SEVENTY-FIVE

WHEN MY EYES OPENED AGAIN, BRIGHT LIGHT BLINDED THEM. Squinting, I saw a head silhouetted by brightness. The face was unfocused and the head swollen. Swollen? No, bandaged. And it was Nick’s. Damn, I thought. I’m dead after all. He’s come for me. The way people say that someone who’s died comes to get you, to take you to the Light. I squinted harder. The bright light began to resemble a window, and sunshine peeked through curtains behind Nick’s head. But Nick had been bludgeoned to death at the Institute. So he couldn’t be here. I was dreaming again, must not have opened my eyes after all. I told the dream to go away. It didn’t. So I told the face out loud, in muffled words from a dry mouth.

“Gwey.” The face refused to obey. Instead, it smiled, leaned over, and kissed me on the mouth.

The kiss was warm, and I could smell Nick. And antiseptics. I could feel his breath on my face. Apparently, he wasn’t dead, and neither was I. In fact, he whispered a thank-you, saying that I’d saved his life. The ambulance I’d ordered had arrived. The EMTs had gone to Beverly’ office, just as I’d told the 911 operator. They’d found them both there. Nick and Beverly.

Nick talked slowly, mouthing words carefully, and I wondered if his brain had been damaged, but he didn’t say. He told me that he had a nasty gash and a concussion, but he was recuperating. Beverly was also expected to survive. Woods had beaten her badly; she’d be hospitalized for a while. All the patients were back in their rooms. Evie’d been found walking along the train tracks, singing and barefoot, headed toward Center City. I’d been found at the entrance to Section 5, Evie’s blanket draped over me.

And Molly? Where was Molly? Why didn’t he tell me? Nick told me I’d need a lot of rest; I’d bled a lot. He said the knife had slashed long and deep, nearly puncturing my lung. He went on about how sorry he was, how it was all his fault. I listened, waiting for him to mention Molly. But he didn’t. Not one word.

“Whzzmllee?” I asked him. My tongue wouldn’t move, seemed glued to the floor of my mouth.

“Don’t try to talk, darling.” Darling? He touched my face. I was furious. What was wrong with him? What had happened to Molly? I had to see her. Who was watching her?

I mustered my strength to articulate another question. “Wehz-mawlee?”

This time, I knew he understood me. His eyes lit. “Molly? At Susan’s. We thought it best if she didn’t see you until you were conscious.”

I closed my eyes, warding off tears. Molly was at Susan’s. “Howshee?”

“She’s a trouper. Worried about her mother. But a patient— the one we found on the train tracks? She took Molly to the art room. Get this—she even got paper and crayons out for her. Molly was fine—”

“Evie,” I breathed.

“What was that, honey?”

Tears spilled. I couldn’t help it. Evie had rescued Molly, had taken her to the art room, a place she thought of as safe. Thank God. They were both okay. My skin ached to hug my daughter, but I’d see her soon. And Nick was alive. And so was I. Slowly, cautiously, I let this information sink in, feeling the glow of it spread through my body. One by one, my muscles untensed, relaxed by the knowledge that Woods was gone. That Molly and I would soon be together, home again. Safe inside.

Nick sat beside me, coaxing me to sleep. Promising to stay with me. His voice was deep and rhythmic, like waves. I had lots of questions, but I was too tired to ask them. Instead, I stared at Nick’s living face and the light behind his blue eyes until my own eyes burned. Then, when I trusted that if I shut them, they’d open again, I let them close.