Page 144 of Handsome Devil

In this game of Russian roulette, Tiernan was the first to pull the trigger.

“If this woman doesn’t die in the next few hours, I swear to God, I will.” I leaned forward to coat my mother’s lips with another layer of Lypsyl.

She was going through them like candy, and every time I applied it to her broken, parched lips, her mouth moved as if she was trying to eat it.

I swiveled toward Dr. Fields, narrowing my eyes. “Are you sure she’s not trying to communicate with us?”

He shook his head. “It’s a reflex. We’re monitoring her daily. No neuroactivity is showing on the scans.”

“It’s been eighteen days.” I capped the Lypsyl and dumped it on the nightstand, pacing across the room. “Something’s wrong. You need to look into her condition.”

“You already received second and third opinions.”

I did. Each one of them supported his prognosis. But this state, of watching my mother suspended above the chasm between life and death, her fingers slipping one millimeter at a time, was pure torture. My entire existence shrank to this room, to this hospital bed, to the empty, withering shell of a once vital woman who danced like no one was looking, read poetry, taught me how to bake cookies, braided my hair, and shaped me to be who I was today.

“Maybe we should reinsert the G-tube,” I said.

My college friends Alix and Sadie both stood up from the couch, about to argue with me, but Fields beat them to it.

“How about I finish doing my morning rounds, and we can discuss it?” His voice was sympathetic.

I nodded distractedly. He left.

“Gia, she’s on death’s door.” Alix put her hand on my shoulder.

“Alix, then she’s got the wrong bloody address,” I sighed.

Tate ambled into the room. My hollow, depleted heart picked up speed at the sight of him. My spine uncurled. He came to visit me every day, and I still arrived home every night to sleep, but we barely spent time together.

He stalked over to me, ignoring my two friends. “Hanging in there?”

“For the most part.”

“I brought someone here.” He stepped away from me. His hand reached into his pocket, and I knew he was tapping his numbers. I studied him in confusion.

“Oh.” I forced out a smile. “You move fast. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Lina McCain,” he provided just as the door opened again and an impeccably dressed, middle-aged woman swanned into the room.

“Okay…”

“She’s a medium and has come to help find out what the holdup is with your mother.” Tate tried to keep a straight face, but I knew better than anyone that this heathen did not believe in the afterlife, souls, or anything else that wasn’t firmly backed by science.

“Gia.” The woman reached over to kiss both my cheeks and give me a hug. “Your husband is very concerned about you. He brought me over on his private plane. I had to cancel a big,bigevent to be here. I can never turn my back on a family emergency.”

I continued staring at her, too perplexed to speak.

“I’m sure you must be going through hell. Well, let me tell you a little bit about what I do.” Lina proceeded to explain that she specialized in communicating with people in comas who were on life support or had severe brain damage. She said she connected with the spirit guides of her clients—me or the person in a coma—to better understand what caused them to get stuck in limbo.

“Sometimes people are trapped in the in-between because things that are left unfinished are bothering them. I once communicated with a woman on life support who told me her astral cord was still attached to her body, but she hadn’t yet decided whether she wanted to die or not. Her father pushed her off the balcony and pretended to be concerned for her, staying in the room with her day and night. I was able to alert her distraught son who’d hired me, and the father was arrested. Shortly after he was sentenced to life in prison, she passed away.”

I shot Mum another look. I was skeptical about spirit guides, but I was also at a point where I’d try anything.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Tate interjected. “Just say the word, and I’ll send Ms. McCain packing.”

“You should do it,” Alix squeaked from the couch.

“Yeah,” Sadie added, biting down on her lip. “Telma was very mystical. She believed in spirits.”