She doesn’t.
When I reach the door, the nurses are still occupied with their work.
Weak, shaking, and in pain, I slink past the nurses station, slowly making my way down the hallway. The doors to the patient rooms don’t have windows, so I can’t see inside, but as I’m passing a room with a door painted bright yellow and numbered nine, the door opens suddenly and a doctor stands there.
He’s startled to see me, but I don’t pay attention to him.
I’m looking at the person lying on the bed in the room beyond.
It’s Cole.
I only recognize him because of his hands, lying still on the bed, and his father, who’s seated in a chair beside him.
Cole’s head has been shaved. A ragged black line of stitches snakes down the left side of his face, temple to jaw. A tube is stuck down his throat and hel
