SIBLING SECRETS BY: JACOB SHEPARD AND ADRIENNE HUSS

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Submitted Date 05/19/2019
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She closed her eyes to the sound of sirens, her body stiff and lifeless. She drew in her last breath, it rasped through her lungs with great effort and then escaped her body. Her chest rose and fell, for what was supposed to be, the last time.

 

It wasn't her car; it just looked like her car. With the same stupid bumper sticker and the crack in the bumper. It wasn't her. It was another girl. Someone else's sister.

But it wasn't; it was Jenna.

His Jenna.

And she wasn't breathing. And his stupid mind started running the stupid numbers. Traumatic arrest; 99% of fatality without possibility for revival. He quoted it to his students. He knew it in the dozen's of car wrecks he had pulled broken bodies from. But they hadn't been her. And for the first time in a long time, he didn't think about the numbers, or the protocol or the anything. He just started compressing. He didn't speak or coordinate with his crew. He had a new EMT with him today and she wouldn't know who they were working on. If it had been anyone else they would have tried to pull him away, tried to spare him some kind of pain. They knew the numbers too. And so he pushed and pushed and cried silently, vaguely aware of the tears falling onto her face and mingling with smears of grim and window glass. His partner brought the monitor and only paused a moment when she saw him crying. She cut Jenna's shirt and put the pads on. He didn't stop compressing. He didn't hear the sounds around him. He just prayed, though he wasn't sure he knew how. The only thing that mattered was the numbers. Sure, there might be God, but if there was then he was a mathematician who had a reason for the trending subtraction of life. He had talked about such things over beers. But this was his sister. If there was God, may he care little for math. May he care enough to hear and beat the numbers.

 

He looked at the monitor; Ventricular Fibrillation with an end tidal over 25. He didn't even say clear; he just hit the button.

 

"Amen, I think."

 

She woke up to the sound of beeping monitors, sterile sheets, and murmuring voices. She slowly pried open her eyes, squinting from the harsh lights. To her left was a woman in blue scrubs who appeared to be checking her vitals.

 

"Wha, Where am I", she said.

"Your at the hospital dear, how are you feeling."

 

"Ugh. My head is killing me", she said as she reached up to touched her forehead and assess the damage. As she reached up her hand, she felt her chest groan and tighten in objection.

"Ughhhhmmmmugh"

 

She eyes tightly in order to focus on breathing through the pain. The nurse came over to her and pressed the magic morphine button and then she drifted off back to sleep.

 

As she lay there breathing deeply, she dreamed of lying in lush green grass and looking at puffy white clouds, trying to make out their shapes. She pointed out dragons and puppies giggling to herself. Then the sky grew dark and a storm came rolling in. Blue turned to black and white turned to gray. The warm sun became an icy wind that gave her goosebumps and then she felt a harsh whisper next to her ear,

 

"Wake Up", it hissed.

 

He eyes flew open and she saw the source of the voice, two inches from her face, his body floating over her own. His eyes were black, a deeper black than she had ever thought possible and his skin was gray green.

 

Her arms jerked and she grabbed the side railings of her hospital bed to sink herself lower, creating as much space as possible between her face and that of the floating man. Her reaction made a slow crooked smile appear on his face. But it formed like molasses, like it had been years since his face had taken that shape and he had forgotten how.

 

She blinked hard and held her breath. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

 

Her heart was practically beating out of her chest and then she lost control of her body has it began to convulse.


 

He was annoyed. That had become his standing towards everyone in life recently. And it was especially true at the moment he was pushing medications through his sisters IV. He wasn't supposed to be doing this; it was illegal and he could be jailed. But she was seizing, and no one was there. The whole hospital was short-staffed, and because of that all the other departments where grabbing help from the step-down unit under the philosophy that those patient's probably wouldn't die without a nurse for a little bit. The halls had been empty on his walk back from getting coffee and when he found Jenna thrashing, he wasn't surprised. This was the reality of this hospital and it was not the first time he had had to help out. Only those times he had been in uniform. But he didn't care anymore. The nurse had left the Valium out, a major pharmacy board violation and probably done because the charge nurse knew him and had predicted what was going to happen. That is what annoyed him. The hospital was supposed to care, but it could only care as much as the staff could. And you keep adding patients and dropping staff, the give-a-dang in the place will turn into jadedness quickly.

 

This is what he was thinking as he watched Jenna quiet down, as he watched the monitor beep and some cold other part of his mind calculated her medical needs, her probability of brain damage or death. He used to be good friends with that part of his mind; today he wished it would shut up. He wished it would be quiet and let what care he had left just feel for his sister. He hadn't seen her much lately. He hadn't called or texted or much of anything. Life was too busy. Too many patient's, too many people needing his care. He thought he would have more for a moment like this, more love, more compassion. But he only had annoyance for the system and a touch of hatred for himself and the cold, calculating voice in his head. As Jenna rested, her peaceful face a strange contrast to the bandages, stitches and EKG wires that framed it, he sat down and cried. It was the kind of cry that had been waiting a long time, tears that had names on them. Jenna's name, the name of his best friend, and the names of patient's that he wouldn't talk about.

 

As he cried he could hear them again, like he always did. Just the faintest whispers for help, something near the ceiling that sounded like a chuckle. And the pressure of that little hand on his. Just like always when he cried like this.

 

And the quietest whisper "It's OK".

 

"No," he sobbed through his fingers "No, it's not. And you know it,".

 

Cries for help, laughter, comfort he didn't deserve and his sister waiting to face all that came with trauma. Nothing was OK.

 

She opened her eyes, once again to the sight of her hospital room and a dry mouth. She squinted from the harsh hospital lights but managed to spot the slumped over frame of her brother in uniform. His mouth was wide open and drooling on himself. Memories of past family car rides flooded her mind.

I wonder how many bugs have made their way into that mouth over the years.

The thought brought on a smile until reality set in.

The car crash, the whispers, that face, the convulsions.

 

She manages to push herself up into a seated position. The creaking of the bed awoke her brother with a start. His limbs flew in every direction like someone had slapped him in the face. This reaction didn't startle her, as again, this was a regular response that had caused a couple bloody noses throughout their childhood. He was always ready for action, even when they were ten and there was nothing to fight except imaginary monsters.

She thought back to those sweet innocent moments with nostalgia as the green man's face continued to haunt her.

 

Coming out of his REM and wiping the pool of saliva off of his chin and uniform, he looks at her with a mix of concern and relief.

 

"Hey sis."

 

"Hey." Her voice as weak as she felt.

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Comments

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  • No name 4 years, 10 months ago

    I love stories that start right into the middle of the action, that's the way to do it!

  • Miranda Fotia 4 years, 10 months ago

    Great story! Thanks for sharing!