I always thought when the moment came it would be in the middle of the night. Evan would be screaming and shrieking. I would be bolting down a hallway or up a flight of stairs. Maybe I’d trip, or maybe I’d just be one step too slow. I’d go down, and my frothing son would be upon me.

Instead, I sit next to Evan on the sofa. He keeps his eyes on the TV, slightly slack-jawed, deep in TV coma. I relax, feeling sleepy from so much time outdoors. Maybe I’ll take us for ice cream after this. Maybe we can attempt a public outing.

I feel a prick. A pain in my side. I reach down to rub it away, and notice a knife handle sticking out from between my ribs. My son’s hand is holding it. And my son, my beautiful son, is glaring at me.

“Et tu, Brute?” he snarls.

At that moment, staring into the black pools of his eyes, I get it. Why my son appears so calm: because there’s no more turmoil inside him. Evan’s surrendered to the phantom. He’s let the phantom win.

I stare at the paring knife. I stare at my blood, dripping down the handle, across his pale thin fingers, into the tan sofa cushion. And I feel pain now, white-hot, dizzying. I feel other drippings, inside my body, from whatever vital organs have just been pierced.

I watch the day dim before my eyes, grow shadowy around the edges.

Such a pretty day, I think. Such a happy day to end like this.

I look at my son. And I do what any mom would do.

I wrap my fingers around his bloody hand, and I say, before the darkness takes me, “It’s okay, Evan. It’s all going to be okay. I love you. I will always love you.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

DANIELLE

I was on paid administrative leave. No point to staying on the ward. I should return home, shower, eat, and sleep for the next forty-eight hours. Naturally, I lingered on the unit instead.

I hung out in the Admin area, tackling general paperwork, then, reluctantly, writing up the last few hours of Lucy’s life. I made a minute-by-minute account of everything that happened during my shift, from my medical evaluation downstairs to Jorge’s meltdown upstairs. The detectives’ arrival. The execution of the warrant, the handing over of files, my solo outing for the infamous glass of water, as well as my brief visit to Lucy’s room. I recorded Lucy’s state of mind, her feline waltz through the moonbeams. Finally, I mentioned refilling the stupid copier, answering the detectives’ questions, and then, after Greg’s announcement, launching our desperate hunt through various hospital corridors. I went over it, again and again and again.