Part Four

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

I rub a hand over my face and sigh, using my fingertips to press my eyelids closed. When I blink again, my vision is a bit spotty. I make a mental note to order in something to eat. I look back down at Stacy's chart, wondering if somehow I'd read it wrong. Nope.

"Damnit," I mutter. Green looks up from where she'd rested her head on the desk. She unfolds her arms from underneath her.

"What is it?" She asks. I flash her the paper, folding it over my hand quickly before returning it back to my gaze.

"The serotonin's blown," I say. Green lifts her head.

"What?" She asks. "How? I thought you removed the acetylcholinesterase?"

"I did," I say, a low growl at the base of my throat.

"Then—"

"I don't know Green," I say, my eyes rereading the chart again. I sigh, eventually setting the chart back down. I rub a hand over my eyes again. "Let's go." I say, standing from my chair. Greens eyebrows knit together.

"Where?" She asks. I hold the door open and nod out to the hall. She stretches as she stands.

"To go tell Stacy," I say grimly, and she follows me out of the lab. She shakes her head when we reach the stairs, turning away from them to take the elevator instead. The doors close, and I sigh.

"It's a sin," Green says. I glance half-heartedly to her.

"No one said we were God's," I point out. She looks solemn. We turn back into the hallway once the doors open.

"But you're right," I admit. She looks up at me. We stop just in front of Stacy's room, the blinds are drawn. I sigh and look to Green.

"Any chance you want to tell her?" I ask, and she half-laughs.

"Do I have a choice?" She jokes weakly. I smile and nudge her inside.

"Come on," I say. When we go through the doorway, Kelly is asleep in the chair, bundled in a hoodie.

"She just fell asleep," A tired voice murmurs. I glance to Stacy, who lays in her bed looking pale and sluggish. Her eyes are worn and sunken. She winces as she pushes herself further up on the pillows stacked behind her head. She nods towards me. "So, am I still dying or what?" She asks. I try to ignore how pessimistic she's become, but that's been noted down as one of her symptoms. I shake my head and sit on the edge of the bed.

"Not that I know of," I say and smile warmly to her. She shrugs. "But, Stacy, there is something else I need to talk to you about." I say. She visibly deflates.

"What now?" She whines, her eyes looking pained as she sinks back into her bed.

"I'm prescribing you twenty milligrams of fluoxetine," I say. She looks from me to Green.

"What is that?" She asks.

"It's an antidepressant," I tell her. Her jaw drops. She half-laughs.

"You're joking, right?" She asks, shock evident on her face. I shake my head and move my hand to curl my fingers over hers.

"I'm not," I say. "Stacy for some reason, your serotonin has been decreasing quite rapidly and frankly it's very worrying as your doctor, especially if you begin exhibiting any anxietal symptoms." I explain.

"And I have?" She asks, her jaw slack and her eyes incredulous. I nod.

"We believe it started with the impulse disorder you developed," I say. She scoffs, pulling away from my hand.

"This is ridiculous, I don't have depression," She says.

"Yes you do," I insist. "I've had a psych consult and we've determined that from the dramatic decreases in your serotonin, putting you on medication is the most reliable option to ensure your health." I say. "To prevent any other disorders and casualties."

"Ensuring my health would be getting rid of my damn tumor," She mutters. I sigh, feeling a small pang at her irritability. I stand from the bed and nod to Green, it's her cue to leave. She puts her head down as she slips back out into the hall. I look back down at Stacy, who's turned away from me onto her side, facing the wall.

"I'm gonna have a nurse stationed on you at all times," I say.

"Why not just call me crazy," I hear her mumble, then I leave before I can do any more damage, even though lately it feels like that's all I've been doing. I think back to something my Grandfather had said. That there's no use fixing something that's already broken.

But I can sure as hell try.

I don't feel like talking to my Grandfather when I go home that night, so instead I make myself a turkey sandwich and bring it down to my room. Lucky for me, however, my Grandfather picked up an extra shift at the grocery store, so he won't even be here until about nine.

I do what I've always done when my Grandfather isn't around. I take a small box from underneath my bed, and I shift through the pictures in it. One of my Mom holding me as a baby. One of my parents kissing in the disclosed space her pregnant stomach had allowed. I smile, allowing my fingers to trail along the frayed edge of the photograph. She was beautiful, my Mother. Long blonde hair and green eyes.

There's a lot of pictures that have my Grandfather in them, mostly with my parents, then there's one of him and I; he's holding onto my chubby baby hands and smiling. In the picture my smile is gummy and I'm standing on his feet. The picture underneath this is one of my Mother and I.

We're both lying on our side; her feet are tucked underneath her and her arms are crossed on the sheets of the mattress. Her hair is long and strewn out on the pillow messily. Next to her, curled in a ball against her stomach, is me. My chin is tucked into my chest and my forehead rests on her torso. This is my favourite one. We're neither smiling or frowning. We're just sleeping. We're just simply existing.

Twisting the photograph between my fingers so I can see the back, I trace my finger along the date. It's written in sharpie, but it's faded and a bit hard to read, having worn with age.

'June 7th, Elle's first nap at home' It reads. As always, I feel as though I've stopped breathing and my hands are slightly clammy, rubbing away at the ink when I trace over it again.

I know my worst regret is not having been able to have as much time with them as I should have. And when I look at the picture more, that's how I know it will be Kelly's too.

I'm slumped in one of the chairs leaning against the wall in Stacy's room. Kelly is sleeping again, looking like she's shrinking more and more each time I see her. A soft knock comes from the doorway. I turn my head, uncrossing my arms from around my stomach. I sit straighter.

"Dr. Blake," I say. He nods, looking at Stacy as he pulls a chair in from the hall and sits down next to me. I shift again as he does, settling into a lazier position. He rests his elbows on his knees, holding his face in his cupped hands.

"I heard you got her put on meds," He murmurs gently, sending me a mild glance. I nod, rolling out my shoulders as I look back at him.

"Yeah, her serotonin hasn't levelled since we discontinued the use of acetylcholinesterase," I explain. "She just needs something to give her enough of a boost until it straightens itself out." I say. Dr. Blake nods.

"Fascinating," He whispers. I turn to him, my eyebrows knitted together. He looks awed, eyes wide as he watches Stacy's sleeping form.

"Dr. Blake?" I say again. He hums. "Do you have any idea why her serotonin keeps dropping?" I ask. He turns his head to meet my eyes and shrugs.

"Nope," He says, seemingly dissociated. "Have you done any kind of tests?" He asks. I nod, sinking further back into my chair until my head hits the wall.

"Yeah," I say. "They're all just telling me the same thing though." I admit with a sigh, but I catch it when I see Kelly turning over in the small chair she pressed herself against. I find myself looking at Kelly more. Will she keep a shoebox too? Pictures Stacy took or someone else, all labeled with different meaning?

The world is full of firsts, and sometimes you're lucky enough to capture them. And then sometimes you aren't as lucky, and they only exist in your memory, subconscious or not.

"And what is that?" Dr. Blake asks me. I roll my head along the wall to meet his eyes. I sigh faintly.

"That I have no idea what I'm doing." I say.

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

When I take Green in for rounds a week later, Stacy is lying fatigued. There are heavy bags under her eyes and her skin looks cold to the touch. She keeps trying to throw her blanket onto the floor, much to the dismay of Kelly, who keeps trying to tuck it around her.

"Mom please, you have a fever," She attempts, breath catching as Stacy begins thrashing. She ducks and drops the blanket when Stacy aims a wailing arm at her.

"Hey!" I turn to wave nurses into the room to restrain Stacy down to the bed. She begins screaming when I look back at her, meeting her eyes only briefly before she whips back around and grabs tight onto Kelly's arm, who yelps and tries to pry at Stacy's fingers. I step back from the doorway to allow the nurses past me and follow them into the room, my first priority aimed on Kelly. Stacy lets go of Kelly once she spots the restraints the nurses are holding.

"No!" She whines and swats at one of the nurses, bruising her lip, and hits at Green. I duck under one of the nurse's arms to pull Kelly away from Stacy's bedside. I bend down and look her up and down, her eyes teary and face red.

"Anything hurt?" I ask, patting around her legs. She whimpers and holds her wrist out to me. It's bruised heavily, sporting black and blue. "Okay can you move it?" I ask. She looks down at her hand and tries to roll out her wrist before her breath hitches.

"No…" She whimpers. I nod.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do,"

"Doctor."

"You're gonna go with Dr. Green, and she's gonna take an X-Ray so we can see if there's anything too serious."

"Dr. Chambers," The nurse says again. I turn my face over my shoulder, looking up from where I'd crouched with Kelly.

"What?" I almost snap. The nurse gestures to the bed.

"Have you seen this?" She asks. I look to the other nurse's, noticing for the first time they all wear masks over their faces. I look beside me, where the blanket was thrown off in Stacy's struggle. I stand, pulling Kelly behind me and passing her to Green, who in turn hands me a face mask. I loop it around my ears and pull a pair of gloves from my pocket, snapping them around my wrists.

My eyes widen as I reach the bedside. The rash Stacy had across her calf has spread at least three times in size. It now covers most of her shin and stretches up to her kneecap. It's red and swollen and my God it looks painful. Even just the margins of the rash look awful; dotting her skin purple and black between scabs of puss. Carefully I take my two hands and press them on the skin surrounding the rash, Stacy winces slightly. Glancing quickly to her, I move closer and begin applying pressure.

I can feel the heat of her skin through the linoleum of my glove. I pull off my left glove and hold it in my hand.

"Excuse me," I say to one of the nurse's and step to the head of the hospital bed. I place the back of my hand on Stacy's forehead. She exhales lowly. I purse my lips and eye the nurse beside me. "She has a fever, get antibiotics and give her fluids, I'll be back." I take off my other glove, handing them off to the nurse who stood beside me, then I turn on my heel, and I leave.

I find Green and Kelly sitting across the hall from Stacy's room. Kelly's arm has been put into a brace, and Green has an open suture kit in front of her. My eyebrows knit together as I crouch in front of Kelly.

"Did you get a cut too?" I ask. She shakes her head, her hands shoved between her thighs.

"I did," Green says. When I finally look to her, I can now see her black eye and I wince. She points to the cut in her eyebrow. "Can you sew me up?" She asks. I nod and pull a chair close so I can sit, then lift up the suture kit and place it in my lap. I put on a new pair of gloves Green holds out to me and lift the syringe to numb the area around her eye. She closes her eyes as I do so, then I place the syringe in a plastic baggie and lay it back on the suture kit. She opens her eyes after to watch as I thread the needle. I glance to Green before I start, and she nods.

I hover the needle above her eyebrow, the cut of which she'd already cleaned. I thread the needle down through her skin and begin stitching. Kelly is watching me as I work, Green smiles at her out of the corner of her eye.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Kelly asks, squirming in her chair, a pale tint on her face. Green shakes her head.

"Nah," She says. I nudge her leg with my knee.

"Stay still," I grumble. She winks to me with her good eye before looking sideways back at Kelly.

"She gave me something to numb it, so it really doesn't hurt, it just feels like a bit of pressure," Green explains.

"Pressure?" Kelly asks.

"A little bit like a headache," Green says. Kelly nods. I quirk a bit of a smile as I cut the thread.

"Done," I say. Green goes up to touch at it but I swat her hand away.

"Aye!" I say sharply. She frowns and places her hand back in her lap. "Good. Go get some ice." I say. Green nods with a small smile and stands from her chair, letting me push back further into the hall. I watch her leave the hallway and then turn back to Kelly, who only looks to the brace climbing up her forearm.

"Kelly are you okay to stay by yourself? I can call someone if you don't want to go back in with your Mom right now," I offer. She shakes her head.

"No it's okay," She says with a small shrug. "I called my aunt so she's on her way." She tells me. I nod.

"Okay, I'm going to go now," I say, then wait a few slow seconds before I slowly start rising out of my chair. She actually does seem okay, but I can always observe her from afar. Moreover, the new thing I have to worry about is Stacy's rash.

When I'm paged by one of the nurse's saying Green is taking Stacy up for a CT, I reach to page Green. After she directs her page back to me, telling me to meet her at the scan, I take a last fleeting look at my research before I leave the lab.

I go in and sit beside Green, who has her elbow propped up on the table and her hand folded beneath her chin. Her eye looks better, not as swollen, and she's probably put makeup over top of it. She glances up as I walk in.

"Hey," She says, eyes trailing me as I sit in the chair beside her, pulling myself nearer to the monitor.

"Hey," I echo, watching through the glass to where Stacy lays in the CT. "Why'd you call for a CT?" I ask. Green shrugs.

"I don't know, she just seems like she's getting worse, and Kelly was telling me about how delirious Stacy's been often." Green explains, leaning back comfortably in her chair.

"So what are you looking for?" I ask her. Green shrugs again, she does that a lot.

"I was just thinking that maybe her Schizoid could have been overwhelmed into something bigger," She says. I nod and smile.

"Nice job, Green," I tell her. "You call psych?"

"Yeah—just before you got here, actually—they said they'd be here in about fifteen minutes," Green tells me. I nod and lean back in my chair, mirroring Green, linking my fingers together as I rest my hands in my lap.

"I can't believe we did this," I sigh, hanging my head over the back of the chair. Green glances to me.

"What do you mean?" She asks. I look at her, feeling more ashamed in myself than anything. I lift my head and nod to Stacy.

"Look at her, Green," I say. "She's been restrained who knows how many times now. She's attacked her daughter at least twice. She's attacked multiple hospital staff. She has a personality disorder and an impulse disorder. And now we may have given her schizophrenia." I say. Green is silent. When I glance to her, she's gnawing on her lip. "All just to save her from cancer." This time it's Green that sighs.

"We didn't do anything, technically," She says. I roll my eyes.

"Green," I sigh.

"The drug is what did all the work," She argues, and when I raise an eyebrow, she shrugs again.

"Even though we were the ones who manufactured it?" I contrast. There's mild silence again.

"Dr. Chambers, do you ever fantasize the idea that one day, all we ever did here will be forgotten?" When I glance to her again, she only lets her eyes rest on mine for a second before she turns her head back to look in the CT. She sighs lightly. "I guess nothing really matters."

Chapter Thirty:

Stacy has necrotizing fasciitis.

Same as Mr. Garcia.

And my two other inpatients, as a result of their weakened immunity.

For now it seems stable. At least after we had transferred them all to isolation, and loaded them with antibacterias to try and relieve the disease before considering any drastic action; surgery or worse, amputation of the limb.

Necrotizing fasciitis is a flesh eating disease that grows from bacteria. It infects the flesh, skin, fat, and muscle. Anyone with as much as a scrape is restricted from even being in the rooms of the isolated patients. Stacy and Mrs. Jameson, one of my other patients, have both been reported to have schizophrenia. Mr. Garcia has been diagnosed with severe paranoia. My fourth patient has an extreme impulsivity disorder and has necrotizing fasciitis across his chest, exposing his ribcage. He's become our top priority in the necrotizing fasciitis case; if the disease rots through any more flesh on his chest it could reach heart tissue; which of course, means I have to step back from my three other cases, including Stacy's, no matter how personal I've made them for myself.

And to be honest, I think I'm losing my mind. Because I've tried everything. I've ran every test I can think of. I've laboured my interns to the point of exhaustion, and I'm still no closer to where I was when we started the trial.

Other than the acetylcholinesterase, there's no other explanation for the bad results, at least nothing I've found. I'm failing. I'm driving myself crazy. And all I'm doing is moving further and further to the point of no return.

I'm closely monitoring my fourth inpatient, Jason Parkis, switching between him and Stacy. His chest has been wrapped in plastic, not only to attempt to hold in his heart if worst comes to worst, but also to prevent any extra bacteria that could seep in through the isolation, especially since the bacteria is already in his system. I sigh and look out to the hall. Dr. Blake told me he'd put him in a medically induced coma until the necrotizing fasciitis had been cleared, but was still able to continue his chemotherapy as a part of the trial.

I can't say I'm not nervous. Maybe the patients' paranoia is getting to me. It can't be me. It can't be ZEDD.. I hear footsteps lightly padding against the hospital tile and look up from where I'm charting, seeing Kelly walking down the hall with a baby, probably her youngest cousin. I wave to her and smile when she catches my eye. She comes into the room, the baby gurgling in her odd hold. She almost hesitates upon entry, but I give her a small nod, and she steps in the stand beside my chair. She looks from me to Jason Parkis.

"Can I go look?" She asks, and I hum as a response, setting the chart in my lap to stretch my arms above my head. Kelly looks to me before she walks to the edge of the plastic isolation barrier and peers in at Jason.

"Oh, oh my God," She says, turning back to me, nose scrunched and eyes wide. I laugh when I see she's covering the baby's eyes. "You can see right into his chest." She stresses. I nod.

"That's what the virus does," I say, laying my arm across the back of my chair to scratch the back of my neck. Kelly look to me sideways. "It kills your skin, your flesh, pretty much everything except the bone." I say. Kelly shudders and glances back to Jason before she gags.

"That's way too gross," She says and looks down at the baby. "Don't tell Aunt Mel." She warns. The baby doesn't react, though I don't think either of us were expecting a reaction. I smile.

"How's you Mom?" I ask her. She shrugs and walks away from Jason's bubble.

"Bitchy," She says, then a quick "sorry" when she sees my face.

"Can you come see her?" She asks after a minute of silence. I bite my lip, technically I wouldn't get in trouble, because I'm technically my own boss. Besides, it's not like Jason is going anywhere anytime soon, so I nod.

"Sure," I say with a smile, and close the chart I'm working on and stick my pen in the pocket of my white coat. Then I stand, and my knotted hair hat rested along my shoulders falls out to my back. Kelly's eyes widen when she turns back to check I'm following.

"Woah…" She says. "Why is your hair so long?" She asks. I grin and draw a few strands over my shoulder.

"I like it," I tell her. "And my Grandfather told me that hair is symbolic of your personal strengths and creates stronger bonds between your reality and your spirituality." I say.

"Oh," She says, and moves the baby onto her left hip when we walk into Stacy's room. Melanie sits in one of the chairs, her other two boys sitting against the isolation bubble. Stacy sits cross legged on her bed watching the two boys. She looks up when we come in.

"Eleonora!" She says with enthusiasm, and I smile. It reminds me of when I first met her. At least when I wasn't killing her from the inside out. Maybe the isolation is working. Or maybe even just stunted the depolarization long enough for her brain to begin to start to fix itself. Either way, it's a chance I'm willing to expand on.

I see Dr. Blake observing Mr. Garcia when I go to check on him and his wife. Dr. Blake is speaking with him under his breath, but looks over his shoulder when I clear my throat. Dr. Blake smiles, and more often, that smile is beginning to sicken me.

"Chambers! Perfect timing—may I have a word?" He says, talking quickly in his exhilaration. I nod, fumbling with Mr. Garcia's chart as I look to Mrs. Garcia. Dr. Blake comes away from the bubble and places his hand on my lower back. It makes me shiver, but I let him lead me into the hall. When he does, he places his hold on my arms instead, facing me.

"This is incredible," Dr. Blake says, enticing excitement. My jaw goes slack.

"Is he getting better?" I ask, craning my neck to look over my shoulder at the couple. Their hands rest against each others on the plastic barrier of the isolation bubble, just almost touching. Mrs. Garcia's eyes are closed, and Mr. Garcia is speaking to her. When I look back to Dr. Blake he's shaking his head.

"No—"

"What?" I ask, trying to worm my way out of his hold, not understanding my own unease with the man. "You said it was going incredible." He shakes his head again.

"No, not him—the research," Dr. Blake rephrases, beaming. "Chambers it's, it's fantastic!" He exclaims. I shake my head.

"It's not fixing anything," I protest.

"Yes, I know that, but think of these studies, these reactions!" He says, leading me further down the hall. "Have you looked to study the recent brain activities?" He asks. I shake my head.

"No sir, I've just been monitoring them, keeping an eye on the necrotizing fasciitis," I say. Blake beams.

"Even that!" He exclaims. "Can't you see how extraordinary this whole ordeal is?" He asks in a whisper. I shake my head.

"All I'm doing is making them worse," I say again. Dr. Blake stops again, in front of my lab.

"No, you aren't," He says. "Chambers, the tumors are shrinking." My jaw drops open.

"What?" I ask. He nods and pushes the door open to my lab, steering me inside. My eyes widen. All over the walls are brain scans, MRI pictures, CT scans, X-Rays, everything. I look back around to Dr. Blake.

"You're brain mapping," I realize. He nods and presses a button on the desk. The lights go out, and a holographic image of a pulsating brain appears in the middle of the room. Above it I can see a small heading. I look to Dr. Blake as I point. "Is that?"

"Stacy's brain," He confirms. He uses the small touchpad he holds to navigate through her brain. "Just look at this; her brain is creating new neural pathways all through the prefrontal lobe." He sets the touchpad down and skips past me.

"And look at this," He says, holding two scans side by side. "This was Stacy's tumor when we started," He tells me, pointing around the scan, where it's invasive in the majority of the frontal lobe, and invading the temporal lobe. "And this, was three hours ago." He points to the second one. He's right. My unease with the man flickers away, replacing itself with quick hopefulness.

The neurological structure of Stacy's temporal lobe has been revised miraculously, and I can see splotches of missing neurotransmitters, but he's right. The tumor is no longer invading the temporal lobe, and has shrunk away from the orbital bone structure. I can't help it, I beam. And I want to cry. I'll just wait until he leaves, because he was right. Which means I was right.

Which means Stacy will be okay. She will get to live longer, and Kelly won't need to have a shoebox of firsts because Stacy will be there for them. Dr. Blake matches my wide grin with one of his own. He drops the scans, picking me up form around my waist and spinning me around in a hug. I yelp and cheer as he does until he sets me back on my feet. My face is flushed.

"We did it." I say. He grins and nods.

"We did," He confirms. "ZEDD. is revolutionary." He says, and it reminds me of my Grandfather; 'You're going to be revolutionary'. My smile widens again, looking at Dr. Blake, when just behind him, a sensor goes off. I blink, my eyebrow knits together, and Dr. Blake frowns as he watches my face.

"What's wrong?" He asks. I step around him to point at Stacy's brain.

"Is this a live feed of her brain?" I ask. He frowns again, turning, then he sees it just as I have. A sensor spiking from the brain, moving rapidly throughout her neurological pathways. When I look back at him, his face is draped in a paled fear.

"Page psych," He says before running out of the lab.

"What?" I ask, running after him, hearing screaming as I leave the labs doors. "What's happening?" I ask, turning the corner into Stacy's room. The blood drains from my face and I reach for my pager rapidly so I can contact psych and get Stacy transferred as soon as possible.

Stacy's hands have ripped through the isolation bubble, and the screaming comes from Kelly, who's watching as Stacy chokes Melanie.

Chapter Thirty-One:

Melissa and I are sitting on the roof of the house. Her head leans against my shoulder, and to be honest, it was the start of what I'd been fantasizing about for at least a year. But this is better. Somehow that's always true.

Fantasy is only what you wish something could be. Reality is so much better.

"Talk to me about the stars," Melissa murmurs into my ear, and my heart beats again. I swallow, and I point with my right hand, careful not to shift my leg so Melissa doesn't move. I point to the sky.

"See that one?" I ask and glance down to Melissa. She nods, the action nudging at a bug bite on my shoulder, which will soon start to itch. Damn.

"Yeah," She says airily.

"That's Andromeda," I say, benevolently rubbing my hand over the bug bite. "She's the daughter of Cepheus and Cassiopeia, and the wife of Perseus—he was the one who cut off Medusa's head in Greek mythology. Basically, Cassiope was bragging about Andromeda's beauty, so Poseidon sent a sea monster to destroy the kingdom and took Andromeda as a sacrifice. She was chained to a rock and Perseus rode in on a pegasus and saved her." I say.

"Her constellation is in the northern sky, one hour right ascension—that's the angular measurement along the equator from the constellation Aries—and forty degree north declination—the angular destination of north and south." I explain. Melissa points to where I was pointing.

"What about the one beside it?" She asks.

"Hmm?" I ask, trying to match her line of vision. She gestures with her hand.

"I don't know, it's kind of like a triangle,"

"Oh that's Triangulum. It's another Greek one, the seventy-eighth in size and belongs to the Perseus family of constellations," I say.

"Which ones are all in the family?" She asks.

"Perseus, Pegasus, Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Auriga, Cepheus, Cetus, and Lacerta," I recite, counting off on my fingers, and point back at Triangulum. "Triangulum was first named 'Deltoton', after the Greek symbol delta, and I'm pretty sure it was renamed by the Babylonians when they saw it in Andromeda." I say. Melissa hums contently against my shoulder, vibrating against my arm and making the hairs on my arms stand up. "It has a galaxy in it, about three million light years away." I say. Melissa looks up, glancing to me, then back to the constellation.

"Really?" She asks. I nod, looking back up at the sky. To be genuine, it's something I'll never get tired of. "Do you think there's any other people out there?" She asks. I shrug, moving my leg to the side when it begins to cramp.

"Probably," I say, sounding unsure to my own ears. "The universe is giant, and compared to that, we're basically nothing."

"That sounds perfect," Melissa mumbles, and sparks something at the back of my mind.

"Y'know," I say, not tearing my gaze from the sky. "There's something Jules and I would talk about all the time in the Bunker." I glance quickly to Melissa, who's let her legs dangle over the side of the roof. Then I look back up, charting Perseus, not too far from Andromeda. "We would come up with these Perfect Life's where we could just escape for a minute."

Perseus was a hero.

There are too many heroes. Melissa hums again from beside me.

"Did you have one?" She asks. I nod.

"Yeah," I breathe. "I dreamt about the stars."

"That sounds nice," She says, and leans further into my side. I nod, but I keep watching Perseus in the sky. Almost every hero had to kill to gain their status.

Why does that make them any different from the villains?

A day later, Sloane comes to find Melissa and I walking with Dean and Olive in the market. She smiles politely to us, but her gaze fixates on me. I swallow, suddenly a million thoughts circling my brain, all jumbled and swarming like a storm. When my eyes finally meet against hers, the tension in them loosens, almost as if she can sense my anxiety.

"This isn't about your sisters," She tells me, and almost immediately, I want to crumble. Thank God, I think as I hold onto Melissa's hand like it's a lifeline. She must notice, because she glances down to my tightening grip around her wrist. I hear her say my name, but it's out of focus. I blink and come back to Sloane, who stands patiently. Her face is stoic, but I suppose it's always like that. My next thought is Amara, but I doubt anything would have happened to her.

"Primus has requested you visit her again," Sloane tells me. I let out a slow breath of relief, though she had already told me my sisters weren't in any harm. I nod, swallowing down a shaky breath. I smile to Melissa as I let go of her hand and turn to follow Sloane.

"I'm sorry for not telling you straight away," Sloane says as she leads me to the tent, speaking over her shoulder.

"It's okay," I say automatically. Why is that? Why do we diminish our acceptance for others forgiveness just to say it's okay? Sloane looks back at me over her shoulder.

"No it isn't," She says, and I feel a bit of relief sag from my shoulders. "Amara said you had anxiety issues." I blush—is this becoming a thing now? Oh look at poor Oscar, he lived in the Bunker is whole life, now he has anxiety. It's embarrassing.

The curtains of the Commander's tent are drawn to the sides, opening the doorway. It's a little homey actually; welcoming. Sloane stops and stands in the doorway, nodding to me as I walk past her, ducking under the low beam of the entryway. I lead myself through the hallway back to the first room. I knock on the wood beside the scarf prohibiting my access.

"Come in, Oscar," The woman says, and I hesitantly pull back on the scarf, letting it sway back into place as I pass below it. Primus sits on her bed again, with a small leather book kept in hand. The writing is in Latin. She closes it when I step inside and smiles sincerely. I smile too, maybe just not as good as hers though, because then her face is blank, and she pats the place on the bed beside her. Hesitantly, I do, and the cot sinks a bit, elevating her. I look at her so not to be rude, and she's watching me quizzically. "How are you?" She asks. It's gentle, but it wasn't what I was expecting.

"What?" I ask. Primus smiles again.

"I asked how you were," She says. I flush and swallow, almost in an attempt to relieve the awkwardness of my shock. I shrug.

"Okay," I say, folding my hands between my thighs. Primus nods.

"Sleeping well?" She asks. When I cringe, she smiles knowingly.

"Nightmares," She says and sighs, looking down at the leather book. "I got those too." She places the book behind her. I shake my head.

"Nothing too bad," I say, but she doesn't seem to comply.

"About your family," She says, ignoring me. I cringe again and feel a slight tightness in my throat. I try to breathe past it. She looks at me and rests her hand on my shoulder, giving it a soothing pat. It's getting really hard not to cry, and I feel myself leaning further into her touch. I can't even remember the last time I hugged my Mother, and oh God those dreams—I bite down on my tongue and close my eyes. When I open them again, they don't feel so watery. I glance to Primus.

"Amara told you?" I guess. She nods.

"Anxiety isn't a foreign thing to us, Oscar," She says with a small smile. "You have to hold onto your strengths." She says. I nod, and she takes her hand off my shoulder, emerging satisfied. "Good."

"Thank you," I mutter. She nods.

"I understand it's difficult," She says. I look at her.

"You're really good at this," I say. The corner of her mouth tugs upwards.

"I was a doctor," She says.

"Were you still? After you moved here?" I ask. She considers, moving her head around.

"For a while," She tells me. "I taught others, but eventually, I picked up astronomy." I shake my head, feeling a bit disoriented.

"Really?" I ask. Primus nods.

"Yes," She nods. "Let me share something with you." She says. "The universe is full of people just trying to get by. They'll show you their tricks, and they'll tell you their lies. The sooner you learn that, the sooner you'll learn how to survive." She notes.

"The universe is still young, though, still learning, and still growing." She adds, then turns it back around to me. "Don't feel ashamed of your weaknesses. They're just a part of you, but they aren't the whole of you. You're just as much of the universe as it is of you." She says, and I nod, having recited my own speech to Juliette.

Made of carbon, nitrogen, iron, and gas.

Star stuff.

And stars are built to shine.

Chapter Thirty-Two:

I start my first day working in Eaden. Dean had invited me with him to work in the fields, and I complied. I'm mostly sure that it's because since my sisters and Amara left I've had nothing to do except hang out with Melissa, and recently she's found her own friends. He and I get into a pair of jeans (mine have been cleaned since we left the Bunker, courtesy of Dean) and loose shirts. We take a canteen of water to share between us, and he walks me to the edge of the fence where the fields reside. He ducks under the barbed wire, and I follow suit, only slower, because this isn't muscle memory yet and I don't want to get cut. When I step back up again, Dean has already begun striding through the field, and I jog to catch him.

"So what do we do?" I ask once falling into step beside him, following him to a small barn I hadn't known was there before. When we get inside he sets the canteen down and turns around, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're riding, I'm planting." He says, and I blank.

"What?" I ask. Dean grins and walks further into the barn. When he returns, he's leading a milky-brown horse behind him. He gestures to the horse with a smile.

"Oscar, meet Ace," He says. "He's been working in these fields almost thirteen years." He tosses me a rope and points behind me, where in the corner is a plow. "You get the easy job." He says with a grin. "For now." He leads Ace out into the fields and begins tying the plow around Ace's body.

"What does that mean?" I ask, trailing behind Dean and the horse.

"We'll switch halfway through, so you can learn the ropes," He tells me, glancing over his shoulder as he finishes the knot around Ace. He looks from me to Ace, nodding. I swallow, and go to stand beside him and the horse. "Do you need help to get up?" He asks, eyes glazing over mine. I nod sheepishly, standing almost head to toe with the horse.

"Never ridden before," I joke feebly as he comes around to stand beside me. He bends onto his one knee and cups his hands.

"Okay, step onto my hand, and I'm gonna push you up, but you're gonna want to put your whole body into it to make sure you really get up," He instructs. I nod, my heart beating wildly, no matter I'm nearly the same height as the animal. "Ready?" He asks. I exhale quickly and nod, facing Ace. I step on his hand, but not knowing what to do with my hands I just try and throw myself onto Ace—which I do, but then I fall off the other side.

I hit the ground with a small 'umph' and groan when I hear Dean chuckling, then he stands in front of me offering a hand.

"Newbies rarely get it on their first try," He says, and when I grab to his hand, he grins. "Let's try again."

After about an hour I've gotten used to riding, even though my hands are still sweating as a result of my nerves. I do the best I can that Dean told me to do; just try and walk the horse in a straight line, right up the field, so the plow can dig into the ground. Then he'll walk behind me, planting seeds into the ground, then kicking dirt back over them as he walks. It's calming. A little boring, but it's infinitely better than sitting around the house.

The nights aren't as bad, because at least I can watch the stars, though they never do change, and it's become a bit of a habit to spend every few nights sitting up late with Melissa.

When we first met each other when we were kids, I had a huge crush on her. Now not so much. I thought I still did, when we left the Bunker, but there's something about her now. Maybe since I've seen the whole picture; that she's grown into so much instead of what I'd imagined her to be. It doesn't mean I don't like her any less, just that now she's just a friend.

I guess that's another thing about the cutoff between fantasy and reality. Things are only ever how you want them, but only for so long.

When Dean and I switch halfway through the day, we pair with another partnering group. A Native American man with a furry mustache and smile lines. He wears a straw hat on his head, and a younger man stands beside him with a thick braid of long black hair. The younger man is shirtless. The older man smiles when he sees Dean from across the field.

"Get over here you old sack!" He yells, laughing broadly as Dean leads me over to the pair. Dean grins as he shakes the man's hand, leaving me to stray behind him. "Are they back yet?" He asks. Dean shakes his head.

"Not that we know of," He says. It's a moment before I realize they're talking about Amara and the Amazons. Dean then turns to me, pulling me into Black-Eyes vision. "This is Black-Eye, his daughter is an Amazon." He explains. Black-Eye raises a furry eyebrow at me.

"And who might you be?" He asks.

"Oscar, sir," I say, extending my hand for him to shake, feeling relieved when he takes it.

"Oscar, eh? Are you the boy Amara's been going around with lately?" He asks, glancing to Dean for confirmation, however all he needs his my slight flush. I nod.

"Yes, sir," I say. Black-Eye grins and drops my hand. He turns to the boy beside him and claps a hand on his shoulder before looking back to me.

"Oscar, this is my son Ethan," He introduces. Ethan smiles kindly and shakes my hand. "I suppose the two of ye' could do the planting?" He offers, glancing to Dean as he does. Dean nods.

"Sounds great," Dean says, looking to me. "Oscar and I were just about to switch up." He says, beginning to walk around to where Ace remains with the plow. He pulls himself into an upright position aimlessly and I feel a hint of jealousy as the tips of my ears turn red. When I turn back around, Black-Eye is up on his horse too; a black mare. Dean hands me the leather satchel of seed as he rides past and goes to ride beside Black-Eye.

I loop the satchel around so it rests at my hip and look across me to Ethan, who has already begun walking behind them, dropping pinches of seeds and kicking dirt over them. I speed walk to stay beside him and watch what he does, mirroring it from beside him. He spares glances to me every once in a while as we plant.

"You're from the Bunker," He says after a while, "With your sisters and the other girl." It isn't a question, but I nod to confirm it away.

"Yeah," I say. Ethan sends me a small smile, looking sideways at me.

"Are you enjoying it? Here in Eaden?" He asks. I nod again.

"Yeah," I echo. "Amara's been looking out for my sisters and I, and Dean's been really good at making sure we're comfortable." I say. Ethan smirks. "What?" I ask. He shrugs.

"Nothing," He replies loosely, and I guess that's the end of that conversation. My eyebrows knit as we continue planting.

"Have you and your Dad always lived here?" I ask. Ethan nods, looking down as he filters seeds in the broken ground.

"Yeah," He says. "I'm the only one in my family who was born here though." He tells me as an afterthought. "My Ma and Pa were living in Chicago when my sister was four, they moved here not long after." He says. "What about you? You always lived in the Bunker?" He asks, grinning. I grin too.

"Very funny," I say, and his grin widens before he looks back to the ground.

"What about your family?" He asks. I nod.

"My parents both went into the Bunker, it's actually how they met," I say. "I don't think they ever got married, they were just happy being with each other." I say. "He died about six years ago." Ethan shakes his head.

"Sorry, man," He tells me. "What about your Ma?" I shake my head, feeling the same kind of tightness in my throat. I swallow past it.

"She didn't make it out of the Bunker," I say. Maybe it's not true, but I still have no idea what happened to her, so I guess a lie is the best compensation. We keep walking, and I rub my fingers together to lessen the seeds sticking between them.

"That's hard," He says again, quieter. "My Ma passed a while ago, God bless her soul." I glance to him.

"Was she turned?" I ask. He shakes his head.

"She had a stroke in her sleep," He shrugs. "So, y'know, at least she didn't suffer." He says then. I feel my throat tighten again, and my hands shake as I try and swallow past it. Ethan glances to me. "Shit—sorry, man, my Pa told me you had anxiety issues." He says. I swallow again.

"Does everyone know about that or something?" I ask with a feeble laugh. Ethan shrugs with a smirk.

"Nah, Amara's just like my cousin or something," He says. "Sorry if I shouldn't have brought it up." He says, looking down as he nudges dirt over the seeded ground. I shake my head.

"No, it's just… I'm still trying to figure it out too, y'know?" I say. Ethan nods.

"Yeah," He murmurs, glancing to me. "You're lucky you got Amara though." He says.

"Yeah?" I ask, tilting my head as I glance at him. Ethan nods with a grin, and we've reached the end of the field. Dean and Black-Eye are leading the horses back to the barn, and Ethan and I stand to watch the setting sun.

"Yeah," He says. "She'll be good for you." I grin, and hold out my hand again.

"Friends?" I ask. Ethan grins, his hand meeting mine in a shake.

"Friends."

Chapter Thirty-Three:

It's been quiet between us for a while, excluding the small humming from the woman next door. It's the same song from the prayer ceremony.

Melissa and I are sitting up again, I've been meaning to introduce her and Ethan sometime. Since working in the fields with Dean that day, I've adopted my own schedule over the past week, Ethan and I go in and work planting and riding three days a week. Saturday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.

"Sunt ocelli, somni pleni, somne veni, somne veni,"

Because of our past week of friendship, I've told him all about Melissa and Gray and my sisters, while he's told me more about his family, his Mother, his sister, and his relationship with Amara.

"Rident stellae, splendet luna, stellae micant mille et una,"

Melissa and I are leaning back on the roof, our hands held in each others, and she's rubbing circles on the back of my hand with her thumb.

"Lalla lalla, aut dormi aut lacte, nisi lactes dormi dormi,"

"What are you thinking about?" I mumble after another minute of listening to the woman sing.

"Micant stellae mille et una, splendet luna, splendet luna,"

"Gray," She replies. Her voice is soft, but her response hurts all the same. "What about you?" She asks. Well to be honest, I was thinking about Amara. But I just squeeze her hand, and pretend I was thinking the same thing.

"Me too," I murmur.

"Sunt ocelli somni pleni, somne veni, somne veni."

The song ends, and the woman doesn't sing it a second time. But looking at the stars, dreaming, hoping, that Gray was still alive, I guess I understood it better than ever in that moment. All of it.

Melissa's thumb tracing patterns on my hand.

The flowers. The praying. The Amazons.

Eaden.

Gray.

Sometimes silence is better.

I'm sent again to visit Primus, and it's been four weeks since Amara left on her mission, taking my sisters with her. My anxiety has been increased dramatically since then, so it doesn't exactly surprise me when Dean tells me that maybe I should talk to someone. But when I'd denied, he'd gone to Sloane, and in turn, Sloane had gone to Primus.

I walk slowly through Eaden, scuffing at the ground with my sneakers, and my hands in the pockets of my jeans. I'm wearing a shirt of Deans, having begun to grow out of my own. The extra manual lifting and working I've been doing has resulted in a more muscular figure, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't impressed with it.

When I look up again, the tent is only a few meters away, so I jog the rest of the way. I pull past the scarves curtaining the entry, and when I turn to look into Primus' room, my jaw drops and my eyes widen.

She's not there.

Then I hear someone chuckle behind me.

"I don't spend all my time there, Oscar," She says. I whip my head around, breathing a quick sigh of relief when I see she's… y'know, not dead.

"Primus," I greet. She's sitting at a table, a teapot set in front of her. She gestures it with her head, her hands cupping a small wooden bowl.

"Would you like some?" She asks. I shake my head and walk between the space.

"No, thank you though," I say, pulling out the chair across from her. When I look up, she winks to me and takes a sip of her tea.

"Don't mumble," She says with a smile. "I've only got one good eye and I'm getting old." I flush.

"No," I say louder. She nods, occurring satisfied, and takes a sip from her bowl.

"I heard you were neglecting your health," She says then, looking at me over the rim of the bowl as she sets it back down near the tables edge.

"I'm not neglecting anything," I say, reaching across the table to pull her bowl away from the edge, and I see the corner of her lip twitch upwards. "Just… isn't it better if I don't think about it? Out of sight, out of—"

"Don't finish that sentence," She warns, shaking an accusing finger at me. "Is that how you think we survived? How we're still surviving?" She asks. "Problems like this don't go away." She says. "And in this case, it's personal, because it's in your brain."

"So then why not just let a Zero have me?" I ask sarcastically. She reaches out and swats my arm.

"Oscar," She scolds. I grimace.

"Sorry," I say. There's silence. Then she sighs.

"I didn't call you here to discuss your anxiety," She says, and this is news to me. "I called you so you could start realizing how to manage your anxiety when your sisters have to leave again. Once they become Amazons." She says. I nod. Then—

"Wait?" I say. "Again?" Primus smiles coyly. "They're back?" I ask again. She nods.

"They're in the tent." She says as I jump out of my seat and duck out of the hut. When I look around again, now with the knowledge that they're actually here, I realize I should've been able to figure it out for myself:

Numerous Amazons are passing through, still in their armour. I'd even seen women passing me with gashes down the sides of their heads. I look back to the tent, running right past the medical tent; I'm too afraid to go near it at this point. My heart is racing. I'm met by other families looking for wives, daughters, and sisters. For a moment I think I see Ethan, but when I turn my head to check, he's disappeared into the crowd.

I'm craning my neck to look over all the people, when I spot Sloane. She's speaking to another man and woman. She turns her head to point near where the bows are hung and her eyes meet with mine. She falters for a moment, and again I'm terrified there's something wrong. I stand still, watching as she says something to the couple and turns away from them, she's looking to the ground, glancing up at people around her as she makes her way through the crowd.

"This way," She says when she reaches me, placing her hand around my elbow and pulling me out of the tent. I look up, she's taking me into the medical tent.

"What happened?" I ask, suddenly breathless, my eyes locked on Sloane as she leads me towards the tent. "Are they okay?"

"Oscar!" Artemis yells. I look up, my heart beating a hundred miles a minute. Sloane drops my arm and lets me stumble towards Artemis. She's running out of tent, dressed head to toe in her armour, her scarf tied around her waist loosely, billowing out as she runs. Her hair is flying behind her, and she's smiling. She's safe. I bend to my knees as she throws herself into me. I catch her in a hug, trying to stop my hands from shaking.

"Oscar!" I look up from where I've dug my head into Artemis' shoulder. Kate and Juliette are running for me next. They're fine, but my heart drops into my stomach when I see a butterfly bandage on Juliette's face. I stand from where I'm hugging Artemis, though I'm still clutching her as close to me as I can, using my one arm to hold her against my chest. Kate throws herself on my other side. When Juliette gets to me I hold out my left arm, catching her chin. I turn her head to the side and up.

"Are you hurt? What happened?" I ask hurriedly, my voice breaking. Juliette just smiles lovingly.

"We're fine," She assures, pointing to her cheek where the bandage resides. "A tree got me." She tells me, and I visibly deflate, all tension diffusing from my shoulders.

"Oh thank God," I say and pull her into a hug with Kate and Artemis. I hear Kate giggle against my chest, sandwiched between Jules and Artemis.

"Who knew Oscar would be such a Mom," She says, making Juliette and Artemis giggle, and I grin.

"Hey now," I say, watching another Amazon go past me and my eyes widen, remembering Sloane. "Amara?" I ask, looking at Juliette while I loosen my grip on my sisters. Kate nods and points to the tent.

"She's okay," She tells me. I nod and detach myself from my sisters, though Artemis still hangs onto my arm. I let her. I walk inside the tent, first seeing Dean, then Amara grinning on the small hospital cot. There's a cut on her arm, it's been bandaged and stitched from what I can see. She glances to me, and her eyes light up.

"Oscar!" She smiles, and I stumble forward again, this time enveloping her in a hug, and Artemis drops my arm. Amara falls back a bit on the cot when I pull her into my hold, but her arms wrap around me just as tight, her hair falling over my hands, and her chin resting on my shoulder.

"Thank you," I say. When we pull apart, she's smiling.

"I told you I'd keep them safe," She says, "Didn't you trust me?" She asks with a grin, and I melt into her smile.

"Thank you," I say again. Amara nods behind me. "There's someone I should introduce you to." She tells me then. My eyebrow knits together, and I turn, side stepping so I'm not in Amara's way, and my eyes widen.

Standing next to Dean, is a man a few years older than him, who looks almost identical to him. Except for his eyes. They're blue. The man smiles. Dean is also smiling.

"Oscar," He says. "This is my brother, Taylor." He says.

"Taylor?" I ask. The name sparks a memory of my first meeting with Primus, asking if anyone named Taylor came out of the bunker with us. The man smiles again and steps forward, extending his hand towards me.

"Blake," He introduces. "Dr. Taylor Blake."

Chapter Thirty-Four:

Kelly is awake at Melanie's bedside. Stacy had broken her collarbone, and her lung deflated. Melanie's three other kids are asleep on a small cot by the wall, and as far as I know they've been spending their time by occupying themselves in the playroom on pediatrics. Green and I are watching through the window from the nurses station.

Kelly hasn't been to visit Stacy, or see her at all since the incident. She's been avoiding the entire floor.

Since the incident, Mrs. Jameson had also been admitted in the psychiatrics ward. Both have been diagnosed with severe schizophrenia. Psych has administered them both to take fifteen milligrams of a prescription drug to try and relieve some of their symptoms.

Kelly hasn't slept since. And that was three days ago. I glance to Green, a silent prayer. She nods and leaves, going upstairs to check on Stacy and the other patients.

I haven't seen Dr. Blake either.

I push myself away from the nurses station and place my hands in the pockets of my white coat. I walk across the hall, smiling to Cara across the hall before I reach the doorway of Melanie's room. Kelly's slumped in a chair, her posture lazy, and her elbow propped on the armrest. Her head rests against her hand, and her eyelids are heavy. I angle my head around the doorframe and knock as lightly as I can on the outside wall. Kelly jumps, her elbow sliding off the armrest and her head shooting down and back as she looks around. When her eyes rest on me, they soften again.

"Oh," She says softly when she notices me, then gently rests her hand back against her head. "Hey."

"Hey." I echo her. I look down at the three boys curled around themselves, then to Melanie, who even in sleep, looks sunken and hopeless. I guess that's a common mood lately. I move until I'm standing in front of Kelly, then I crouch down in front of her. She looks down at me tiredly.

"Something wrong?" She asks. I nod, flicking my eyebrows up.

"Yeah," I say. "With you." She stiffens, then shakes out her shoulders.

"I'm fine," She says. I shake my head.

"Last time we had this conversation, you told me you didn't want to sleep in case something happened to your Mom," I say, glancing down to Kelly's jittering knee. She doesn't make eye contact with me, she's looking past my head to the side, most likely at Melanie. "Kelly." I say again, softer.

"I'm fine," She repeats.

"You haven't been fine in a long time," I tell her. She blinks, almost looking at me, and I realize her lower lip is trembling. "So why aren't you sleeping this time?" I ask. Kelly squeezes her eyes shut as she blinks, and when she opens them again, tears are fresh as they roll down her face. She bites down on her lip to keep it from shaking. Her shoulders shake as she bites down harder on her lip. Her hand drops and her head hangs. She starts whimpering, I hear her uneven breathing, and I look to her jeans as tears splotch the knees. "Kelly…"

"I'm scared," She says, and bursts into tears. Her lip begins to bleed from where she'd bitten down on it, and it mixes with her tears as she blubbers. She tucks her legs beneath the chair and cries, clutching the hem of her shirt. I reach up and pull at her shoulders, and I let her fall into me. I catch her between my arms and fold my legs beneath me so I can cradle her. "I'm scared." She says again, between an intake of breath. She coughs violently, a sob choking in her throat, before she bawls again. I smooth my hand out against her hair.

"I know."

Cara pages me in the middle of the night.

"What happened?" I ask, running in through the doorway of Mr. Garcia's room. There's a smear of blood along the floor tiles and Cara and Green are standing to the side of the room, watching through the torn isolation wrap as security officers restrain Mr. Garcia to the bed. Green looks sick, and Cara looks just as awful beside her. Mr. Garcia is screaming and moaning, his fingernails are raked with blood and it smears along his hands and those of the officers trying to restrain him. Green swallows, looking to me when I go further into the room.

"He attacked Mrs. Garcia," She says solemnly.

"What?" I say, looking from her to Mr. Garcia. "No."

"Yeah." Cara breathes an easy response, hugging herself against the wall, rubbing the goosebumps along her arms.

"Deus Meus," I mutter, running a quick hand through my hair, pulling it out of the braid I'd thrown it in. "Has anyone checked on Mrs. Garcia?" Green nods.

"One of the other interns was rounding with me, she took her down to the ER," Green tells me, pointing to the hall. "I was just about to go down if you want to come with me." She says. I purse my lips and glance to Mr. Garcia, whose moans have ceased to a low whimpering. Then I look back to Green and Cara, who are watching me expectantly. I nod.

"Let's go," I say, looking once more over my shoulder before I follow Green into the hall. "Do we know what kind of injuries she sustained?" I ask, coming to walk beside Green. She nods.

"He scratched at her arm; it looked like she had a few minor cuts, and we think he must have gotten a hold of a weapon or something because there's a big cut on the inside of her elbow."

"How did she seem?" I ask. Green shrugs, considering.

"Really shaken up. She looked like she was gonna pass out by the time Ginny and I got there." Green tells me.

"Ginny?"

"Virginia… " She tries again, and I shake my head.

"Sorry,"

"Dr. Montgomery," She says. Oh. I nod. Whoops.

"Do we know what might have aggravated it?" I ask. Green shakes her head.

"No idea," She says.

"Did you call psych?" She nods, glancing sideways to me, slowing to follow me through the ER doorway.

"Right after I had the nurses page you." I nod again, turning to open the doors to the ER with my back.

"Let's go dig ourselves out of this hell hole," I say, turning with the door as it opens and placing my hands in my pockets. I spot Montgomery with a suture kit, and Mrs. Garcia, who sits across from her. I stand beside Montgomery and smile.

"Mrs. Garcia?" I ask. She's unresponsive, looking straight through me. "Montgomery?" I ask.

"I think she's in shock or something," Montgomery says. I look down with my eyes narrowed.

"I hope that when you diagnose patients you don't add 'or something'," I say. She shakes her head, looking flushed. I nod to her.

"I'll do the sutures," I tell her, nodding at her to stand beside Green. I roll the suture kit out of the way and pull my chair closer to Mrs. Garcia. My hand hovers just above her knee. She's shivering. I swallow, gently brushing my fingers over her knee.

"Mrs. Garcia?" I ask gently. When she blinks, I rest my hand on her knee.Her eyes quickly glance to mine. Her tension doesn't seem to relieve, but she's looking at me. "Mrs—"

"Dr. Chambers?" She whispers, her voice trembling. I nod, a sigh escaping my lips.

"Mrs. Garcia, can you try to tell me what happened?" I ask. Her eyes widen and she shakes her head.

"No," She whimpers. "Nonono." I nod and rub my hand over her knee.

"Okay," I say gently. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Green and Montgomery exchanging glances. I glance to a nurse beside me. "Can you get an intern to do these sutures?" I ask, gesturing to the cut along Mrs. Garcia's arm The nurse nods and I turn, nodding for Green and Montgomery to follow.

"Dr. Chambers?" Green asks.

"We'll follow the same protocol we used for what happened to Melanie—we'll get full psych workup on Mr. Garcia and we'll call the police, have them speak to Mrs. Garcia, see if she wants to press charges," I say. Green nods. "Run every test you can think of—the trial covers it—and find Dr. Blake, get him to consult." I turn in the hall, making Green and Montgomery almost run into me. Green stands still, Montgomery stumbles. I look between them.

"I need to find out what caused this," I say.

"Dr. Chambers—"

"Not now, I just need you to do what I told you," I snap.

"No we already know," Green says, making me stop.

"What?" I ask. Green nods.

"When we were going through our rounds, I checked his chart again. His serotonin has levelled to almost nothing overnight."

Chapter Thirty-Five:

Mrs. Garcia got necrotizing fasciitis.

So did Montgomery, and two nurses, and Melanie's youngest baby, who died from it last night.

Melanie is distraught, and afterwards, Kelly finally passed out from sheer exhaustion. When I last saw her, tears had stained her face, even as she slept. The two of them still haven't gone to visit Stacy, and Melanie called her husband, to try and keep her other kids from catching the disease. He'd tried to get her transferred, but she refused.

I don't understand, but I guess a part of you stops living when someone you love dies.

Within three weeks, Mrs. Garcia had been admitted to both psychiatrists and neurology. The necrotizing fasciitis had apparently driven her mad, and she developed slight paranoia, obsessing her husband would continue to attack her until she was dead. There had been one incident in the past three days she'd been under strict supervision for fear she would harm herself.

As for neurology, what had been driving me up the wall was the fact that she had been losing neurotransmitters gradually. It started this Wednesday, when she had a brain scan, under the advisement of Dr. Blake, and her serotonin had decreased. Then in the past three days I'd checked on her, her white blood count increased, had there had been an alarming amount of auto-immune receptors in her last round of bloodwork. And then now.

I walk into Mrs. Garcia's room.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Garcia," I say, blaming myself for the state she's in. Her head lolls lazily towards me.

"Dr. Chambers," She mutters.

"How are you feeling?" I ask her, moving forward and running my hand along the side rail on the bed. She shrugs.

"I've got a headache," She says, and I nod.

"Better or worse than the last time I asked you?"

"Worse," She groans, looking sideways at me. "Could you call Dr. Blake? Please?" She asks. I nod with a tight smile, reaching down to unlock the brakes on the bed.

"I'll do you one better," I say, looking to the nurse who stands at the doorway. "Page Dr. Blake, tell him to meet us at CT." Mrs. Garcia smiles sincerely at me, despite how irritable she's been getting.

"Thank you," She tells me, and let's her head loll back the other way.

My arms are folded on the desk in front of me. I'm rolling myself back and forth on the chair, watching the monitors blink with blue pictures of Mrs. Garcia's brain. Dr. Blake was here a moment ago, he'd just excused himself to go grab something. I stifle a yawn and push myself into an upright position, wincing as my shoulders crack when I move them. I look once through the glass at Mrs. Garcia, who lays stiffly in the CT, then to the monitor again, where new scans show up.

Dr. Blake knocks on the doorway, when I turn my head, I see he's brought other pictures with him. He grins, moving around me to slide into the second chair.

"You look like a dead man walking," He says, chuckling. I swat at his arm, smiling myself.

"More like a dead woman sitting," I correct. I nod to him. "So what did you bring me?" I ask. He points to the monitor screens.

"Okay, see here?" He asks, pointing to her temporal lobe. I nod, propping my hand against my chin. "What can you tell me?" He asks.

"Serotonin is worse than when we checked last time," I say, pointing lazily with my pinkie towards the screen. "And her impulse is looking pretty bad." Dr. Blake nods, then pulls up the pictures he brought, passing one to me.

"Now look at this one," He says. I raise a brow, but take it and swivel around to face the hall. I lift the picture above my eyes and tilt my head up, shifting the scan so it rests through the light. I squint as I look at it, then look back to the monitor. Then back to the picture, and back to the monitor. It's the exact same picture. My jaw goes slack, dropping as my eyes widen.

"What?" I breathe, turning around to look at Dr. Blake. He's nodding.

"It's a sequence," He tells me. "Mr. Garcia spread it to his wife after he broke her skin, and it's doing the same thing it did to the patients after we administered the drug."

"Is that even possible?" I ask. He purses his lips and shrugs, breathing a low exhale.

"I don't know," He says. "Maybe I'm wrong." He considers. "Maybe it's genetic, or age, or something we haven't even found." He tells me. I nod, not realizing how tense I am until he puts his hand on my shoulder, easing them down. "Take a breath." He tells me, and I do.

"Just remember," He tells me, "We still don't know if he's the reason she has the same symptoms." I glance up at him.

"It isn't just the symptoms," I say. "Like you said, it's a sequence. A pattern." Dr. Blake opens his mouth to respond, when the door opens behind me.

"Dr. Chambers?" Green asks, coming into the doorway. I turn, glancing to her. She nods back to the hall. "There's a man downstairs, asking if you're still here."

"Is he handsome?"

"Uh…" I chuckle, getting up off my chair.

"Relax Green, he's my Grandfather," I tell her, and see her ease into a smile, however awkward it might appear. I chuckle again and step past her into the hall, turning to smile to Dr. Blake as I leave. "See you in a bit." I tell him, and go skipping down the hall.

When I get down to the lobby, I can see my Grandfather in the waiting room. He's reading a People's magazine. I grin and move towards the nurses station, telling Cara I'm taking my Grandfather to the cafeteria. I whistle to catch his attention. He turns his head, looking up to me under the brim of his sunhat, and I chuckle when he smiles. He sets the magazine on the table beside the chair and stands, saying something to the man who sat beside him before he walks to join me at the nurses station. I smile when he puts his arms out and go into his hug.

"Ah, Amata," He says, brushing my hair behind my ear when we part. "So this is where you've been holed up for the past week." I roll my eyes, pulling him into step beside me.

"It hasn't been that long," I say.

"You're right, only ten days to be exact," He says, nudging my arm. I smile again.

"Sorry," I tell him. He smiles, placing his arm around my shoulder and patting my arm.

"I just want you to come home," He tells me.

"I'll try," I say, then look down the hall when someone starts screaming. My Grandfather stops walking beside me. Then my pager goes off.

"Stercore," I mutter and start running down the hall.

"Eleonora!" My Grandfather calls after me. I turn the corner and run up the stairs. My Grandfather following behind me. "What happened?" He asks. I shake my head, pushing open the door into the hall.

"If I had to guess? Another attack," I say.

"Attack?" My Grandfather echoes. "Eleonora." He chastises.

"I know," I mutter, turning the corner into Stacy's room. My jaw drops to see she's been taken out of isolation. She's thrashing around, fighting against the nurses, and she has one pinned against the wall trying to choke her. I realize the nurse trying to fight off Stacy is Cara, and she's losing her grip around Stacy's throat while Stacy's fingernails pierce her cheek. I run into the room, trying to pull at Stacy and yell for security. I look to my Grandfather, who stands pale in the doorway.

"Someone needs to get Dr. Blake," I say, trying to pry at Stacy's arm. When I turn back to look at Stacy, she whips her arm out, hitting me with her elbow and sending me onto the ground. I yelp when she stands over me and cover my head, only to see my Grandfather duck in front of me. He hisses and pushes her out of the way before he turns, grabbing onto my arm and dragging me out of the room. He crouches in front of me outside the doorway, patting down my arms.

"Are you okay?" He asks me, his eyes frantic, I glance past him as security runs into the room. "Did she hurt you?" He asks. I shake my head.

"No," I say. "Grandpa—"

"Chambers!" I turn my head, Dr. Blake comes running down the hall. He looks down to me and my Grandfather before back into the room. He backs up after he reaches the doorway, and my eyes widen when I see Cara being led out, a roll of gauze against her neck. Dr. Blake drops in front of me next, beside my Grandfather. "Did she get at you?" He asks. I shake my head again.

"Not me," I say, tugging down the sleeve on my Grandfathers shirt. Across his shoulder, are three scratch marks, dripping thin lines of blood.

Chapter Thirty-Six:

All the patients have been put back in isolation, including Cara, my Grandfather, Mrs. Garcia, half of the hospital that had been diagnosed with necrotizing fasciitis, and the many patients we'd had come into the ER with rashes or headaches who were coincidentally the friends and families of the inpatients. Too many paper masks if you ask me.

I'm sitting in my lab. I'd spent about an hour last night sobbing into Dr. Blake's arms about my Grandfather, because just because we don't know for sure whether or not he'll contract the disease doesn't mean it might not happen. So I've been a mess for the month he's been here in the hospital. And in the month I've been here, I've gone to see my Grandfather three times a day to share breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him. And the only reason I've been here the entire time, is because I can't go back to a home that doesn't have my Grandfather in it.

I glance at the clock beside me. It's about noon. I leave the lab and go out into the hall, putting my hands into my pockets as I walk. I stop by the little coffee stand on the fourth floor, right in front of all the big windows, and I grab two sandwiches. I know they'll only let me take the one in, and take the other and throw it in the garbage, because my Grandfather isn't allowed to eat any outside food. I take it anyway.

I meet Dr. Blake in the hall towards the elevator. He smiles at me, and I reciprocate it tightly. When we reach the elevator he presses the button for the fifth floor.

"How's your Grandfather?" He asks me. I smile again and hold up the two bagged sandwiches.

"I'm going to see him right now," I say, my jaw wearing sore. Dr. Blake says nothing for a moment, his arms are crossed and he's watching me.

"No," He says and presses the emergency stop. My jaw drops.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask. His eyes soften.

"Eleonora," He says. I blink. "You don't have to be strong for anyone. Not even yourself." He says. My throat feels tight, and I swallow heavily, pressing my fingernails into the palms of my hands. "It's okay to let yourself fall apart." He whispers. I blink again and nod, my eyes beginning to water.

"Thank you, Dr. Blake," I say. He smiles softly and extends his right hand to me.

"Call me Taylor," He says, so I shake his hand, and I smile.

When I turn into my Grandfather's room, I give the second sandwich to the nurse. I whistle to get my Grandfathers attention, as always, and he turns over on his side from where he'd lain on the bed. He grins when he sees me and sits up. He turns and looks to a nurse, dressed in scrubs, who brings him a tray. I hear him thank her, and I pull a chair next to the isolation plastic and sit next to my Grandfather, who does the same on the other side of the bubble.

"How's your morning been, Amata?" He asks me, picking an apple from off his plate. I shrug.

"About the same. I've been recording brain patterns and mapping neurotransmitter receptors, trying to figure out why the… virus, keeps spreading." I say. My Grandfather nods slowly, and I notice him turn away from me, shielding his shoulder from my view, where the necrotizing fasciitis has turned his three scars into three infections beginning to show muscle. "But I'm getting there. I'm so close." I insist. My Grandfather smiles affectionately, but it looks sad.

"I'm going to figure it out." I say. My Grandfather nods.

"I know you will," He tells me. "I told you; you're going to be revolutionary." I look up to meet his eyes.

"What if the virus is what makes me revolutionary? Instead of finding a cure," I say. My Grandfather is quiet again, and I can't help but blame myself.

I've started an apocalypse.

I'm sitting in with Stacy, checking in on her, and this time Kelly joins me. She's silent the entire time, watching Stacy eat a red jello cup. I take the time to look at her. She looks a lot like Stacy, and she's grown so much just in the past year I've known her. Her fourteenth birthday was yesterday, and she spent it stuck, scared, in a hospital all alone.

Her knees are pulled up against her chest in the small hospital chair, and her chin rests on her kneecaps. She looks so tired.

"I heard a rumor," She murmurs as we watch Stacy in silence. She doesn't even register us.

"Hmm?"

"I heard a rumor," She repeats, tilting her head to look sideways at me. "That my Mom really hurt your Dad or something." I swallow.

"My Grandfather," I say.

"I'm really sorry," She says quietly. I shrug.

"It's not your fault," I mutter. It's mine. This time she shrugs.

"Still," She says. I glance at her again, then look back when I hear footsteps in the doorway. Green smiles to me when she comes in, pulling the third chair from the wall to sit beside me. She pulls her left knee up against her chest, letting her right hang as she slouches.

"How's it going?" She asks.

"Same old," I respond dryly. Green picks something out from her pocket and tosses it over my head, whistling to Kelly. She looks up and catches the jello cup and spoon Green tossed to her. Kelly smiles.

"Thanks, Dr. Green," She murmurs, opening the lid and unfolding her knees, letting her ankles twist as they sway against the tiled floor. Green smiles, stretching out her arms above her head.

"Kelly, I think we're past last names," I say, tilting my head at her. "I'm Eleonora." Kelly smiles, it's small but it's still there. She nods to Green, beside me.

"What about you, Dr. Green?" She asks. "Are we past last names?" She asks. Green shrugs, a smile worn on her mouth.

"Why not," She breathes, reaching a hand across me, extending her palm to Kelly. "Olive." She says.

"Olive Green," Kelly tests, smile brightening. "Very herby." She comments. I snort a laugh, and it's a second before Green chuckles with me.

"Yeah," She says, her brow knitted. "I guess it is."

I look to the waistband of my scrubs as my pager goes off, then glance beside me, seeing Green checking hers as well.

"What?" Kelly asks. I look back towards the hall only to see people running past and I push myself up off my chair.

"It's Mrs. Jameson," I say, glancing behind me to see Green scrambling to her feet before I jog down the hall alongside everyone else; nurses, doctors, practitioners, then I see security. I spot Dr. Blake among the hustle, but it's only for a second, and when I blink to check again, he's gone. As we near Mrs. Jameson's room, the crowd begins to melt together, and I have to push my way through to even see the entry.

Once I've reached the doorway, however, my face pales instantly. Mrs. Jameson looks ratched. Her hospital gown is torn around her shoulders, and there's rips from where she's scratched at it. Her fingernails look as though they've been ripped from her fingers, blood numbs her hands down to her palms, and even with just her fingertips she's thrashing at the isolation plastic, breaking through at varying rips. Her skin is too pale, green and grimy, and necrotizing fasciitis has spread a rash from her torso up along the side of her face.

Her mouth is wide open, screeching at the top of her lungs. Her left foot is horribly distorted, angled to leave her limping on the side of her foot, and a piece of the bone is sticking through, covered in grime and puss. Nurses and security officers are running around the isolation bubble, attempting entry to try and sedate her.

I look down when something brushes my arm. Kelly has wormed her way between Green and I. When I glance to Green, she's trembling.

"Oh my God," I hear her say. Behind me I hear chatter amongst the hospital staff.

"What is that?"

"It's a patient,"

"Yeah a mutated one. Seriously though, what the hell?"

"Whatever it is, it ain't human, not anymore."

"What would you call it then?"

"A zombie." Kelly speaks out, creating a hush around the room and the hall, leaving only the sounds of Mrs. Jameson as a sickening comfort.