what the hell I want. “What else did the doctor say? Why didn’t anyone tell me about this… this quick deterioration?”

What is it supposed to mean?

But the two nurses are already walking out of the room, and Mom is dozing in her chair. Cold sweat has drenched my back, and my heart won’t stop racing.

What the fuck was this, what the fuck? Why was she so scared of me? Why couldn’t I understand what she was saying? Why…?

Dragging myself to my feet, I reach out to touch her, and stop.

I walk out and close the door quietly, then head to the reception desk to get some answers.

I don’t go over to Gigi’s to spend the night.

Instead I sit in the dark in my bedroom and try not to think of what the doctor I spoke to said about Mom’s condition.

Worsening. Quick deterioration was accurate. They don’t know why for some patients the condition advances so much faster than for others.

Eventually, I roll on my side, grab my phone and shoot Gigi a quick message to let her know not to wait for me, that I’ll crash at the apartment. It’s way past midnight when I send it, and I don’t expect a reply. She’s probably long asleep by now.

I still stare at the dark screen of phone on the nightstand for hours. When trying not to think, I still can’t stop thinking about her.

Damn, I miss her. How can I miss her when I was with her last night?

I wish I could haul her into my arms right now, let her soft body chase away the cold fear. She speaks softly, touches me softly, moves softly. I crave that. Now that I’ve been with her, I dunno how I can go back to my life.

How to live without her.

I close my eyes and a reel passes in front of them. Memories of running in the yard with Connor, flying a kite, learning to fish. Then older times, older memories surfacing, gilded and fading, of my real parents—a playground, a toy car, a huge tree with a swing. Smiling faces. A sense of safety and joy.

No, dammit. Don’t wanna remember those good times.

---