My hand trembles as the message trails off into silence. The women in the bathroom are chattering loudly, but all I hear is the message playing in my head over and over again. I'm tempted to replay it just to make sure it's real, but I know it is.
A gunshot wound to the head.
How did this happen? Did Sheri send someone to kill Roscoe? Does he have enemies here in Florida? I don't know what to think, and I know I won't have answers until I speak to the doctor.
Once the reality of the situation sinks in, I scramble to call the hospital back. A nurse answers and puts me on hold for a while. My heart is beating so fiercely that I feel like it might burst through my chest and fall onto the floor.
After several minutes, she comes back on the line to tell me that Doctor Arocha is busy but that I should come in right away. When I ask her how my brother sustained the injury, she refuses to offer me any information, giving me the canned response that I'll have to come in and speak to the doctor.
I hang up on her before she has a chance to finish her sentence and come flying out of the bathroom to find Croix, all thoughts of my makeup or Kenzi or anything else that mattered to me five minutes ago are completely forgotten. All that matters now is getting to my brother. If he's in critical condition, then it means he could be on borrowed time.
I take long strides through the sea of people in The Billionaires Club. My pace is so urgent that everyone I pass turns to look at me. The distress on my face is apparent. I'm sure that the tears welling up in my eyes are as well.
I barge through the group of people surrounding Croix, demanding his full attention. “I just got a call from the hospital. My brother has been shot.”
He looks confused for a moment, but then concern sets over his features. “That's horrible. Is he going to be okay?”
“I don't know. He's in critical condition. I need to go to the hospital right away.”
“Can you excuse us for a moment?” Croix addresses his guests before pulling me to the side. Kenzi stays on his heels, which is highly annoying. The urge to snap at her is great, but I don't want to cause a bigger scene than I already am. “I wish I could go with you, but I'm needed here,” he tells me firmly.
A wave of anger crashes over me. Emotionally, I'm unraveling one thread at a time. Between Kenzi sticking to him like white on rice and his refusal to leave the stupid party when I'm obviously in need, I'm almost at my limit of tolerating bullshit.
Apparently, Croix can sense my discontent, because he takes me by the arm and draws me a few feet away from Kenzi. “I'll sneak away the second that I can. You go to your brother. I'll meet you at the hospital in an hour or two.”
I exhale the stress that's setting in at the base of my neck, but it does little good. The fact that he's making an effort does soothe me a bit, though.
“Fine. I'll see you soon.” I lean in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before I make my way to the front of the building.
It's hard to maintain the speed limit when I'm in such a hurry. It's hard to follow any laws when I'm panicking. Needing support, I call Cindy and have her meet me at the hospital.
When I arrive, all I want to do is find out if my brother is alright. The nurse at the reception desk gives me the same spiel that the one on the phone did. All I can do is sit in the waiting room and wait for the doctor to retrieve me and tell me about my brother's condition. It's more than nerve wracking knowing that my brother is somewhere in this building potentially dying, and I can't get to him because of a few authority figures and some automatic locking doors.
The minutes tick by like eternity as I sit in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs twiddling my thumbs out of nervousness and pouring over the conversations that Roscoe and I had in our recent past. When I was saying all of those horrible things to him, I never thought I'd have any regrets. He deserved every harsh word. Now, I wish I could take it all back. At the end of the day, he's still my brother.
“Raven. There you are.” Cindy's voice draws me from my thoughts. The look of worry on her face reminds me of my mother. A flash of everything I've lost stabs at my heart, and I break into sobs, the numbness I've felt ever since I received the phone call from the hospital finally giving way to grief.
She lowers herself into the chair beside me and holds me while I cry. It's ugly crying at its best. I don't even care who sees me—don't care that people are staring at me for more than the dress.
“Shh, it's going to be okay.” Cindy tries to soothe me, stroking my hair, her fingers tangling in the stiff mess that I made with too much hairspray.
I wonder if she's telling the truth. I've lost so much already—so many people that I love. I couldn't stand to lose Roscoe too.
“You were right,” I say in a hushed whisper. If I let my voice be any louder, it would turn into a pitiful bellow. “I should have forgiven him.”
“You'll still have a chance,” she assures me. “He's going to be fine. And once he's out of the hospital, you can fix things.”
“Will he really be okay?” I pull away from her, searching her face for the answer.
“I'm sure he will be.” She offers me a soft smile.
I want to believe her, but it's difficult when I don't really know what's going on. A gunshot wound to the head sounds serious. Not many people survive that, but there have been more than a few cases. Maybe my brother will be lucky.
“If he dies, I'll never be able to forgive myself.” I shake my head until the tears come again. Then I bury my face against Cindy's shoulder and cry some more.
“It will be okay,” she tells me again. “Just trust that everything will be okay.”
We sit like that for several minutes. I pass the time by letting my eyes wander around the room wondering what everyone else is here for. Some are obvious. There's an older man in a wheelchair holding his side and groaning every few seconds. A Hispanic couple with three children occupy one row of seats in the corner. Two of the kids are crawling all over the place, laughing and playing. The third is stuck to her mother's side, her skin pale, a miserable frown drawn across her plump lips. There are others with solemn faces, probably waiting to hear about the condition of their family member as well. It's a mixture of sickness and sadness that you typically find in a hospital emergency room.
Finally, a man in a long white coat comes through the set of double doors leading into the emergency room and calls my name. I perk up, standing to greet him, my hand already outstretched. His expression is stoic as he verifies my identity before telling me he'd like to go somewhere private to discuss my brother's condition.
Cindy and I follow him to a small room. My heart thuds in my chest with every step. Deep down inside, I'm pretty sure I know what's coming. I cling to Cindy's words, though. She told me that everything will be alright. It has to be.
Doctor Arocha closes the door behind us before he turns to face me. “Miss Tarley, are you aware of what happened to your brother?”
“I was told that he was shot.” I wring my hands together.
“He was shot.” He nods.
“Have they found who shot him yet? The police haven't come to question me.”
Cindy loops her arm around mine, keeping close.
There's a pained look in Doctor Arocha's chocolate eyes. “There was no shooter. Your brother's gunshot wound was self-inflicted.”
The guilt that assaults me is enough to make me want to double over.
My fault. This is my fault. All my fault.
“When can I see my brother?” I suck in a deep breath, trying my best to be strong.
“Soon,” Doctor Arocha replies, and relief floods through me.
I clutch my chest, thankful that Roscoe is going to be alright. There's still hope. I can still make things right.
“Good.” I turn to Cindy with a smile. “I have a lot to make up for.”
“Miss Tarley, I'm afraid I have more bad news.”
My brother is still alive. That's all I care about. Nothing else the doctor says matters. If I have to nurse Roscoe back to health, I'm fine with that.
When I don't respond, Doctor Arocha continues, “The injury was bad. Your brother isn't breathing on his own. He currently has a breathing tube in. I'm afraid that he's brain dead.”
My heart lurches to a stop in my chest. “So you mean that he's in a coma?”
“No. A coma is a state of unresponsiveness. Higher brain functions may have been damaged, but basic reflexes still work. When a person is brain dead, even the basic reflexes are lost. Basically, machines are the only thing keeping your brother alive right now.”
My body goes numb as the blood drains from my face. “There's a chance that he could wake up, though, right?”
Doctor Arocha shakes his head. “I'm sorry, but your brother isn't going to wake up.”
“Of course, he is.” I wipe the tears streaming down my face with the back of my arm. “He's strong. We've survived worse. He'll pull through this.”
“I know that this is a shock to you. You can see your brother when you're ready. Take all the time that you need.” He opens up a folder that he's been holding in his hand. I had barely noticed it until now.
“What happens now?” I ask between quiet sobs.
“Your brother's records indicate that you're his power of attorney. When you're ready, we will shut off the machines, and your brother will peacefully pass away. I see that he has no religious preference, but if you'd like, we can have the chaplain come say a prayer before he's taken off of life support.”
“Oh my God.” I crumble to the floor in a heap. It feels like my world has just crashed down around me.
Why me? Why did he make me his power of attorney? Why not Sheri? Why do I have to be the one to decide when to end his life? I can't. I just can't.
Cindy kneels beside me, pulling me into her arms, her face pressed against mine. I can feel her tears joining mine. Her grip is tight as if she fears I'll slip away from her if she lets me go.
Doctor Arocha looks down at us, his expression that of a man who has delivered this kind of news hundreds of times before. “When you're ready, speak to the front desk, and someone will direct you to your brother's room. I'm sorry for your loss.”