It's a Wonderful Death - Sarah J. Schmitt Page 0,92

my eyes. “Can you hear me?”

I try to nod, but my neck is stiff and I’m pretty sure it’s not working.

“Don’t try to talk,” the voice commands.

If I’m not supposed to talk, why is he asking me questions?

The next sound I hear is the screech of my mother. “No! RJ, baby, no! Get away from me! That’s my daughter!”

I hear my father yelling something, but by now, the world is starting to go quiet. The only thing I can hear clearly is the calm voice of a dispatcher talking to the guy who asked me questions and then told me not to talk.

Red and blue lights begin flashing and in a moment I’m on a stretcher and sliding into what must be an ambulance. “Her parents are en route with one of the officers,” the paramedic relays to the operator. “No way am I letting them ride with us when she looks this bad.”

Um, hello, I can totally hear you. When I get to evaluate this whole experience, I am definitely going to comment on your poor bedside manner.

“Witnesses say she threw the kid out of the way,” the driver calls from the cab. “I’d hate to see what would have happened to him if she hadn’t been there.”

“Yeah. Little tyke’s lucky. Skinned up knee and a fat lip are nothing compared to this.”

Okay, how bad is it? I’m guessing I have a broken leg, because that thing hurts like crazy, but other than my head, I hope that’s the worst of it.

“I’m going to give you something to help with the pain, RJ. But stay with me, okay?”

The cool sensation starts to move through my body, covering every ache and pain until I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.

The next time I try to open my eyes I have to shut them against the harsh light. I can hear my mom crying from the other side of the door. My lids are too heavy and I give in to the strong urge to sleep.

I have no idea how much time passes until I feel like I want to wake up. But this time, I can’t. I can’t lift my eyelids open. I can’t flex my fingers. I can’t move at all. The constant beep of my heart on the monitor is the only thing that reassures me I am not dead, and I sink back into the warm abyss of not caring.

While I sleep, I start seeing flashes of Madeline and Grams. They keep telling me that everything is going to be okay and that I should just relax. Apparently neither of them ever had the drugs I’m taking because that is not a problem.

I wake up briefly. This time, there’s something covering my eyes. I can’t see anything, but I can hear my mother crying softly. I must be in my hospital room or something. I want to tell her that I’m okay, but I can’t. My throat is sore and the thought of talking makes me want to gag. I hear my father come in.

“Drink this,” he commands, but his voice is broken and weary.

Without warning, I feel a pull, like I’m supposed to go somewhere else. Which is crazy, right? I mean, I have a broken leg for sure, so it’s not like I can walk out of here.

But the nagging feeling doesn’t go away. Finally, I turn my attention away from my mother and the beeping machines and wait for something else. But the only thing I feel is the occasional zap of static electricity. It’s kinda like that zap I get when I shuffle my slippers across the carpet and then go behind someone and touch them so that they get a shock. But it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it kind of tickles.

“RJ,” a soft voice says behind me.

I know that voice. And I don’t want to turn around to see the too-familiar face.

“RJ,” the voice says with more authority. “It’s time.”

“No,” I say, this time without any problem finding my voice. “It’s not. Not again.”

Not again? Wait. What do I mean not again? There’s that fuzzy static sound in my brain, but this time, when I try to push it aside, it pushes back and I am flooded with memories I couldn’t possibly have.

Or could I?

“RJ.”

The pain in my leg is gone and my head feels fine. I gingerly reach up to touch my face, vaguely aware that my wrist doesn’t hurt. The scratches on my face are gone. “You have got