You around? I could use a little company.
My world comes back into sharp focus. As I sit considering the probability of supernatural creatures, my colleague is alone, contemplating his mortality in a hospital bed. There was a time when we were close enough that a plea like this wouldn’t come as a surprise, and I wonder whether he’s calling on that old bond now in his time of need. But I don’t question it. Right now, impossibly, talking to Brandon feels like it could be a comfort. He is, after all, the onlyperson who feels what I have felt, who might be able to hold my discovery without complete incredulity. My sole co-survivor.
Sure, I type back.Be there in fifteen.
His response is swift.Thank you, he says, and then a few seconds later,I’m so sorry to ask.
I assure him that it’s fine,I’m happy to visit, then peel out of the parking lot and to the hospital. Through some stroke of luck and laziness, I’ve left my badge in the passenger seat, and when I arrive, I throw the lanyard over my head and march inside. I look far from professional in my black leggings, beanie, and puffer jacket, but when I pass the security guard at the entrance, one flash of my ID gets me through.
The oncology floor is eerily silent when I arrive. It’s quiet time, past visitors’ hours, and the only family allowed are those whose loved ones are imminently dying. The nurse’s stations are unmanned, the staff scattering to finally get through their tasks unencumbered by demands. I look for Brandon’s room number on the telemetry screens as I try to rehearse how to reveal my theories to him.Hey, so I’m pretty sure that your wife is a succubus, and she’s the reason why you’re sick. Don’t worry, I think my boyfriend is too. That’s why my hair looks like this now!
Christ. He’s going to think I’m nuts. He’s going to call Alan and demand I be declared unfit for the lab too.
When I get to his room, the door is slightly ajar.
I register the sound first: wet, smacking, slurping. It takes me a moment to realize that Brandon isn’t alone. A woman is with him, clutching his hospital gown in two small, tight fists and dragging his limp body up until her face is level with his. Her eyes are squeezed closed with rapture, and in between sucks she makes small, indulgent moans. Her golden hair shrouds them like a halo, or maybe a funeral shroud.
She lifts her head. Her lips are smeared crimson, and from the door, it looks like blood.
“Sean,” Leila whispers. She drops Brandon back down onto the bed. He lands hard, limp as a rag doll. “You came to visit.”
I open my mouth to speak, but no sound escapes. When I look down at my hand on the doorknob, it’s shaking.Shit.I didn’t expect her to be here, so sure that she’d already cut and run. I’m remembering that moment in the stairwell, her voice harsh to the point of shrill:You’re eating out of my bowl. Back then, I’d managed to convince myself that she hadn’t been talking about me. But by the way she’s looking at me, sizing me up like she’s trying to figure out whether she can swallow me in one bite or two, it’s clear my initial instinct had been correct.
Pull yourself together.I’m not sure exactly what Leila is capable of, but there’s no reason for her to suspect that I know anything. And I’m not about to give her one.
I shake myself off, step inside, and affect a wry smile.
“I was in the area, and Brandon texted asking if I could stop by. He didn’t mention that you were on your way,” I say. “Sorry, didn’t realize I would be walking into a conjugal visit.”
Leila blinks once, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Oh. Ha. Sorry,” she says. Her lower lip, still streaked with what I realize now is lipstick, trembles. “I surprised him. Just got here a few minutes ago. But you know. It’s been hard.”
To my relief, Brandon opens his eyes. He turns to Leila, utterly enraptured. He doesn’t even seem to notice that I’m here.
“Don’t apologize, kitty,” he says. His voice is paper thin and fragile, like a gust of wind could carry it away. “I’m just glad you’re here with me.”
My heart sinks. It’s one of the first lessons I learned as a physician:you can give someone all the information they need about their condition, show them the relevant evidence, but you can’t force them to give their consent. No matter what I say, I cannot drag the devotion out of this man. Leila has him completely in her thrall, and she knows it.
As if to demonstrate, she brushes gentle knuckles over his forehead.
“Go to sleep, honey,” she says, and as if she’s waved a wand, he obliges, his eyelids flitting closed. I watch him with trepidation. He’s breathing; I can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest. The monitor above his head shows that his heart is beating, that his blood pressure is fine. Despite his stable vitals, he looks awful, worse than he did yesterday.
“He’s gotten a ton of pain meds today. He’s exhausted,” Leila explains, as if she can read my thoughts.
“It’s horrible news,” I say. “You handling it okay?”
Leila shrugs.
“As best as I can be, all things considered,” she says. She tilts her head to the side, circling the bed until she’s standing in front of me. The curtain of her hair falls down her shoulder, and I’m distracted by its luster, how it shines like spun gold. She looks even better than usual, her skin luminescent and healthy, a round, youthful rosiness to her cheeks that I don’t remember noting before. It’s only been a day since Brandon’s diagnosis, and his ex-wife looks more wrecked than his current one.
“It was really lovely of Winny to bring me over yesterday,” she continues. “She didn’t have to do that.”
No, she didn’t, I want to say, but I dare not.
“She is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met,” I say. “She and Sophie. That little girl doesn’t deserve this.”Doesn’t deserve what you’re doing to them.
Leila’s gaze sharpens, and a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.