Reaper (34 page)

“Oh yeah? Well right now your little sis is outside the ER trying to get a hold of your daddy. What's her name? Chel.” Jane snickered, popping a piece of gum in her mouth. “She's a real winner, Wendy. You know she can't even disguise her disgust when a Walker wanders past? Your mom sure knows how to train ’em.”

“What are you talking about?” Wendy snapped. “Chel can't see ghosts.”

“Riiight,” Jane said, chomping her gum savagely. “Sure she can't. And I'm the mother-lovin’ Queen of Bonny ol’ England.” She sighed. “Even now, you're lying.”

“Chel has never seen anyone die in her life,” Wendy insisted. “Other than my mom, I'm the only Reaper in my immediate family.”

“Think again.” Jane held up a hand and examined her nails. “Though, when I'm done with ’em, you'll be back to being the only one. For a few hours, at least.”

“I will kill you,” Wendy swore sharply. “You even think about touching Chel or Jon, I don't care if I end up dying, I will haunt your ass so hard—”

“Pshaw, whatever,” Jane said, peeling her bubble gum off the knife and popping it back in her mouth. “Like I haven't heard that a million times from ghosts before.” She wiggled her fingers. “Oooh, everlasting fury and thwarted revenge. Soooo spooky!”

“Is your ass ever jealous of all the crap that pours out of your mouth?” Wendy asked, and surprisingly, Jane laughed.

“Look, I'm here to offer you a piece of advice. Believe it or not, abominationy-mutant-freak or not, I kind of like you. You've got spunk.”

“Geez, thanks,” Wendy drawled. “If this is how you treat the people you like, I'd hate to see how you hang with the people you hate.”

“Shut up, you don't have a lot of time,” Jane replied, not unkindly. “Look, Wendy, my point is that Grandma might take off your binding and let you live, if you just stay in the hospital for a while and don't meddle in Grandma's business. Quit asking questions, quit talking to ghosts at drive-ins and definitely don't wander up to the city and meet with the Council. Grandma has some special plans for them, you understand?”

“Go to hell,” Wendy said.

Jane smiled sadly. “Already there, cuz. Already there. But, seriously, take my advice. Emma will keep you alive, you just…sleep for a while. A week. Maybe two. And when you wake up this whole nightmare will be over.”

An alert pinged quietly behind the bed. Twisting, Wendy glanced up at the IV stand and realized that her drip bag was empty, the tube that snaked between the bag and her arm cleanly cut. Though it seemed impossible, the IV had been doing some good; with it empty, already her lips felt drier, her skin tighter. In the far-flung distance, sounding as if the alarm were coming from half a world away, a steady, shrill beeping began to grow louder and louder. Wendy dimly realized that it was a noise outside the dreamscape. It was the IV alarm.

“That's my cue,” Jane said. Winking, she blew Wendy a kiss. “And that, my dear, means it's time to boogie. See ya later, alligator.”

“I hope you rot in hell,” Wendy said bleakly.

Snickering, Jane reached forward and pinched Wendy's big toe.
“Sweet dreams, kiddo. Don't let the bedbugs bite.” Then, not bothering to look behind her, Jane backed away several steps until she faded through the wall.

Wendy licked her lips. They were dry and cracked again, and her tongue was already beginning to feel furry. It was just a dream, but she'd learned long ago that dreams could still affect the living body, that what happened in a dreamscape could cross over into the waking world. The healed spot where her tongue ring used to be was proof positive.

“Help,” Wendy whispered, laying back against her pillows and trying to think of glaciers and icy mountain lakes, of polar bears and penguins and far-flung mountaintops flush with snow unmelted for thousands of years.

In the corner of the room there was a shadow, a pair of eyes observing; they were dark and watchful. They reminded Wendy of her mom.

“Please,” she said again, as the IV alarm from beyond the dreamscape began to bleat louder. “Please help.”

In the beginning there was my mother
.

A shape. A shape and a force, standing in the light
.

You could see her energy; it was visible in the air
.

Against any background she stood out
.

—Marilyn Krysl

“D
o you hear that? I wonder what's going on?” Eddie asked as the elevator doors opened. Piotr, frowning, nodded. Jon stepped around the two and, moving quickly, led the way onto Wendy's floor, Lily at his heels. They passed an empty nurse's station and several abandoned carts in the hallway.

“That isn't coming from Wendy's room, is it?” Lily asked as Jon, expression grim, slowed at the end of the hall.

“It is,” he said as a tall black nurse hurried from the room, hustling past Jon without a second look and making a beeline for the nurse's desk. “Code blue,” the nurse said sharply into the phone. “Get Harrison up here, now!”

Hearing that, Jon, hand pressed to his chest, thumped bodily against the wall and slid to the floor. He curled up, burying his face against his knees, and trembled.

“Code blue?” Piotr asked Eddie, but Eddie was gone, the back of his head already vanishing through the wall to Wendy's room. Glancing at Lily, Piotr followed.

“She's dying,” Eddie whispered, huddled in the corner as far away as possible from the mass of nurses and doctors hunched over Wendy's bed. The heart monitor behind her bed agreed with his diagnosis. It emitted a long, shrill beep to accompany the terrifying flat line that lit up the screen.

“Turn that down!” snapped one of the attendants just as the tall black nurse returned from the desk. He moved quickly and poked a dial on the side of the monitor. The sound immediately softened.

“Another defibrillator will be here any second,” the nurse said. She slapped the brightly colored machine in the corner. “This piece of crap is still busted.”

“Great,” huffed a nurse with one knee up on the bed. She was hunched over Wendy's body, arms locked straight and fists pumping Wendy's ribcage up-down-up. “I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.”

Another nurse, tucked behind the head of the bed, held a large bulb over Wendy's face that she squeezed in short intervals. Eddie didn't know what it was called, but he'd seen enough medical shows on TV to know what it did. They were breathing for her, beating her heart.

Wendy's soul, however, was still in her body.

“Come on, Wendy,” Eddie whispered. “Hang in there.”

“She's still burning up!” one of the nurses yelled. “Johnson! We need some fans in here! Move!” One of the green-clad attendants, a blonde, peeled off from the pack and hurried from the room.

“Gel packs from the fridge,” the tall black nurse said, rushing away. The doctor shouted after, “And more ice blocks from downstairs! Hurry!”

“We weren't separated that long,” Lily said, sidestepping a bustling nurse and examining Wendy's flushed face. “What happened?”

“The damn Reapers,” Elle said bitterly, hands flexing into fists as she glared around the room. “It has to be. We tried to warn her.”

“Nana Moses wouldn't do this,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “This has got to be some kind of mistake. I know her. She promised.”

“
Eto ne imyeet bol shogo znacheniya
. Little importance now;
someone
clearly did this,” Piotr replied darkly. “And we need to find out who.”

“Or we can just wait a minute,” Elle said, moving to the foot of Wendy's bed. “Look.”

A corridor of Light was opening behind the headboard.

“
Net
,” Piotr whispered, pushing past Eddie and grabbing Wendy's hand, careless of the blistering heat coming off her in palpable waves. “Not again.
Puzhalsta
, Wendy! Not again. Don't you dare!”

“This is highly unorthodox. Has anyone reached her family on the phone?” one of the nurses urgently asked as a new defibrillator was wheeled in. She was taller than the other nurses, slim and dark-haired and waving a clipboard under the nose of anyone who would stop a moment to pay attention to her. Only Eddie, standing close enough to notice, spotted the thin Celtic knot peeping out from under the collar of her scrubs.

“Unorthodox?” the doctor snorted as he pushed past her. “We're shocking her system, not playing her like a puppet. What's so unorthodox about it?”

“This is Mary Darling's girl,” the dark-haired nurse replied stiffly. “I've seen this kid in here enough times to have an idea when something's up. When she was wheeled in, I checked her records!”

“Again, so? Anything important? Allergies?” The doctor nudged the IV stand. “Get me more saline in here, too! The cord on this P.O.S. is loose! Hell, it looks like it sprung a damn leak in here. No wonder she's overheating, if she's gotten any of this IV, I'll eat my stethoscope.”

“She has a DNR!” the dark-haired nurse said urgently.

The doctor was frantically gesturing at the closest aide. “I need to prep the pads; where's the f'ing gel? Come ON, people!”

“I
said
,” the dark-haired nurse tried again, slapping the doctor on the shoulder to get his attention. “You have to stop. She has a DNR!”

“A DNR? On a kid her age?” The doctor stared at the nurse as if she'd suddenly sprouted a second head. “Whoah, whoah, wait. Is there something I'm missing here? Is she terminal?”

“What is a DNR?” Lily asked Eddie.

“A ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ order,” he explained, intently staring at the nurse and scowling. “It's a bunch of stupid paperwork that keeps them from saving her life if she's in an accident or something.”

Elle snorted. “What, you mean like now?”

“Like now,” he agreed grimly. “But I think Wendy would've said something to me if she had a DNR. This is totally news to me. And that lady, the one with the clipboard, is being pushy about it, and I think she's a Reaper.”

“Piotr,” Elle said suddenly. “Do something!”

The doctor was likewise perplexed, but he stopped shouting orders and frantically rushing to save Wendy. “Why would a teenage girl not want to be resuscitated? Has she been tested for pharm? Is this a self-harm case?” He grabbed Wendy's wrist and flipped it up, examining her arm expertly. “No tracks, no scars. What gives?”

“Do something?” Piotr asked, exasperated. “I do not understand, Elle. What do you wish me to do? Give her mouth-to-mouth myself? We know how that ends.”

“Come on, Petey,” Elle snorted, gesturing angrily to the living scrambling to save Wendy's life around them. “Playin’ dumb here isn't going to help the Lightbringer. Remember the ride over to Mountain View? You and I both know you did something when you touched that drunk guy on the bus.
Somethin
'-something. And if you did it then, you can do it again. Fix it!”

“Well, she's not into self-damage that I can see.” The doctor dropped Wendy's wrist and took a step back to assess the situation. “Hardly a freckle, much less a cut.”

“Why is the doctor examining her arms?” Lily asked curiously. “Does he feel there may be a cure there?”

“Just the opposite, he's judging a book by its cover,” Eddie replied, scowling. “She's goth-looking so,
duh
, of course she's probably an addict or a cutter. Except she's not. Judgmental a-hole.”

“Explain to me again why a DNR is necessary for a teenage girl?” the doctor asked the nurse. He couldn't see it, but several of the other aides and nurses were shooting him and the dark-haired nurse dirty looks behind his back. “
Is
she terminal?”

“This girl was in a coma a few weeks ago,” the dark-haired nurse replied as the attending staff, ignoring the discussion, strapped Wendy with wires and pads. “I think her family may be tapped out.”

“Are you kidding me? Lack of money is no reason to—” the doctor began.

The nurse cut him off. “The reason doesn't matter. The paperwork does.”

He flipped several pages on the clipboard, frowning deeply. “Well…you're right. Here's the DNR. Plain as day.”

“Couldn't be plainer,” the nurse agreed.

“It can't hurt to try, right?” Elle urged Piotr. “Please, Pete. There's so much locked up inside that noggin of yours, maybe there's a reason the Reapers have been using you for all these years. Maybe they don't want you doing to them what you did to that guy on the bus.”

“As you can see here,” the nurse indicated one of the pages, “her family's insurance company has already denied coverage for any further incidents of this nature.”

“That is somewhat presumptive of them,” the doctor said, glancing at Wendy on the table. “But my job—”

Piotr shook his head. “This is madness. I cannot…I…”

“Just try,” Lily said suddenly. “Touch him and try.”

The nurse shrugged but met the doctor's eyes challengingly. “Sir. The papers do not lie. DNR. Your job is to save lives of those who wish to be saved. This girl and this girl's family do
not
wish her to be saved, especially if she is going to spend her days comatose. Would you want to wither away your youth strapped to a hospital bed?”

“Well…I don 't…” The doctor hesitated as the nurse flipped to another page in the file.

“This is her mother's file, and a picture of her near the end. You remember Mary? Nine months in a persistent vegetative state. Do you really think a teenage girl wants to end up like this?”

“Of course not.”

“It is unnecessary,” Piotr said sharply, stepping up behind the doctor and laying a hand on the back of his neck. His fingers sank into the skin knuckle deep, a thin rime of frost expanding across the doctor's flesh as Piotr pressed his hand deeper into the doctor's body. “To allow the death of a girl over paperwork is ridiculous. There is no reason to believe she will end up as her mother did. To suggest so is absurd.”

“No. No matter what, a DNR on a girl this age is just absurd. Ridiculous, even,” the doctor said strongly, pushing away and handing the clipboard back to the dark-haired nurse and striding to the nearest sanitation station, snatching up a pair of blue gloves from a box. “No, this is unnecessary. If her family can't afford it, I'll help them figure something out myself.”

“Ridiculous or not, it's what her family wants,” the nurse reminded the doctor pointedly, clutching her clipboard to her chest tightly. “Are you really going to risk your career based off of some gut feeling? This says right here—”

“You don't care about this paperwork,” Piotr told the doctor, grabbing him by the shoulder as he snapped on the first glove. “She is a young girl. Too young to die.”

“Paperwork can be mistaken. She's not terminal, there is absolutely no good reason to let this kid go,” the doctor snapped at the dark-haired nurse, glancing at the beeping lights on the defibrillator. It had warmed up sufficiently. The nurse slapped gel pads diagonally across Wendy's chest and waved a hand, pushing away from the limp girl on the table. “She's too young to die.”

Glaring at the medical team, the dark-haired nurse tried one last time. “Doctor! If you can't properly follow protocol and procedure then I'm afraid that I'm going to have to report—”

He elbowed her out of the way. “Unless you want the shock of your life, move, Jenna!”

“Doctor, please! Listen to reason—”

“CLEAR!”