Page 129 of Lock Every Door

“And Leslie? Dr. Wagner?”

“Our Mrs. Evelyn is a believer in the Bartholomew’s mission,” Nick says. “Her late husband benefitted from a heart transplant during my father’s tenure. When he died—years later than was expected, I might add—she offered to keep things running smoothly. And, of course, she’ll be first in line if she should ever need my services. As for Dr. Wagner, he’s simply a surgeon. A damn good one who lost his license more than twenty years ago after showing up for surgery drunk. My father, in need of assistance due to growing demand, made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“I pity you,” I tell Nick. “I pity you, and I hate you, although not as much as you hate yourself. Because you do. I’m sure of it. You’d have to in order to do what you’re doing.”

Nick pats my leg. “Nice try. But guilt trips don’t work on me. Now take your pills.”

He grabs the paper cup and holds it out to me. I have just enough strength to knock it out of his hand. The cup drops to the floor, the pills bouncing into the corners.

“Please, Jules,” Nick says with a sigh. “Don’t become a problem patient. We can make the rest of your time here comfortable or extremely unpleasant. It’s up to you.”

He leaves quickly after that, letting the pills remain on the floor. The cleanup job falls to Jeannette, who enters the room a minute later dressed in the same purple scrubs and gray cardigan she wore when we first spoke in the basement.

She places new pills on the tray. When she bends down to pick up the ones on the floor, her cigarette lighter slips from her pocketand joins them. Jeannette curses under her breath before scooping it all up.

“Take the pills or get the needle again,” she says while shoving the lighter back into her pocket. “Your choice.”

It’s not much of a choice, considering they share the same purpose, which is more than to simply ease my pain.

It’s sedation.

Sustained weakness.

So when it comes time for the next donation, I’ll go quietly, without fuss.

Staring at the pills, those two tiny eggs in a white-paper nest, I can’t help but think of my parents. They, too, had a choice—to continue fighting a battle they had no chance of winning or to willingly wrap themselves in the sweet embrace of nothingness.

Now I face a similar decision. I can fight back and inevitably lose, making what little time I have left, to use Nick’s words, extremely unpleasant. Or I can make the same choice my parents did.

Give up.

Succumb.

No more pain. No more problems. No more worry and heartache and constant wondering about Jane’s fate. Just a deep, painless slumber in which my family waits for me.

I turn to their photo on the bedside table, their faces crisscrossed by cracks in the glass.

Shattered frame. Shattered family.

I look at them and know which choice to make.

I grab the paper cup and tip itback.

FOUR DAYSLATER

48

They keep the door closed. It’s also locked from the outside. During my rare bouts of wakefulness, I hear the click of the lock before anyone enters. Which is often. People are always coming and going. A veritable parade stomping through my drug-induced slumber.

First up is Dr. Wagner, who checks my vitals and gives me my pills and a breakfast smoothie. I dutifully put the pills in my mouth. I don’t touch the smoothie.

Next are Jeannette and Bernard, who wake me with their chatter while they change my bandages, replace the catheter, swap out the IV bag. From their conversation, I gather that this is a small operation. Just the two of them, Nick, Dr. Wagner, and a night nurse who’s in big trouble after I managed to slip out unnoticed.

There are apparently three patient rooms, all of them currently occupied—a rarity, to hear Jeannette tell it. I’m in one. Greta’s in another. The third is occupied by Mr. Leonard, who only days ago received a new heart.

Although they never mention Dylan by name, I know where that heart came from. Just thinking about it beating inside frail and ancient Mr. Leonard’s stitched-up chest makes me shove a fist in my mouth to keep from screaming.

When I do eventually fall asleep again, it’s with tears in my eyes.

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