Chapter 6

I hate the stink here: industrial cleaners, all fake-lemony-fresh, to cover up the smell of rusty blood and the old, the sick, and the dying. Even the lights look sick here, a greenish-blue fluorescent that makes everybody look ghostly. The receptionist smacks gum loudly, like a cow chewing its cud, and I clench my fists so hard my knuckles crack. I hate gum chewers. So fucking rude.

The receptionist raises her penciled eyebrows, and I wonder if my disgust is so obvious. Or is it a flash of fang, or yellow eyes? Maybe the seams of my sheep’s clothing are fraying, the wolf inside peeking out. I hurry past her, into the bathroom. The dim, cheap mirror distorts my pale face, but it looks normal otherwise.

“Okay,” I mutter to myself. “Human.”

My heart still thumps hard, my skin sweaty like I’ve run a mile. What’s the phase of the moon tonight? I haven’t been keeping track, as if not knowing about the full moon will give me some sort of placebo effect.

But still… “It’s the middle of the fucking day. You’re good. Let’s do this.”

A toilet flushes, and a guy comes out from one of the stalls. Red-faced, he adjusts his tie and leaves without even washing his hands.

Whatever. He can deal.

I take the elevator up to the fourth floor and linger outside Chris’s room. The door opens and a nurse walks out, frowning over something on a clipboard. I don’t even want to ask. Chris lifts his head from his pillow and waves.

“Hey,” I say, and I can’t stay outside any longer. “They been feeding you?”

I wonder if he feels the same gnawing hunger that I do.

“Kind of,” Chris croaks.

He looks skinny as hell, bandages mummifying his neck, wrist, and shoulder. I wince, remembering how the silver werewolf gnawed on him like a chew toy. It’s been one month to the day since it happened, but he’s been too sick to heal. Yeah, he’d heal if he weren’t taking megadoses of Lycanthrox… and he’d also be a werewolf, if the transformation didn’t kill him first. When the full moon last came around, it tore him up inside. He’s not strong enough to fight the virus, but he’s not strong enough to change.

The doctors say my body is handling the infection better, which must mean I’m already more of a beast than my brother. Lycanthrox is supposed to keep the virus from spreading—but it can’t kill it. Just keeps the wolf at bay.

Like I said, I don’t know why Dad thinks there’s a cure.

Chris blinks and swallows hard. “Brock?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you here?”

“To visit you.” I twist my mouth into a smile. “You’re my brother, remember?”

He frowns, not getting the joke. “Yeah.”

Chris has been feverish forever. Nothing the doctors have given him has helped so far, and sometimes his temperature skyrockets.

“How you been?” I ask.

“Tired.”

“Dad couldn’t make it,” I say, even though he didn’t ask. “Too busy.”

“Oh. How’s…” Chris pauses and squints. “Cynthia?”

“We broke up,” I say flatly. “A while ago.”

Of course, I already told him this. Three times now. He’s been having problems remembering what month it is, even what year.

“Shit, man. She was a really great girl.”

My throat hurts. “I know.”

Chris licks his chapped lips, frowns. “Brock. We should have never done that.”

“Done what?” I say, but I know what he means.

“Don’t ever do that again, you hear me? Don’t ever.”

It’s too late, I want to say. There’s no reset button on life. Instead I just stand there, deaf and dumb, trying to be some kind of comforting.

“That guy… Ben…” Chris coughs. “He was no good.”

It hurts to watch him try and talk. His chest heaves as he forces out the words.

“Yeah.” My voice sounds raw, and I clear my throat. “He’s in jail now.”

“Those gicks… they really fucked us over.”

“Chris,” I say, “don’t worry. Don’t—”

His eyes roll back, baring white, before his eyelids flutter shut. He convulses, fists clenched, back arched. The hinges of the bed rattle.

“Hey!” I shout. “Somebody get the hell in here!”

A nurse runs to the doorway, then shouts for someone to get a doctor. She tries to jab a syringe into Chris’s arm, but he’s thrashing too hard.

“Help me hold him down!”

I obey the nurse and pin Chris’s shoulders to the mattress. He’s so weak compared to me. His skin feels scalding hot beneath my hands. The nurse successfully empties the syringe into the vein on the inside of his elbow, and after thirty seconds of eternity, the earthquake within Chris dies down, leaving him limp and sweaty.

“Chris?” I say. “Chris, are you okay?”

“He’s unconscious,” says the nurse. “But he should recover.”

The doctor strides through the door, all white-coated importance, and starts rattling off medical terms that make no sense to me.

I breathe deep and try not to shout. “Excuse me! What just happened to Chris?”

The doctor stares at me. “I’m sorry, you’re going to have to leave.”

“He’s my brother, for Christ’s sake. Tell me what happened.”

“Your brother has a history of febrile seizures,” the doctor says, her face bland and emotionless, “which may explain this one.”

“Why isn’t he getting better? Why did I get better, but not Chris?”

“Many factors. You may have a genetic predisposition that allowed you to survive, or his immune system may have been weakened.”

I growl under my breath. Enough with the hand waving and medical gibberish.

“You have to go,” the doctor says. “Now.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

“Yes.”

That’s all I need to hear. I don’t want to keep hanging around. If I stay too long, I might see something horrible. Fists clenched, I stride out of the room and start trying to breathe again. That scared the shit out of me.

Dad’s wasting money on these special paranormal-expert doctors. They don’t know jack shit about taking care of Others. If all their fancy medical diplomas really mean anything more than the tissue-paper gowns here, why is Chris getting worse? He hates being in a Seattle hospital. He should be home right now.

I shake my head, hard.

The stink of the hospital is starting to mess with my head. Too much sickness. I’ve got to get out of here. As the doors to the elevator slide shut, I stare at myself in the polished stainless walls, then punch my reflection and dent the steel.

Damn it. I forget how strong I am now. But why do I feel so useless?

~

When I get home, I take an icy shower until my skin feels numb, though nothing can numb the ache inside me. I do finally get the hospital stink off of me, thank God. Afterward, I sit at my ancient desktop computer with the window open, letting the cold evening wind take over my bedroom. I wait for the hideously slow Internet to load my email.

Huh. An email from Josh. Maybe running into me yesterday guilt-tripped him into writing.

hey brock just wanted to let u know that im going to a bonfire party tonight. its behind bobs corn maze on the other side of the trees. there will be drinks and girls. hope to see u there.

peace josh A bonfire party? Tonight? I can’t believe Josh actually wants me to come along.

Outside the window, the moon hides her silver face behind a scarf of clouds. How full is she now? The wind scrapes the sky clean, and I squint at the pallid moon. About three-quarters full, and growing. An electric shiver skitters down my spine, and I curl my toes into the carpet. Time for another hit of Lycanthrox. After I swallow the magic pill, I tell myself that I feel calmer. That there won’t be a problem tonight.

I almost believe myself.