C. Omololu - Intuition

“Hang on, there are treatments. Vasodialators and anticoagulants, along with Ativan to stop the hallucinations.”

“How are we going to tell the doctors? There’s no way they’re going to believe a couple of teenagers diagnosing a disease that disappeared centuries ago.”

Giselle reaches into her bag and pulls out a laminated medical identification tag from a hospital in Switzerland. “I’ve got this one.”

Of course. She’s a doctor too. “What are you going to say?”

She clips the tag onto her jacket. “That I’m a friend of the family and that I’ve seen this in rural outposts on my trips with Médecins Sans Frontières. All I have to do is point them in the right direction—once they do the research, they’ll figure it out for themselves.”

Giselle stands up and strides through the ICU doors like she owns the place. Peter’s still not back, and I’m acutely aware that Griffon and I are alone in the waiting room. At that moment my phone buzzes, and I can tell from his glance that Griffon hears it too. I check the display, but put it quickly back into my pocket. Not a call I want to take right now.

A flash of understanding passes across Griffon’s face. “It’s Drew, isn’t it?” His eyes, which had been so soft and concerned, turn hard and gleaming.

“Does it matter?” I say, putting every ounce of hurt and frustration I feel into my words. “You’ve already decided how things are going to be.”

“I just saved us both pain and aggravation because I already know how it would end.” His mouth is set so tight he can barely speak.

“And what about what I want? You took that totally out of the equation.”

I see a flash of indecision in his eyes, but he quickly turns away. “Look, I came here for Peter,” Griffon says evenly. “And for Rayne.” I can’t see his face, but the silence that follows that sentence says volumes. He didn’t come here for me.

My pocket is vibrating. I sit up straight in the chair, blinking in the dim light of the waiting room. I’ve been staring at the same four walls for two days now, only leaving when my parents demand that I come home because of the ridiculous notion that my staying here might somehow be doing Rayne some good. The hope that I had when Griffon first diagnosed the problem is starting to fade with every passing day, and whenever I think of the hostile words we said to each other even as Rayne might be dying, I feel sick to my stomach.

I glance over at Peter’s chair, but for once it’s empty. The only other people in the waiting room are an older couple quietly eating lunch out of plastic containers, and I wonder where Peter could be.

My phone vibrates again and I pull it out of my pocket. I told Drew the basics of what happened to Rayne and I know he’s concerned, but I can’t deal with talking to him right now.

Suddenly, I need to move, to feel like I’m doing something, even if that something is totally useless. I’m not sure where I’m going to go, but I can’t sit here any longer. I’m pressing the elevator button when Rayne’s mom comes rushing down the hall.

“Cole! Wait!” she calls, slightly out of breath. “Rayne wants to see you.”

“She—what?” I must have heard her wrong.

I see tears in her eyes, but she’s smiling underneath it all. “She asked for you. She’s awake, can you believe it? She can’t talk because of the ventilator, but she has a notepad to communicate.”

“How?” I manage.

Her mom shrugs happily and gives me a quick hug. “The doctors figured out that it’s some crazy disease that they thought died out a hundred years ago and gave her some medication for it. It’s a miracle. They say that if she continues to improve, they’ll take her off the ventilator tomorrow or the next day. Do you want to see her?”

“Of course,” I say, following her through the double doors. I can’t believe they listened to Giselle. There’s a change in the room, like a heavy cloud has been lifted. As soon as I pull back the curtains around her bed, Rayne looks straight at me, her eyes a mixture of pain and relief. She lifts one hand and motions me toward her bed.

“Go on,” Rayne’s mom says to me. She leans over the bed to talk to Rayne. “I’m going to get some of those lemon swabs the nurse said you can have, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Rayne nods with a small but decisive motion.

I stand next to the bed, amazed at the change in her, feeling suddenly awkward. Rayne points to the notepad that’s on the table by the foot of her bed. I pick it up and hand her the pen that’s lying next to it. Her fingers are still not working right, so she grips it awkwardly in her fist as I hold the pad up near her face.

You did, Rayne writes in a sprawling, nearly unreadable print.

“ ‘I did’?” I say. I look at her and she nods toward the pad. “I did? What did I do?”

Felt u. She puts the pen down for a second and I can sense her exhaustion. It takes a moment before she can continue. Here.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” I tell her.

Fixed this. Rayne has to put the pen down on the bed; the effort is taking too much out of her. Her eyes are wide open, expecting an explanation.

I look around, but all of the nurses are busy with other patients. I lean down close to her face. “I just helped figure out what was wrong. Griffon diagnosed what it was and told them what to give you to fix it.”

Rayne points to the floor, and I know right away what she means. “Yes,” I say. “Griffon was here. Peter too—I’m sure he’s still around here somewhere.”

Rayne looks at me with her eyes wide open, and I can almost hear her question. “No. Everything’s still the same with me and Griffon. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he figured it out and you’re going to be okay.”

I see one lone tear trickle down her cheek as she closes her eyes, exhausted from the effort of communicating. “I should go find Peter for you,” I say, even though I know she’s already asleep. I reach up to brush the tear away, but something catches my attention as my finger touches her skin. I pull back, startled, and then tentatively reach out to touch her one more time, to make sure I’m not imagining things. But I feel it again, and I hold my hand there to make sure there’s no mistake.

The vibrations coming from her are the same ones that I’ve learned to recognize in others over the past few months. I stare at her, sleeping fitfully, and can’t believe it’s happened. The one thing in all of this craziness that I never even considered possible has actually happened. Veronique, for all her desperation and manipulation, actually did it.

Rayne’s Akhet now.

Even as I’m listening to Zander butcher my favorite Chopin piece, I have one eye on my phone propped up on the music stand, willing it to ring. Rayne and her mom both insisted I leave the hospital and get on with my life, but my mind is still back there with them. I must have left five messages for Janine on the ride between the hospital and the studio. She hasn’t called me back and it’s killing me to not talk about Rayne with someone. I’ve given her until five o’clock, and if she doesn’t call by then, I’m going to Veronique’s lab alone. If it really was ergotoxicosis, then I know exactly where Rayne got it and why.