The Mistaken (2 page)

“No, Ty, not really. I know he
looks
awful.
His face took the worst of it.” She ran her finger across his brow,
pushing a lock of sun-bleached hair from his battered eye. “But all
things considered, he’s not hurt nearly as bad as he was last
time.”

Oh God, the last time.
I held my hands over
my face. My eyes burned; the rims red and angry after so many hours
of uncertainty. An earlier glance in the mirror revealed two vivid
crescent-shaped bruises, which only further punctuated my
exhaustion.

Can he live through this again
, I wondered. I
dropped my hands, let my shoulders sag, and sighed at both the
doubt and memories. Turning away, I walked over to the window and
stared out into the darkness of The City beyond. The lights
shimmered just as they always had, as if nothing had changed, like
the world hadn’t tipped, spinning wildly on its overturned
axis.

Jill smacked both palms against her thighs. “Come
on, Ty, relax already. You heard the doctor. He said Nick would
recover.”

I snickered in doubt. “Recover, sure, but at what
cost? We’re here now
because
of what happened before, and he
barely survived that. I can’t imagine what his life will be like
now.”

“Well, he did survive, and I know he can do it
again. We’ll help him through. We’ll all do it again.”

I bowed my head and drifted back over to Nick’s
side. With a deep sigh, I looked her in the eye. “No, Jillian.
That’s just it. I don’t think I
can
do it again. God help
me, I don’t.”

Chapter Two

Tyler

One Year Ago

The door had nearly closed behind me when I heard
the land line ring inside. I turned toward Jill, her lithe form
stretching at odd angles as she warmed-up on the sidewalk in front
of our house.

“Hey, hold up,” I said. “The phone’s ringing.”

“Just leave it, Ty. I want to go.” With her long
ponytail swaying back and forth, she jogged in place, anxious to
get started on our morning run, a warm-up for a race held later
that morning, likely the last we’d be able to make for quite some
time.

“It might be my folks. I forgot to check their
flight status this morning.”

I ran back into the house and grabbed the phone off
its base. The caller ID indicated my brother, and I huffed in
exasperation. The phone chirped as I answered the call.

“What is it, Nick? I’m in a hurry.”

A stifled yawn greeted me, then, “Hey, brother,”
said a voice thick with sleep. Nick always called me brother, a
habit he picked up from his friends back home in Australia. “So
uh…don’t get all bent out of shape or anything, but…I don’t think
I’m going to make it this morning after all.”

I remained silent, my lips pressed together.

“Ty, you there? You hear me?”

“What is it this time, Nick? Lost your keys? Run out
of gas? Abducted by aliens?”

“Ha ha, yeah, you’re real funny.”

“Well, what’s your excuse this time? I’m just dying
to know. Really.”

“For God’s sake, Ty, get off my back. I’m tired, all
right?”

“And why is that? Out partying all night again? I
swear to God, Nick, if you tell me you’re hung-over…”

“No! Well…yeah…I guess. A little. Just got a bit
carried away, that’s all.” A chuckle of embarrassment followed,
fading quickly over the hiss of the open line.

I sighed. “That’s brilliant. We just talked about
this yesterday, remember? You knew you had to go to the airport.
Why would you stay out all night drinking?” I don’t know why I was
surprised. I should have known Nick wouldn’t actually listen to me.
When did he ever?

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry. If it makes you feel
any better, I’m paying for it now.”

“Well, that’s your problem, Nick. I was practically
out the door when you called. You’re going to have to take care of
it on your own. I’m not bailing you out this time.”

I was determined to hold my ground for once, for I
knew exactly where the conversation was headed. My brother had a
sorry track record of never following through on his promises, and,
quite frankly, I was sick of it. If he looked up to me as much as
our mother said he did then he should learn to be responsible and
live up to his commitments, just as I had. At twenty-one, Nick was
well past the age of accountability.

“Come on, Tyler. Please?”

Another huff of impatience. “What, are you still
drunk?”

“No. I’m just…tired. Come on, Ty, you guys are
already up. Why can’t you and Jillian do it?”

“Because you promised me, that’s why. You swore
you’d pick them up. You knew Jill and I had plans. Besides, they’re
staying with us for the next six weeks, for God’s sake. This is the
least you can do.”

“I know, but—”

“Forget it, Nick! Get your lazy ass out of bed and
down to the airport now. I don’t want them wandering around looking
for you, especially after eighteen hours in the air.”

He sighed and swore under his breath. “Fine, but
don’t expect me to be a tour guide while they’re here,” he said
then hung up.

I cursed in return and threw the phone on the sofa
then headed out the door.

Jillian and I took a short warm-up run into Golden
Gate Park, stopping at the registration table near the music
bandshell before commencing the race, a quick 10K up Martin Luther
King Drive and back down JFK to Stowe Lake. The number of
participants was light so Jill and I each placed respectably well.
We rewarded ourselves afterwards with scones and tea at our
favorite sidewalk café in the Haight Ashbury. The fog had burned
off early, and thin wisps of sun filtered through the trees. Their
shade offered us a pleasant respite from the unusually warm
temperature for San Francisco in early June.

Jill and I discussed our plans to take my visiting
parents and sister to every tourist spot in The City: the Golden
Gate Bridge and Fort Point, the Embarcadero and Fisherman’s Wharf,
Lombard Street and Coit Tower, even Alcatraz if the weather stayed
warm enough. We plotted as much of our course by cable car as
possible, a special request from my mum. She imagined jumping
aboard the moving cable car like she had once done on the old
Routemasters back in London when she was a girl. I didn’t have the
heart to tell her it wasn’t permitted. She’d find out soon
enough.

With everything mapped out, Jill and I were
gathering to leave when my mobile phone vibrated against my leg. I
pulled it from my pocket and scanned the display. UNKNOWN CALLER,
it read. I wouldn’t normally have taken the call, but my folks were
flying in from Melbourne. Although Nick had texted me when he had
everyone and their luggage loaded into his car, when it concerned
my brother, I’d come to expect problems along the way.

“Tyler Karras,” I answered, hoping to hear a
client’s frantic plea instead of Nick’s, but it was an unfamiliar
voice that addressed me.

“Mr. Karras, my name is Joanne Weaver. I’m the
patient liaison at San Francisco General Hospital. We have your
brother, Nicholas, in the emergency room. He requested we pull your
name and number from his cell phone.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What happened? Is he all
right?”

“I’m afraid he’s been in an accident. I see this is
a local number. Are you in the area, by any chance? Could you get
down here anytime soon?”

“An accident? What do you mean? In his car?”

I glanced up at Jillian. Her worried eyes scanned
mine for an explanation.

“I’d prefer to speak with you in person, if you
don’t mind. Just come on down to the emergency room entrance and
give the triage nurse your name. I’ll see you when you get
here.”

“Whoa, wait a minute! What about my parents and
sister? They okay?”

A silent pause followed. “In person, Mr. Karras.
We’ll talk about everything when you get here. I’ll see you then.”
And the line clicked dead.

Alarmed, Jill and I flagged down a taxi and raced to
the hospital, only to find out from a nurse at the triage desk that
Nick was in the middle of emergency surgery. We were ushered by
elevator to the surgical unit six floors up and escorted into a
small room where we endured a tortuous wait with endless pacing,
interrupted only once for an update by another nurse. Three other
families came and went in the time we spent staring blindly at the
muted TV mounted high in the corner. Instead of reading the
tattered, months-old magazines, I rolled one up and then another,
drumming each impatiently along the outside of my thighs. Jillian
balanced on the edge of a well-worn vinyl chair. Her eyes swept
back and forth as I paced in front of her. After several hours, a
woman dressed in business attire and a doctor in scrubs finally
entered the stuffy room. Jill jumped to my side, her hand on my
arm.

“Mr. Karras?” she asked, and I nodded in return.
“Hi, I’m Joanne. We spoke earlier. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long
to see you. We had several emergencies come in all at once.” She
gestured to the doctor beside her. “This is Dr. Manetti.”

Jill and I shook both their hands. “My fiancée,
Jillian,” I said with a nod in her direction. “So what’s going on
with Nick? We’ve been waiting forever, but nobody’s told us
anything. And I can’t find my parents or my sister.”

“There was a car accident on the 101. Apparently,
your brother fell asleep at the wheel. His blood-alcohol level was
elevated, though within legal limits. Luckily, he was wearing his
seatbelt,” the doctor said, “at least that’s what the bruising
indicates. He sustained a moderate concussion and several broken
bones, including a compound fracture in his right tibia,” he
explained with a touch to his lower leg. “An orthopedic surgeon is
repairing it as we speak using small plates and screws. But at this
point, we’re more concerned about the injury to his spinal cord.
Though Nick has responded to pain stimuli, there’s still
considerable swelling, and he’s experiencing some partial
paralysis.”

I closed my eyes and turned away, a heaviness
weighing in the pit of my stomach.

“Right now, nothing appears to be life threatening,
but we’ll need to keep a close eye on him, especially his liver for
a seatbelt injury. Only time will tell. And he may need a
considerable amount of it for recovery,” the doctor added. “He
should be taken into the recovery room soon. Once he’s set, you can
visit, but only for a short time. All right?”

“Okay but…what about their parents and sister?” Jill
asked. “They were all in the car together. Are they all being
treated here? We haven’t heard anything.”

I turned back for the answer, worried yet
hopeful.

The doctor motioned toward his colleague. “Joanne
will help you with that. I’m only on Nick’s case right now. I
should get back into surgery. It was nice meeting you both.” He
gave us a tight smile and stepped out of the room.

The woman moved forward with a sorrowful expression.
“Yes, your parents, well, um… I’m very sorry, but the police
reported two older victims—late fifties perhaps—both of whom died
before the first responders even arrived on scene. I can certainly
check for you, but it’s likely the coroner has already moved their
bodies to the county morgue. You’ll need to go down there anyway,
to make a positive ID, so…”

I just stood there and stared, as if that would
somehow make it all clearer. “And my sister, Kim?” I asked.

“Yes, she’s here. She survived the crash and
maintained a heart rhythm for a short period of time, but…her
injuries are rather extensive. Your sister sustained a
life-threatening head injury. She’s had a CAT scan, as well as an
MRI, both of which show considerable damage. I’m afraid Kim is
currently on full life-support.”

Joanne took a step closer, her eyes full of
concern.

“Now, I can take you up to see her,” she continued,
“but…you should be prepared. Her doctors have declared Kim brain
dead, meaning there is no activity at all. Again, I’m very sorry,
but…there doesn’t appear to be any hope for recovery. And
um...well… There’s just no easy way to say this.” She paused and
looked me in the eye. “You’ll need to decide how long you wish her
to remain on life-support.”

I stared at her open-mouthed, my heart skipping
beneath my chest.

Joanne reached forward and gently grasped my
forearm. “While I realize this is all very…difficult for you, I’ve
been asked to discuss possible organ donation. Whenever you’re
ready, of course.”

Too stunned to respond, I yanked my arm away. I
couldn’t allow my head to go there yet. It was too much for me to
process all at once.

After asking to see my sister, I was escorted to her
side in the ICU. I barely recognized her, though it was less about
the changes she’d undergone since I last saw her three years ago
when she was only twelve. Kim’s face, her entire head it seemed,
had ballooned. She barely looked human let alone like my baby
sister. Her features were swollen, stretched, and exaggerated; the
skin rippled like citrus fruit, and colored to a deep
purplish-black. And her hair was still bloodied and matted against
her skull. I wondered why they hadn’t yet bothered to clean her
up.

I forced myself to breathe as I reached down and
lifted Kim’s hand. Her skin was warm, her veins bulging blue
beneath the translucent skin. I cupped her hand to my face and
whispered as I stroked the inside of her wrist with my thumb,
urging her to open her eyes and turn toward my voice. But she
didn’t. She couldn’t hear me. She couldn’t feel me. And she never
would again. Her brain was dead, and no amount of medicine or
surgery would ever reverse that. It was hopeless. But I didn’t have
it in me to pull the plug. Not yet. I just sat there, rocking back
and forth, crying as a mélange of guilt, shame, and despair washed
over me like a storm cloud entombing a mountain.