Page 28

‘Sorry about the wait.’

Dr Lee strolled into the room, letting the door swing shut behind her, heels clipping the polished floor, the smell of bleach hanging low in the air.

Jet straightened up, her hospital gown bunching around her knees, right arm dangling lifeless off the bed. Was Dr Lee really sorry about the wait, or was she sorry about something else?

Billy had been sitting beside Jet, the thin mattress sighing now as he stood up, bowed his head.

‘I’ve had a look at the images from your CT scan, with the radiologist,’ Dr Lee said, a file gripped in her hands. ‘And.’ She stopped, cleared her throat.

‘Can I see?’ Jet asked.

The doctor nodded, eyes heavy, mouth set.

She opened her file and pulled out a thin sheet of plastic, walked around the bed to hold it up against the light streaming in through the window.

Another grid of pale blue images, the inside of Jet’s head. She’d been conscious this time, aware of every second as she was fed into that giant metal circle, the machine whirring around her, dissecting her brain.

There was something new this time.

‘You see this white mass here,’ Dr Lee said, circling it with her finger.

‘Is that the aneurysm?’

‘That’s the aneurysm.’

Jet swallowed, too tacky in her dried-out throat, gouges her heart had left behind.

‘Guess you were right, doc.’

What, had Jet seriously thought there was any chance the doctor could have been wrong, that she wouldn’t die after all?

Stop asking like that, because – because maybe she’d started to, just a little bit, last night in the bar with Billy, when she forgot for a few minutes, forgot that she was dying because she’d been distracted by living.

Before, it had just been a what if , a theoretical time bomb ticking away, and here it was, made real and tangible, a white shape against the gray mass of her brain.

Jet swallowed again, her very last bit of hope.

‘Looks big,’ she said instead.

Dr Lee nodded. ‘It’s a large aneurysm. Twenty-three millimeters across. Just two away from being classified a giant aneurysm.’

‘Well, that’s good, I guess.’ Jet sniffed. ‘At least it’s a high-achieving aneurysm.’

Dr Lee didn’t smile. Neither did Billy, his eyes swimming.

‘The other symptoms you’ve described – the headaches, the pain above your eye, the double vision, that dilated pupil,’ Dr Lee said, ‘those are all typical symptoms of an unruptured aneurysm of this size. You may experience others, such as weakness, loss of balance, difficulty concentrating, numbness in one side of your face.’

Jet looked at Billy; she’d forgotten to mention her cheek. Another one checked off the list.

‘And her arm?’ Billy asked, staring at it, like he could bring it back to life with his eyes.

Dr Lee hesitated.

‘What is it?’ Jet ran her fingers down her bare arm, felt nothing, like it belonged to someone else, not even someone close – a stranger.

‘The scan shows us that the aneurysm is leaking.’ Dr Lee tapped the scan, the plastic crinkling.

‘We call this a sentinel bleed. A possible side effect is that this internal bleed is putting pressure on one of your nerves, interrupting the signals, which would explain the loss of function in your arm.’

‘Will it come back?’ Billy asked.

Dr Lee’s face was answer enough: no, it would not.

‘I’m sorry, Jet.’

Not sorry about the wait at all. Sorry about the rest of it, and that she had to be the one to say it, again.

‘Why is it leaking?’ Jet asked. ‘What does that mean?’

Dr Lee nodded, like she’d expected the question. Or maybe like she wanted to delay answering.

‘A sentinel bleed is also known as a warning bleed. It will normally occur just a few days before a significant rupture.’

Jet sighed, letting out that tiny last sliver of hope she should never have had in the first place, watched it disappear in the bleach-heavy air.

‘So you were right, about all of it,’ she said to the doctor. ‘I had a week, and I’ve used half of it already.’

Half. Halftime. Halfway dead. No return. No taking it back. No undoing her choice.

‘I’m so sorry, Jet.’

Billy dropped into the chair, grabbed Jet’s hand, the one she could feel. He held on tight and Jet held back.

Her gut churned, laying claim to her heart again, sinking, her chest empty without it.

‘Wh-what will it feel like?’ She looked up at the doctor. ‘When it ruptures? When I die?’

Dr Lee hugged the file, holding it over her heart.

‘Patients who have survived a ruptured brain aneurysm describe it as the worst headache of your life. Like a thunderclap, all of a sudden.’ She looked into Jet’s eyes, like she felt she owed her that, eye contact, while describing her death.

‘Other symptoms will come on suddenly, because of the rapid bleeding inside the brain. Your neck might feel stiff, nausea, sudden weakness in the limbs. You might have a seizure as the electrical activity surges in your brain. You’ll start slipping in and out of consciousness as the blood starts to starve the brain cells of oxygen. And then …’

‘And then,’ Jet repeated. They all knew what came after.

Billy stroked his thumb across the back of Jet’s hand, his skin hard where hers was soft.

‘I’ll give you two a minute alone.’

The door swung shut behind Dr Lee, shushing as it did. It didn’t need to; the room was silent anyway.

Jet took her hand back, used it to push up from the bed, bare feet on the cold tiles.

‘Come on,’ she said, heading to the chair in the corner, and her pile of folded clothes.

‘Jet.’ Billy’s voice was small, far too small for him. ‘We can talk about it, if you –’

‘– We don’t need to talk about it,’ she cut him off. ‘We already knew all that. Nothing’s changed.’

She picked up her jeans with her left hand, gripped the waistband, and shook them to open up the leg holes. Stepped her right leg inside and almost tripped.

‘Do you want my help?’ Billy asked, tentative. Like he knew she was going to snap:

‘I can do it with one hand. I’m not useless.’

Jet stepped the other leg through, found the floor.

Pulled the jeans up to her knees, left hand moving from one side to the other, wriggling as she yanked them up over her thighs, breathless with the effort.

The ass was the hardest part, but she would not ask Billy for help – she didn’t need his help, she could do this, she would not be useless.

She tucked the hospital gown up and yanked the jeans the rest of the way, knocking into her dead arm, making it sway.

‘There,’ she exhaled. ‘I did it.’

She glanced down at her waistband, the zipper gaping open.

Fuck.

‘I can’t,’ she started. ‘I can’t … Can you –’

‘– Do the button?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, her voice now smaller than his.

Billy stepped forward and Jet averted her eyes as he reached down, pulled the zipper up for her, fastened the button, his fingers grazing the flesh of her belly, her heart not hiding in her gut anymore, but in her ears, burning.

‘Done,’ he said, not waiting for a thanks. Which was good, because Jet wasn’t giving it. But if she had to be useless in front of someone, maybe she would have chosen Billy Finney anyway. She didn’t use to mind, when she banged her knee falling off her bike, and he would fix it for her.

Jet sighed, picked up her bra, avoiding Billy’s eyes, and he hers.

Now that was too far.

She stuffed it into her jacket pocket instead, along with her T-shirt, and draped her jacket over one shoulder. The hospital probably had enough of these gowns anyway. And what were they going to do about it: arrest her for theft?

‘Jet, are you OK?’ Billy asked, still looking away.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Like I said, nothing has changed. I was always dying. I always had a week. Come on, we better get going. My murder isn’t going to solve itself.’

Jet stopped at the top of the steps, left hand to the wall. Right swinging by her side.

‘What are you all doing here?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes at the group of people standing outside Billy’s apartment, too many voices, clogging up the hall.

Detective Ecker, Jack Finney, the chief, and Jet’s parents.

‘There you are,’ her mom said, breathy with relief. ‘We’re looking for you. Where have you been?’

‘At the hospital,’ Billy answered from the step behind, before Jet could intervene. She would have preferred her mom not know that, because she was only going to –

‘– The hospital?’ Dianne snapped, eyes wide. ‘Why – what’s happened?’

Yep, she was only going to make a big deal out of it. Thanks, Billy.

‘Nothing,’ Jet said, nudging Billy with her elbow, the one that worked. ‘The aneurysm has started to leak, and I can’t move my arm anymore.’

Jet pointed to the arm in question, limp at her side in the jacket sleeve.

‘What do you mean you can’t move your arm?’ Dianne’s voice pitched higher. ‘Show me.’

Jet blinked. ‘I can’t show you – that’s the point. It looks like an arm that can’t move, Mom. Not much to see.’

‘Did the doctors give you anything for it?’

Jet pursed her lips. ‘Yeah, some magical pills to grow another arm.’

‘I should have been there, Jet. You never ask the right questions –’

‘– What are you all doing here?’ That was the right question now, Jet’s eyes moving to the cops instead, to Billy’s dad, because she knew his face best, searched it for answers.

Detective Ecker was the one to step forward. ‘We need to talk to you. Can we come inside?’

‘The spare key’s not under the mat anymore,’ Jack said over Jet’s head, looking at Billy.

‘Jet’s got it.’ Billy fished his keys out of his pocket, winding his way through everyone to the door of 1B.

He unlocked it and held the door open, guiding everyone through.

His dad hesitated, rested a hand on Billy’s shoulder as he passed.

‘Patriots game on Sunday,’ Jack said stiffly, hand still there. ‘It’s supposed to rain, though. You gonna watch it?’