Mercy
THE REST OF the drive to the hospital is a blur as my thoughts race with what we’re about to see. What happened to Milo after he left with those men?
My teeth clench when I consider the evil those men are capable of. The only thought that keeps me grounded is that injured men go to the hospital. Dead ones don’t.
Miguel pulls the car into the emergency entrance parking lot, and I grab Julian’s hand, trying to keep up with Miguel as he sprints to the door. The sliding glass doesn’t open fast enough. He pushes them open and darts to the desk, weaving in front of people in line.
“Emilio Vega! Where is he?”
“Excuse me.” The woman behind the desk glares at Miguel. “You’re going to have to—”
“Tell me where my brother is!”
She jerks away from her computer. I’m afraid she’ll leave, so I step forward with Julian in front of me, my arms draped over his shoulders. She blinks at me, and I give her a moment to check the shock displayed plainly on her face.
“I apologize. He’s just worried about his brother,” I say.
She seems to calm when she hears the steadiness in my voice. It’s taking every ounce of energy I have to keep from screaming like Miguel.
“Emilio Vega? We got a phone call that he was brought in a little while ago?”
Her eyes dart to the line of people behind us. I turn and apologize to them, but when they see me, they all nod in a kind of stunned silence.
“Um . . . okay, let me see.” She types something on the keyboard of her computer while Miguel paces with both hands fisted in his hair. “We have a Hispanic male who was brought in an hour ago.”
“That’s him!” Miguel leans over the counter.
I place a hand on his shoulder in a silent request that he calm down.
“Oh, good, well, I’m glad you’re here. He’s pretty drowsy on the pain medication and we need information—”
“Pain?” Julian’s small voice catches the woman’s attention.
Her expression softens, and she picks up the phone. “Let me get someone out here to bring you back.”
I thank her, and we move to hover by the big double doors that lead into the belly of the emergency center. Miguel continues pacing while staring at the doors, and Julian stays with me, his hands gripping mine.
“Dearest Holy Mother, let him be okay.” I repeat my whispered prayer.
Julian leans his head on me, whispering along with me. Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I can’t be the healing angel for Milo, but I can be the strength for his brothers.
After a few minutes, the door opens and a man in a white coat comes out and spots us. Dr. Michael Monroe is stitched above the breast pocket, and his gaze is set on Miguel. “You’re the family of our patient?”
Miguel nods. “We got a call.”
“Interesting.” He studies me but only for a second, not seeming nearly as surprised as most people seeing me for the first time. I wonder if it’s his medical background that makes me less of a freak in his eyes. “Come on back.”
We follow him through the doors and a series of hallways that, despite their bright lights, make me feel as though I’m back in the basement of Papa’s house. My heart races and my palms sweat. Julian seems to notice a change in me because he keeps looking at me in suspicion.
I smile and squeeze his hand. “I’m okay.”
We enter a large room filled with beds separated by curtains.
Dr. Monroe brings us to a bed but turns to us. “He’s in pretty bad shape, but nothing that seems to be life-threatening.”
At our collective sighs of relief, he slides open the curtain. My breath catches in my throat. The person in the bed is unrecognizable. I step closer, leaving Julian with Miguel.
My gaze lands on Milo’s neck, the tattoo of the Holy Mother discolored with bruising, but still—“It’s him.”
His eyelids are a painful mix of purple and red, swollen shut and framed in fresh cuts and bruises. His jaw sits at a weird angle, and his lips are black and blue.
“He’s suffered three broken ribs, a broken arm, and multiple contusions, but his brain scans all came back clear. His jaw is swollen but not broken. He’s lucky.”
I look at the doctor, and he seems a little embarrassed. “Lucky?”
“Most of the gang jump victims we see are in a lot worse shape—”
“Gang jump?” Miguel growls from the opposite side of the bed.
“Oh.” The doctor frowns. “I assumed with the Latino Saints tattoo and the way he was dropped at the hospital doors, it’s my belief that your brother just got jumped into a gang.”
“That can’t be it. He was already . . .” Miguel’s whispered words are cut off by an abrupt shake of his head.
I don’t know what to make of any of this. Miguel crosses his arms and frowns at the doctor as if he’s not buying the story.
“You’re his blood relative?” the doctor asks.
I assume he’s not talking to me, so I ignore him while Miguel answers his questions. I reach to touch Milo’s hand but hesitate when I see the severe bruises and cuts. “Oh, Milo . . . what did they do to you?”
For the first time since we got the phone call, I allow myself to cry. The tears fall in silent streams hidden from everyone except Milo, and thankfully he’s asleep. I watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest and pray my gratitude to the Holy Mother for sparing his life.
“Please let this be the end of it all,” I whisper.
Milo’s eyebrows jump, and his puffy lids struggle to open.
“Milo?” I wrap my hands around a section of his forearm that doesn’t seem as discolored as the rest. “It’s me. I’m here.”
He licks his lips. “Mi alma.” His voice is so weak.
“Yes, I’m here. Miguel and Julian are too. We’re so happy you’re okay—” The last word breaks on a sob, and I hate that I can’t keep it together and be strong for him.
“Don’t . . .” He winces as though talking hurts his throat. “Cry.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” I press a kiss to the side of his head.
“He’s awake, great.” The doctor circles the foot of the bed to stand at Milo’s head across from me. He pulls out a light that looks like a pen and pulls up Milo’s eyelid to shine it in his eye.
I cringe at the whites of his eyes, which are blood red with broken vessels, but he doesn’t seem to be in too much pain. The doctor runs through a few tests, checking monitors and asking Milo questions about his level of discomfort.
“I’m going to have him admitted overnight so we can monitor him and make sure we didn’t miss anything. I’ll refer him to an orthopedic specialist to get his arm casted in about a week, after the swelling goes down. With some pain management and strict instructions to take care of those ribs, he should be okay to go home tomorrow, next day latest.”
We thank the doctor, and when we’re left alone, Milo drifts back to sleep. The three of us sit in silence, just watching him breathe.
At the sound of Julian’s yawning, I check the time on the wall. “Laura and Chris are going to wonder where we are.”
Miguel holds up his phone. “They just texted me. They’re on their way.”
I nod and stare at my connection to Milo, my pale hand on his badly bruised but non-broken arm. “You guys should go. I’ll stay with him.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I will not leave him.” I feel the need to apologize for my quick and angry response, but instead I bite my lip.
The side of Miguel’s mouth lifts a tiny bit. “All right.”
Milo
I WAKE FROM a dreamless sleep to more darkness. At first I think it must be the middle of the night, but when I try to roll over to go back to sleep, my body cries out in agony. I moan and reach for a light, but my arm won’t listen to the command. It aches as if it’s stuck between my bed and desk and tweaked funny.
When I open my mouth to speak, my voice doesn’t sound right.
“Shhh, it’s okay.” A gentle touch glides against my cheek, and Mercy’s voice wraps around me. “Don’t move too much.”
“I can’t see.”
There’s a click, and the darkness gets a little lighter. I blink, but my eyelids hardly move. That’s when it all comes rushing back.
I reach out to Mercy with the arm that will move—I must’ve broken the other—and I don’t have to search long before she holds my hand. “I’m so sorry. For everything—”
“So am I.” Her lips brush lightly against my temple.
Desperate to see her, I force my eyes open and catch a glimpse of her pale face, her eyes red and swollen, but a smile on her blurry, pale lips. “You’re beautiful.”
“So are you.” She smiles sadly.
“Oh yeah?” My chuckle turns into a cough that I regret as pain slices through my side. “Oh fuck.”
“Stop moving. Do you want me to get a nurse?”
“No.” I grip her shirt with stiff, swollen fingers. “Stay with me.”
She sits at the edge of the bed so gently that it hardly moves the mattress. “Was this punishment for giving away Esteban?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “This was a gift.”
“That makes no sense. Life was much simpler when good was good and bad was bad, but out here, bad things can be good and good things can be evil and—”
“That’s the beauty of life, mi alma.” I groan and try to breathe shallowly to keep the pain in my ribs from stealing my words. “Everything is a journey, a wild ride with constant surprises.”
“I don’t want the ride. I’m done with surprises. I’m ready for easy and predictable.”
I do my best to comfort her but only manage to brush her wrist with my thumb. “I’m out. The Saints let me go.” I don’t know if it’s the drugs or my messed up, over-producing tear ducts, or if it’s the whirlwind of emotion that swirls in my chest, but a tear falls from my eye. “It’s over. All of it. We’re finally free.”
“We are?” I hear the smile in her voice more than I see it.
“We get to start our forever now.”
“I’m scared.”
“That’s all right. We’ll get there. Together.”
“I’m never letting you go, Milo.”
“That’s good, Ghostgirl.” I squeeze her hand as best I can. “Cause I’m gonna need my angel to chase off these demons.”
“And I’m going to need my savior to chase mine.”