He stares, and she knows her words have flown over his head, much like whenever she gives her daughter priceless advice. She has said her piece and won’t bother him again.

Andrea goes back to work as her twentieth Decker of the night answers the phone.

“Hello, I’m calling from Death-Cast. . . .”

While the Deckers may no longer have futures, Andrea is positive she will have a long one here at Death-Cast.

Valentino

1:11 a.m.

I hate waiting rooms.

The eight hours Scarlett had spent in surgery, I couldn’t stay still—I couldn’t wait. It’s like I didn’t have that organ in my body. So I stayed busy. When Mom was hungry, I headed to the cafeteria and brought her food. When Dad was tired but didn’t want to close his eyes, I found him a nice, strong black coffee from this little diner across the street from the hospital. When the parking meter needed to be fed, I was there at the top of the hour with my pocket change. During all the other still moments, I would pace the halls or wash my face, hands, and hair in the bathroom or get to know the nurses or flip through magazines for fun gossip to share with Scarlett once her surgery was over. Once she was okay.

Waiting to see if someone you love will live is excruciating.

Waiting to die is miserable too.

I wish I was a parking meter, able to buy more time with the drop of a quarter. Especially since Scarlett isn’t answering my calls, either because she’s too busy or she doesn’t recognize the number. The nurse has let me use the desk phone twice so far, and I don’t think she’s going to care if I believe in the third time being the charm. But my hands are tied here. Scarlett has to know what’s happening, especially before she boards her plane in the next couple hours. If the nurse gives me attitude again I might have to play the Decker card. She’ll either become extremely sympathetic and pull up a chair for me so I can spam my sister with calls until she answers, or she’ll kick me out of the building for fear of me endangering the patients. I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m tossed out on the streets like some ticking time bomb; maybe that unknown is why anyone would be concerned to host a Decker in their space.

For now, I’m sitting here in the waiting room. There’s no one to tend to, so I’m doing what the room was built for.

Waiting.

I’m waiting for Dalma to come out of the ER.

I’m waiting for Orion’s heart to settle.

I’m waiting for a premature death that could come around the corner any moment from now, even this very second. . . .

Nothing.