Claire dropped me off at the hospital’s entrance. She asked if I wanted her to come inside with me, but I insisted I’d be fine. Not that I am. But it’s better this way. I pull back my shoulders, lift my chin, and reach for the handle.

It’s not the first time I’ve been to this hospital, but it may as well be. The last time I woke up as a patient, and now I walk in as a visitor. The man at the front desk asks me to wait while he pages the doctor, so I do. Moments later, I’m greeted by a middle-aged brunette woman in a white coat. She’s kind, I can tell, but her serious demeanor warns me off the bat. This can’t be good.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Lou,” she says.

The comment has me hopeful. “You have? So he’s up and talking?”

“Oh.” Her gaze darts down, her solemn expression deepening when she looks back up at me. “Um, no. I’m afraid not. I was referring to his earlier visits. He mentioned you quite a bit, you know.”

“Earlier visits?”

A crease forms between her brows, her head tilting. “Yes, that’s right.” I open my mouth to ask for clarification when she continues, taking off down the hall and gesturing for me to follow. “He told me what an excellent caretaker you’ve been, and that’s high praise coming from Mr. Blackwood.” Um, what? “Here we are.”

She stops before one of the rooms, then nods toward its window. I step closer to peer inside. The color drains from my face as soon as I do, and I forget all about my confusion over her words. Mr. Blackwood lies in the hospital bed, eyes closed and skin ghostly. I’ve never seen him without many layers on, and the thin patient gown and blanket do nothing to hide the sharp points of his bones. I almost can’t believe how frail he is.

“Lou,” she mutters, voice gentle, “as I’m sure you’re already aware, these recent weeks have been particularly rough on him. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for cancer patients to experience a stroke”—I blink, certain I’ve misheard her—“especially considering the sudden way it recently spread from his lungs. That, combined with his age, and the condition his health was already in prior to the diagnosis . . .” She glances toward him, a sad look crossing her face. “Again, I’m very sorry.”

“Wh-what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, we don’t expect him to wake. I’m afraid he doesn’t have very long, so I encourage you to see him soon if you’d like a moment to say goodbye.”

If there’s a way for all the air to leave your body at once without managing to kill you, I’m certain that’s what’s happening to me now. My throat’s suddenly too tight to take in the oxygen. Cancer? How long has he been hiding this from me?

“Lou?”

“Yes.” It’s a whisper, a distant sound even to me.

“Would you like to see him now?”

I nod, my neck stiff, and she opens the door for me. I don’t look back at her as I numbly walk toward him, but when the door clicks behind me, the distant sound feels too final. There’s a chair beside the bed. I sit, my gaze wandering everywhere in the room except toward him. I don’t think I can do it yet, being this close to him.

Then it would become real, and I don’t want it to be real. Instead, I clear my throat, stare at the wall above his head. I pretend I can breathe, for his sake. Pretend I’m not about to break. Pretend I’m not wondering how a person can be expected to go on when they keep losing one person after another.

Because this isn’t about me. This is about Mr. Blackwood, and only Mr. Blackwood.

“You know,” I croak through the lump in my throat, “I knew you wanted to be rid of me . . .” I have to pause, feeling a fresh wave of tears. Refusing to let them fall. “But this seems a little over the top, even for you.”

My laugh comes out choked and forced, and I can’t talk anymore or I won’t be able to hold the river back. So I continue to sit, this time in silence. I lean forward, resting my head in my hands, and I stay like that for a long while. I hear the door open once, twice, but I don’t flinch. It’s not until a ding sounds from my pocket that I move.

Bobby: Claire told me about Blackwood. I’m real sorry, Lou. Let us know if you need anything.

I decide to text him back. Anything to prolong me having to look at Mr. Blackwood directly.

Me: Thanks. Tell Claire I won’t be coming back today. Going to stay here with him for a little while.

Bobby: Yeah, of course. We’ll be here when you need us.

I manage a faint smile, rereading his texts. We. Us. At least that’s two people I love who I don’t have to worry about. They’ll be okay, Bobby and Claire. I know they will, and the knowledge relieves some of the ache within me.

I take a deep, shaky breath. Just get it over with. Rip off the Band-Aid all at once, and all that. I wipe my palms on my thighs then finally look up. There he lies. So still. So calm. I frown, looking closer. He looks almost peaceful, actually. Like maybe he’s just sleeping. Taking a nap on a lazy, weekend afternoon. I reach out and gently fold my hand over his bony one, through the blanket. A single tear slips down my cheek.

“So this is why you shut me out, huh?” I whisper, thinking back to our last conversations. “You could have just told me. I could have been there for you.” I pause, closing my eyes. “God, you’re so stubborn. And rude. And obnoxious. And stubborn.” I peek over at him again before adding, “And weird. You know you’re weird, right? Only a weirdo could hide their smart and sweet as well as you do.”

When the silence begins to stretch, I lean forward, resting my forehead on his arm and closing my eyes.

“I know you don’t want me to, but I’m going to stay here with you until you’re ready to go. Because we’re friends. And that’s what friends do.”

It wasn’t until midnight that I finally left his side, and that was only to grab a cup of coffee. I’m sore from sitting in that chair all day, my legs stiff as I make my way down the hall, focused on keeping the hot to-go cup in my hands from spilling. When I reach for the doorknob, a sudden movement beyond the room’s window catches my eye. I scoot closer. The windows are tinted, making them dark while the lights are dim, and I have to squint to peer through the glass.

As my vision adjusts, I’m slowly able to make out a dark figure, tall and broad. The coffee cup slips from my hands, crashing to the floor.

He’s here. Enzo’s here. Standing right beside Mr. Blackwood. The air is sucked from my lungs, catching in my throat. It’s really him. I reach out, pressing the open palm of my hand against the glass.

The longer I stare, the more I notice there’s something off about the way he looks. His body. It’s not solid, but wavering. There’s something dreamlike about it, dark and inky as he blends into the surroundings, looming over the hospital bed like some sort of shadowed god. I furrow my brows. He looks an awful lot like he did that night in the lake.

The night he came to take my soul.

My eyes widen. I’m just about to lunge for the door again when something stops me.

He’s reaching forward, slow and hesitant, pulling down the hospital blanket. I frown, squinting again. He gently takes one of Mr. Blackwood’s arms, inspecting it with care.

I don’t understand. What are you doing, Enzo?

His fingers trace over the bony arm, then he lowers himself so he’s kneeling beside the bed. His head drops, hanging down, and his eyes close. Then his body starts gently shaking, eyes still squeezed shut and Mr. Blackwood’s arm still in his hands. And my heart breaks all over again, a sharp snap twisting my chest. Oh, Enzo. Why are you crying?

I tilt my head for a better view, shifting my attention back to the frail arm. It’s not until then, when I really focus on Mr. Blackwood, that I see them.

The scars.

So. Many. Scars.

I gasp, my hand flying to my chest. I know those scars. I know them, because I watched as the monster carved them into his arm right in front of me. My knees go out, and I have to push a hand against the wall to keep upright.

Oh my god. I watch Enzo as he continues to sit there, continues to silently cry, alone in his agony. My trembling hands raise to my lips, trying to stop their quivering as my own body shakes. I turn away from them, not wanting to invade such a moment any more than I already have. My back hits the wall, and I slide down to the ground. I can’t stop shaking. Crying. Can’t release a single breath. Slowly, the pieces start falling into place.

All this time. All this time, he was right here. Alive. Searching for his big brother.

They both made it out of the fire that day, all those years ago. They stayed together, made a life in Colorado helping families like them. Then came the car accident. At the hands of Mr. Blackwood. My eyes shut, pain for these brothers hitting me like daggers. Seeping into my heart and tearing it apart. Oh god. It’s no wonder Enzo made sure Mr. Blackwood—no, Tommy—Tommy Hawkins made it out of that car before him. He’d spent his entire life protecting his little brother. He wasn’t about to stop then.

Tears race down my cheeks, my heart drowning in them. I hurt. For Enzo and Tommy Hawkins. For the life they ran from, then the life they lost. If it hurts me this much, what must Enzo be feeling? Seeing his brother for the first time after all these years. And only when it’s time to take him away. It must be killing him.

Enzo. I scramble to my feet, shoving the door open. My ears are hit by the steady beep only a flat-line could produce. Enzo’s back is to me. He’s hardly more than a shadow now as he slowly fades away. Just before he disappears forever, he turns his head over his shoulder, eyes locking right onto mine. My heart slams against my chest so forcefully it reverberates throughout my body.

I part my lips, but no words come out. I want to cry. Want to beg. Want to scream. But mostly, I want to hold him until I know he’s going to be okay. Then I want him to hold me until I’m okay, too.

Instead, I’m frozen in place, and he’s already tearing his eyes from me. Turning away. No. Don’t leave again. “Enzo, wait!”

I unfreeze my legs and rush toward him, my hands reaching out when all that’s left is a smoky fog in his trail. My skin connects with the black smoke, just before it vanishes completely, and I’m struck by an icy sting zinging through my fingertips. I gasp and snatch my hand back, hugging it to my chest as I stumble backward.

I’m heaving, body trembling. I collapse against the nearest wall.

What the hell was that?

I’ve never seen him collect before. A shiver snakes down my spine, my eyes darting to the now lifeless body before me. He’s gone. Really gone. Only taken when his time was right. I close my eyes, and my breathing slows slightly. He’ll make it through to the other side, meeting his brother face to face again as he does.

Finally, he can say what he needs to.

Finally, he can be at peace.