Chapter 20 - EMILYThe first time I saw my sister after her funeral, she was asleep.
Hospital room.
IV.
Bruises fading yellow along her arms.
A small stitched cut near her hairline.
No dramatic machines.
No coma.
No ventilator.
She was medically stable.
Dehydrated.
Malnourished.
Mild kidney stress.
Iron-deficiency anemia.
Untreated urinary infection.
Sprained wrist.
Soft-tissue injuries.
Psychological trauma impossible to put on one lab result.
She opened her eyes.
Looked at me.
Then smiled.
“Nice funeral?”
I started crying.
“You’re horrible.”
“Was the coffin expensive?”
“Emily.”
“Richard hates mahogany.”
That was my sister.
Dry humor surviving captivity.
I sat beside her.
She looked at my hands.
“Noah?”
“Safe.”
Her face crumpled.
“He saw me.”
“I know.”
“I told him to get you.”
“He did.”
“Did he get the key?”
“Yes.”
She started laughing weakly.
“Smart kid.”
Then she cried.
“I told him not to tell Richard.”
“You did what you could.”
“I made him responsible.”
“No.”
I leaned closer.
“Richard did.”
That distinction would take Emily longer to believe.
Then she asked:
“Patrick?”
“Alive.”
She closed her eyes.
“Good.”
I waited.
“Who is he?”
May you like
Emily looked at me.
“The reason Richard was already a criminal before he locked me downstairs.”
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