its own kind of hell for her. But what are my options? Her body seems intent on staying alive.
I walk in and pause, studying her room. Soft classical music plays from speakers by her bed. Fresh flowers and plants are placed around her room to brighten the mood and help cover the hospital smell. A waterfall fountain across the room adds to the natural energy of the space, and brightly colored art hangs from the walls.
Taking tentative steps, I approach the woman in the bed, my eyes filling with tears when I see her face. Of course she’s still here, where else would she be?
I brush aside her dark hair and study her face. Once upon a time you wouldn’t be able to tell us apart. We were twins in every sense of the word. Now, though, her sunken cheeks and sallow complexion set her apart from me in the worst possible ways.
I sit on the edge of the bed and take her hand in mine. “Oh, Estelle, I wish you were here.” My thumb brushes over the deep scars on her wrists, a reminder of why she’s in a coma.
On her eighteenth birthday, she tried to take her life. After she cut her wrists, she tried to get out of the bath. Did she change her mind? Was she trying to get help? I can only speculate. Because she didn’t make it out of the bathroom. Instead, she fell, hitting her head so hard she lapsed into a coma she might never wake from. Now, she’ll spend the remainder of her life in this bed.
“Corbin took me to a party last night.” I bring her hand to my lips, kissing it. “I could have sworn you were there. I saw you, clear as I’m seeing you now. I think I’m losing my mind. Is this what you felt like? Is that why you did what you did?”
Celeste.
I hear my name drifting to me as if on air, and I startle and turn my head.
My stomach clenches when I look to the corner of the room, and I drop my sister’s hand and stare. “Estelle?” I ask. “Is it really you?”
The apparition in the corner flickers, and the woman whose face I share smiles sadly, tears of blood flowing down her face.
“Estelle?” I whisper, terrified of what I’m seeing.
Runrunrunrunrun. You’re in danger. Run.
21
Spurred on by the warning whispered into my mind, I hurry from Estelle’s room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the nurses watching me with curious expressions, but I race past them and out the front doors. Despite the warmth of the California sunshine as it hits my face, a chill races down my spine. The image of my twin sister, ghostly and bleeding, was disturbing enough. But something about her words has set off an alarm inside me that I can’t silence.
I am in danger here.
It’s a silly notion, standing on this brightly lit sidewalk outside a state-of-the-art medical facility in one of the safest areas of L.A.
But I can’t shake it.
Like my anxiety yesterday, I struggle to find breath—and a reason for this feeling at all.
By the time I stumble to my car, I can breathe again, but I’m no closer to understanding what has set all of these weird feelings—and now, apparently, visions—into motion.
I drive mindlessly, unsure whether to believe what I saw, and end up on Highway 1, the expansive California coastline to my left as I head north. I roll down my windows and let in the ocean air. Tears burn my eyes and leave salty trails on my cheeks as I struggle to calm myself.
Eventually, I pull over and park, facing my car towards the endless water. When we were little, Estelle and I loved to swim in the ocean every chance we got. It was our happy place. The feel of the sun burning our shoulders, the salt sticking to our skin, even the sand in our swimsuits, all of it was perfect.
Yet now, despite living in a mansion that overlooks the Pacific, I haven’t been in the water in years. Life got busy, I guess.
On a sudden impulse I will likely regret later, I climb out of my car and jog down the winding path that leads to the shore. Once I reach the sand, I slip off my sneakers and socks and let my toes bury themselves in the warm sand. That act alone fills my heart with fond memories that are bittersweet.