Untitled

Chapter 1

People tend to work in a lot of different ways. I don't mean your sort of job; of course not everyone aspires to be a dentist or a florist or maybe a wedding planner if they like that sort of thing. I mean that everyone's mind works differently, and every pair of eyes sees in its own unique way; they may even filter out what they don't want to see if they really mean business. My sorts of eyes are those that look too far into the future and fear what they might do to ruin their chances of getting there; they pick out flaws and cracks in the surface, and a lot of times they have trouble slowing down long enough to really enjoy what is in front of them.

I guess that I should be focusing more on the tiny good things, like how I passed my math test this morning or how a nice stranger just held open a door for me- but it's hard to focus on the tiny good things when you spend every afternoon in the Intensive Care Unit of a pediatric hospital waiting for your father to be done with his work. I tuck a piece of blonde hair behind my right ear as I find myself standing in the lobby of the quaint Carnation Children's Hospital, pretty women in scrubs milling about, greeting parents and their children as they enter through the large whimsically painted doors.

I smile at a little girl that I pass; she wears her blonde curls in pigtails and looks crestfallen as she hangs onto her mother's hand; I suspect an unwilling candidate for a set of Kindergarten shots. My boots make loud clicking noises as I weave through groups of people, grinning at little ones and touching worried mothers so briefly on the shoulders that they don't have time to notice who's been there, only that someone cares. I wish for a moment that a person would do that for me, but I shrug it away and keep walking.

I nearly trip and fall over the feet of a man sitting in a chair just before the double doors that lead to the elevators; he bellows and shakes his fist at me, and I sheepishly purse my lips, careful not to let my teeth show. I really hate my teeth. I rush into the nearest elevator, punching the button labeled 7. It takes me a minute to realize I'm not alone, and when I do, I can't help but smiling a full, gaping smile, despite my insecurities.

"Back again?" the woman standing behind me asks, and I laugh and hug her tightly around the waist. Her face is rosy, especially her cheeks, and a handful of freckles is splashed across the bridge of her small, pointed nose. Her eyes are pale blue and washed out since her lashes are blonde as her hair, but she has a natural beauty that I envy. The scrubs she wears are a pastel shade of pink and little puppies and kittens chase each other among the wrinkles in the fabric; she tugs at the edges of them, which is a habit I've noticed she has.

"Morning, Courtney," I say, and the right side of her mouth quirks downward when I do. There are dark bags under her eyes and a touch of unintended bitterness on her voice when she replies,

"Things are fine." We both know that isn't true, so it doesn't really matter that she's lying so blatantly. I'm not even sure why she tries to sugar coat things anymore- a job in the ER isn't sunshine and rainbows. I look to the clear little screen above the rows of numbers, and seeing that we're on floor three, I've wasted enough time.

I can sense Courtney watching me as I dig through the brown leather purse slung over my shoulder. I extract a teddy bear so soft it's like holding a cloud- I picked it special from the toy store on the other side of town. I turn to look at the terse-faced woman with a blonde ponytail behind me, and her face suddenly softens, and I'm hugging her before I know I am. She presses her face against my neck, gives my forehead a quick peck, and then she is gone out the elevator doors.

I flick hair from my eyes, taking a deep breath and stepping into the lobby of floor seven. This is where they keep the really sick people, the terminally ill. Today I know who I'll visit, so I head down the hallway with rooms 200-215. A nurse passes me with makeup streaked down her face, and I know where she came from. Emme has a way of screwing with people's emotions without knowing it.

I almost don't notice him, but once I see him I can't look away. His unruly brown hair is tucked into a red knit beanie, and he wears a large grey sweater, jeans that are a little too tight, and canvas shoes. I've seen him here a thousand times, and though I have no idea who he is, he still gives me butterflies. He shuffles his feet across the tile floor, cupping some kind of steaming drink in his hands, and I try not to stare as he gets closer and closer.

There is a moment when I look away, trying not to be suspicious, and then suddenly I'm slamming into something solid, my nose making a crunching noise. I've run straight into a door that has suddenly swung open, and the guy in the jeans that are a little too tight is laughing at me- hysterically laughing. I stumble backwards, my fingers plastered over my throbbing nose, which I'm sure is more bright red than usual. Picking up the pace, I try to ignore the echoing laughter still coming from the boy and the worried murmurs from whomever nearly knocked me out cold.

I make it to room 204 faster than I think I ever have, slinging my purse onto a chair by the bathroom and making my way over to the large and uncomfortable looking hospital bed. Lying delicately with her blonde curls spilling around her small head is little Emme, her fists closed tightly around the sheets, which are drawn tight up to her chin. She's out cold, the heart monitor at her bedside beeping loudly, in sync with the rising and falling of her chest. Her features are gaunt and hollow, and I know she can't weigh more than fifty pounds. She is the tiniest eight year old human being that I've ever seen.

I tuck the teddy bear under Emme's skinny arm, gingerly doing so by lifting her thin left wrist. She doesn't stir, only takes a deep breath and continues sleeping. A single tear slips down my cheek, but I shake my head, convinced I won't cry today. It's only when I turn on my heel to leave that I realize what is missing; I frantically trace my fingers over both of Emme's wrists, feel her neck underneath the smallest hospital gown anyone could find that still swallows her tiny figure- it is gone.

This is about the time I lose it.

I'm sprinting full out into the hallway now, my head jerking in all directions, scanning wildly for anyone nearby. My palms are sweating; my head is spinning; who would dare do this to Emme? Who would rob a sweet, innocent, terminally ill eight year old girl of something so dear to her? I'm not sure if I'm yelling as I do it, but I round the corner- and I see him. He's leaning against the wall, the cup of steaming beverage in his right hand, his left tucked into his pocket. He looks so nonchalant that it makes me sick- and gleaming, clearly visible on his bare neck, is the diamond cross on the gold chain.

In the few seconds it takes him to notice my seething figure, I'm grabbing his shoulders and shoving him hard, and he slams back against the wall entirely. His drink goes flying, spattering brown liquid all over the white tile floor. I'm so close to his face, I can smell the coffee and cigarette smoke on his breath, and without a second thought, I snatch the necklace from where it rests lazily on his collarbone. He shouts something at me, but the blood pounding in my ears keeps me from comprehending it.

I'm halfway to Emme's hospital room when I'm suddenly twisting around and falling backwards; before I can blink I am on my back, my hair splayed out around me, and the boy with the breath that smells of coffee has pinned me down.

"What the heck is your problem?!" he shouts at me, and I scoff in disgust.

"You're the one that took her necklace, you worthless-"

"Excuse me?" he insists, one eyebrow higher than the other.

"Don't play dumb with me, you're gonna pawn that necklace, or sell it, or something!" It's a wonder no one has come into the hallway to investigate our screaming. I can feel my eyes get round as dinner plates as he hisses in reply,

"She's my sister."

It takes a great effort, but I shove the boy off of me, rolling over with a grunt onto my side before sitting up, shaking blondish hair from my eyes. He brushes himself off and stands up, towering menacingly over me, his gray eyes hard and unforgiving.

"By the way, I'm Cliff- and I don't ever want to see you again."