What?
“Callie, come back to us.” I turn my head sharply at the sound of my father’s voice. And as he leans forward in the chair, I catch a glimpse of the girl in the bed as he brushes her hair from her forehead.
My forehead.
I’m in the bed.
Twenty-Six
THATCHER CLOSED HIS EYES when he did it—when he drove my soul back into my body. He grimaced and released a low groan like he was in pain, and then he grabbed my arms and I felt a hard push this time, not the gentle pull of the tide that led me into the Prism, but a powerful thrust as my body lit up with pain and my mouth froze in a silent scream. Nooooo! He forced me to leave him, and I saw his face—tortured, regretful, full of hurt. He’ll be alone in death once again, despairing and hopeless and up against impossible enemies who were once his friends. I never got to tell him that with one kiss he sealed my fate and that I’d never leave him. Because he chose for me. He chose my life. One moment he was there, sharp and clear, and then he faded—his energy lost to the strain of what he did for me—disappearing into the darkness without a word.
Beep-beep-beep-beeeeeeep!
I hear buzzing, ringing, the high pitch of machines. My head feels like it’s carrying a load of bricks, and I gasp through dry and cracked lips. I thrash about, realizing I’m strapped down to something. A needle tears from my arm and a shooting pain makes its way up through my shoulder. I open my mouth to cry out, but I can’t seem to do it. My vision is blurry—all I see are circles of light shining into my eyes.
Slowly, my sight clears. Through a wobbly lens, I see the world in front of me: a nurse, leaning over me and calling frantically for a doctor . . . Carson, clapping her manicured hands together and jumping up and down with excitement . . . Dad, holding my left hand in his and pressing it to his lips, kissing it over and over again.
Am I hallucinating? Did I create a portal to someone’s dream?
The physical agony I feel tells me that I can’t possibly be in the realm of the Prism, where there was no pain, only a slight buzzing and a fullness of energy. Now I’m depleted, hollowed out and hurting. It feels like I weigh a thousand pounds, and I can’t move.
The doctor walks in and asks everyone to clear the room. I hear her speaking swiftly and sternly to my father. She pulls a curtain closed around my bed and leans over me.
“Callie, can you hear me?” she asks.
I try to say yes, but my lips are raw and ruined and my throat feels dry, dust filled, so all that comes out is a burble.
“Blink twice if you understand me,” says the doctor.
I do, and even my eyelashes seem to tingle with pain.
She smiles.
I try to pull myself up, to look through the gap in the curtain for someone I know isn’t there. Thatcher. He’s gone, truly gone. Tears rush to my eyes, and the pressure they create sends a sting through my nose.
“You’re awake,” she says. “Take it easy, lie back.”
She looks over at the nurse, who’s replacing the IV into my arm.
“That’s for fluids,” says the nurse. “Please don’t tear it out again.”
I blink back the tears, wondering if I’m crazy, if I’ve lost him forever. But she just smiles. She sees only that I’ve blinked twice, agreeing.
“You were in a very serious car accident, Callie,” says the doctor. “You’ve been in a coma for six weeks. Your family and friends are here, but I want you to rest now before they see you.”
I blink twice, but all I can think is that there’s someone missing, there’s a dimension that feels gone, wholly and irrevocably gone, from my existence. And this body—this broken, bruised body—its injuries may be nothing compared to what my mind has suffered. Is it fractured? Have I gone mad?
“Good,” she says. “Lie back, relax, and let me get one of my colleagues, okay? I’ll let your dad come in in a little while.”
I blink twice.
The doctor walks out, and the nurse pushes the hair off my forehead gently before turning to leave. “Welcome back,” she says on her way out of the room.
Epilogue
WHEN MY FATHER COMES IN to visit me, my pain medication has been regulated according to what I’ve been able to blink to the doctors, and I’m starting to regain my normal vision. His face makes my heart leap. He sees me, and that makes me feel whole again, validated, here. Even though I’m dulled by painkillers and weeks of darkness, I remember the heartbreak of not being seen.
Dad holds my hand and tells me how much he prayed for me to come back to him, how he couldn’t bear losing me, how he’s going to make up for the time he spent being foolishly absent from my life.
I nod at him reassuringly, trying to smile and encourage him. I haven’t spoken yet—it seems my voice is missing. The physical realities of this body, the healing I need to do, overwhelm my senses, but when I let my mind wander, it goes to one place: Thatcher.
A nurse brings in a tray of mashed food—like something a baby would eat—with a glass of milk covered in plastic wrap. Is this really happening?
The tangible world is so strange to me, so precious and ordinary at the same time. All the while a thousand thoughts are racing through my brain: Where was I all this time? The poltergeists must have been a crazy nightmare my coma state brought on; the Prism isn’t real, none of the things I saw were. Still, when I close my eyes, I see bolts of lightning and rain and energy—nothing is solid, nothing is clear. Except for his face. Thatcher. I can see him smiling softly, I can see him gazing at me, I can see him anguished. I feel his loss beating somewhere inside me, threatening to overwhelm my gratitude, my happiness at being alive after what I’ve heard was a terrible accident.
When Nick comes in to greet me, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel. Do I confront him about what I heard? How do I explain that I was there? Was I there? Or did my mind create a scenario where he was breaking up with me so I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about my growing attraction for Thatcher—an imaginary guy who my coma-induced mind created?
If Nick really was going to break up with me, would he look so glad to see me? His smile is so big that it’s almost cartoonish.
But what if it’s true? What if he meant to break up with me, but my near-death experience made him realize what a mistake it would be, made him acknowledge how deeply his feelings for me ran?
“Callie,” he says, rushing over. He hovers above me—he seems unsure how to say hello. He settles for a delicate kiss on the cheek, and I hardly feel its flutter, barely notice its touch. I don’t know if I expected a spark, a pull, a flash of energy, but I find myself disappointed.
Nick sits down in the chair by my bed.
“Oh, man, I can’t believe you’re awake,” he says, looking down at his shoes and not at me. “I mean, thank God. If you hadn’t been rushing to get to my house, talking to me on the phone . . .”
I shake my head no and put one finger to his lips.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “The doctor said to talk to you about happy things. Um . . . did you see my gift?”
Nick points to the window, where a shiny crystal charm hangs on a transparent string. He stands and walks over to it. The string is looped around one of the window locks, and when he touches it, it moves in the sun, catching the light and casting tiny rainbows on the walls around me.