UnWholly (Unwind Dystology 2)

An hour of waiting with no word. Kiana’s been pacing, no matter how much Risa tells her to calm down, but perhaps being nervous just plays into their cover story. Finally the same nurse comes out into the waiting room. The woman is slightly teary-eyed, and Risa feels a pit in her stomach, as if Dylan, who she didn’t know before today, really is her brother.

“Honey, I’m afraid the news isn’t good. You’re going to have to prepare yourself.”

Risa grips the wheels of her chair, feeling a well of emotion beginning to bubble from deep inside her. Kiana puts her head in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse says, “but your brother was just too badly injured. We did everything we could. . . .”

Risa just looks at her in disbelief and shock. The nurse puts her hand on Risa’s, patting it gently. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now, but we’re going to have to notify your parents. We’ve been trying, but no one picks up at the numbers you gave us. Do you have any other way of contacting them?”

Risa, her hair dangling in front of her face, shakes her head.

“Well then,” says the nurse, “we’ll have to keep trying. In the meantime, if there’s anyone else you can call . . .”

“Can you give us a few moments?” Risa asks quietly.

“Of course, dear.” The nurse squeezes her hand reassuringly and goes back through the emergency room doors, where Dylan’s body waits to be claimed by parents that don’t exist. Risa wipes her tears away, trying to find comfort in the fact that she did the best that she could.

And then Kiana says, “It’s just like the other times.”

That makes Risa look up, and something occurs to her. She wonders how similar it is.

“Kiana . . . you do know we’re supposed to go to a different hospital each time, right?”

By the look on Kiana’s face, Risa can tell she never learned that particular protocol. “Shouldn’t it be the closest hospital in an emergency?” Kiana asks.

The sudden dread that Risa feels is balanced with an equal amount of hope. “The other times you were here, did you see that same nurse?”

“I think so. At least once. That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Yes and no. I’ll be back.”

Risa rolls herself toward the AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL doors and pushes her way through. She finds herself in a hallway that’s more starkly lit and even less inviting than the waiting room.

While hundreds of people flow through an emergency room, there aren’t many teenage kids with parents who mysteriously can’t be reached, and whose “siblings” vanish upon pronouncement of death. This nurse must have recognized Kiana—there is no question in Risa’s mind. Which means there’s more than one level of deception here.

“Excuse me,” someone says from farther down the hall, “you’re not supposed to be in here.”

But Risa doesn’t care. She rolls into a large room marked RECOVERY. It’s subdivided by curtains into cubicles with hospital beds, and she begins to pull back each curtain one by one. An empty bed. An old woman. Another empty bed, and finally, Dylan Ward. His wound has been dressed; an IV leads into his arm. He’s unconscious, but a monitor shows a steady heartbeat. He’s anything but dead.

Just then the nurse comes up behind Risa and turns her chair around. The woman is nowhere near as teary-eyed as before.

“You need to leave right now, or I’ll call security.”

Risa locks the brake, so the chair can’t be wheeled away. “You told me he was dead!”

“And you told me he was your brother.”

“We’re taking him and leaving,” Risa says, with authority enough in her voice to make it stick if she had any leverage whatsoever. Unfortunately, she doesn’t.

“He’s in no condition to travel—and even if he was, I would never turn an AWOL Unwind over to anyone but the Juvenile Authority.”

“Is that what you did with the others? Gave them to the Juvey-cops?”

“That’s my business,” the nurse tells her, as cold as can be.

“At least give me the courtesy of knowing if the other two are still alive.”

The nurse looks at her hatefully, then says, “They’re alive. But probably in a divided state by now.”