Abel’s never been close to anyone in the family, but that’s not exactly out of the ordinary. We’re not so close-knit. But the way he says it is almost like he’s gloating or happy.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s had some sort of attack—”

“Attack? Like a heart—”

“Let me finish,” he says, taking a seat on the sofa and stretching one arm across the back of it. With the other hand, he touches the small hole in the cushion beside the one he’s sitting on. A cigarette burn, I guess. “Are you smoking, Ivy?” he asks, sounding genuinely shocked.

“The furniture came with the apartment. It was already like that. What happened to dad?” I get my bag and dig around for my cell phone.

“That’s not going to do any good,” he says when he sees the phone in my hand. “Dad can’t come to the phone right now,” he mimics the typical recording, but his tone is strange, eerie.

“What is wrong with you?” I push the button to call Dad, and it goes right to voicemail. I try Evangeline and get the same thing. I even try my mother, and hers just rings and rings.

Abel’s on his feet, taking my phone from me with his big hand. He ends the call and tucks the phone into his pocket.

I look up at my older half brother. Almost ten years my senior, he’s the product of Dad’s first marriage and ever hateful of my sisters and me, the products of his second, acknowledged marriage.

His face grows dark. “He’s in a coma. They’re running tests, but it’s not looking good.”

“What? How? When?”

“Two days ago.”

“And you’re just telling me now? Where is he?”

“At the hospital. Where do you think he’d be?”

“Which hospital?”

He looks at me like I’m stupid. I know which hospital. Members of The Society only go to one.

I turn and hurry into my bedroom to pack a few things. I’ll be heading home. I have to. God. I never thought I’d go back of my own free will.

“Don’t you want to hear the good news?” Abel asks me from the doorway.

I glance at him as he casually leans against the frame.

“No, I don’t. Dad’s in the hospital, and I need to go see him. Find out what’s going on. It’s not like you’re telling me anything, is it?”

He steps into the bedroom. “I’ll tell you what I think you need to know.”

“Do you even care?”

He looks at me like he’s confused by my question.