His eyelids flutter and so does my heart. Because once he wakes up there will be no way to stop the plan. It will move forward and that’s it, I guess.
The end of life as we know it.
The end of Old Home.
The end of Adam.
The end of McKay.
The end of all of it.
It will just be… the end.
“Look,” Nick says. “What’s that spike?” He and Doc are standing in front of the brainwave machine, not paying attention to Donovan and me. In fact, when I do a casual look around, everyone is either looking at the machine or in the process of moving closer. Only Maggie stays where she is.
Her eyes narrow down at me.
I narrow mine right back.
Does she know what I’m doing?
Does she know the plan?
Will she try to stop me?
She did shoot Donovan in the back of the head. No one saw that coming. His brains would’ve been splattered into billions of pieces if that had been a bullet instead of a dart.
But she’s too far away to hear anything if I whisper. The machines are beeping and everyone is talking now. So I lean in. “Donovan,” I whisper to him. “Donovan. It’s time to wake up now. I can’t do any of this without you.”
His lips move and the tiniest stream of words comes out with his next breath.
Cerene hears it because she turns her bloodshot eyes towards us and gasps. “He’s waking up!”
Then everyone is turning back towards us and there’s no time to say more.
I squeeze his hand. Pray that he understands what’s happening. That he will do his part to make this end.
His eyes fly open and he inhales, sucking air into his lungs like he’s been underwater for ages.
Everyone is talking at once. “Donovan! You’re back.”
“Donovan, don’t try to move.”
“Donovan, can you see me?”
I don’t know who says what.
All I know is that he lets go of my hand, pushing me away, then slips his hand under the covers to grab something. I see it under the covers. I know what it is just by the outline under the thin cotton sheet. I watch as he brings his arm out, finger on trigger, and places the gun to his head.
The nurses scream.
Doc says, “What the hell are you doing?”
Adam says, “Where the fuck did he get a gun?” And he’s lookin’ right at me when these words come out.
McKay’s reaching for it but I scream, “No!” and push him back. “No!” I’m standing now. “Leave him alone!”
“He’s gonna shoot someone,” McKay yells. “He’s gonna kill someone!”
“I’m not going to kill anyone.” Donovan’s voice is low and scratchy. Like he needs a drink of water. “No one but myself.”
“No.” I stand up. “Back off!” I yell at them. “All of you, back off! If he pulls that trigger, I will never forgive you.” I’m not sure who to direct this comment towards because I’m like a hundred percent certain that Adam gives no fucks at all about my blame or forgiveness at this point in time. We are so over.
And McKay, love him though I do, will not choose me over Adam.
But they are the only ones to appeal to.
They are the only ones who don’t care if Donovan lives.
Adam narrows his eyes at me in a way I don’t recognize.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve seen him look like that before. That day when I was small. My first test to see if I was ready. When I was attacked during that San Francisco job. And other times too.
But those times, he was protecting me. He wasn’t looking at me.
Now, he’s lookin’ at me.
He sees me.
The real me.
The broken, scattered, insane, unfixable me.
And he wants to kill me.
He wants to kill me for trying to kill him.
Donovan is scrambling to sit up. It takes him most of the time that the rest of us are coming to terms with the switch in direction.
Adam and I come to some sort of silent truce—wrong word. An impasse that requires further thought before action. That’s more accurate.
And by the time we get there, Donovan has managed to swing his legs out of the bed and get to his feet, the gun still pointed at his temple.
“What the fuck are you doing, Donovan?” McKay yells.
“That’s not Donovan,” Merc says.
Which makes Donovan laugh. “Oh, trust me. This is me.”
“Maggie!” Adam yells. “Get out. Now. To your room. Now!”
“No!” I yell. “No! She’s not your child, Adam. She’s not your friend, she’s not your charge, she’s not your ward, she’s not even related to you! You do not get to tell my daughter what to do. Maggie.” I don’t look at her. My eyes are locked with Adam’s. “Stay here.”
“Whoever you are,” Merc says, and his voice is surprisingly calm—I think everyone notices this at the same time because the whole room goes still as we wait for Merc’s next words—“what do you think you’re going to accomplish with that gun to your head?”