Cassie Alexander: Shapeshifted

“Edie—” My mother looked so harmless from behind the island of her kitchen, the light shining down from above, haloing what I now suspected was a very good wig. “It’s not going to be like that.”

“You’re wrong.” If there was a way I could go into her body myself and individually strangle cancer cells, I would do it.

“There’s quality of life to be considered too, Edie—” she began.

“You’re a nurse. You should know how that is,” Peter said from the side. I turned on him. I didn’t care what he had to say about things. For all I knew, it was sleeping with him that had given my mother cancer. Like HPV. Or all those winter trips to Florida he’d made them go on—maybe it’d gotten in through her skin.

I knew I was getting a little irrational, but it was better than the alternative.

“I want you to be on my side in this, Edie.” She came out from behind the island, and I could see her fully now, the way her clothes didn’t hang right. When had that happened? How had I been so blind? I was a nurse, for crying out loud. But she wasn’t a patient. She was my mom.

“I want to be on the fighting side!” I pounded my chest with a fist.

“That was always your problem, dear.” My mother smiled at me, sadly. “You never knew how not to fight.”

I spent the rest of dinner determined to prove her wrong—as if somehow making it through until dessert without blowing up again would show her that she needed to change her damn mind. I ate with a vengeance, swallowing underchewed bites of food, feeling overcooked chicken scratch at my throat on its way down—all the while realizing that Mom wasn’t eating as much as she ought to.

If it was any consolation—which it wasn’t—at least I’d be here when Jake got his effing act together enough to arrive. Maybe he would be on my side in this, and we could talk her out of giving up together. And maybe there were little green men living on the moon.

He’d probably hope she’d die, so he could get his inheritance, and then shoot it all up his arm. I stabbed another bite of chicken with a knife.

After dinner, we sat in the living room to talk. Turns out when cancer is the elephant in the room, there’s not very much to talk about. Mom told me about her church’s mission project, down in Mexico, and I listened without actually paying attention.

I didn’t even feel like I could cry. Crying would be an admission that things were irredeemable. If I kept being strong, I could somehow force her to be strong too.

So at the end of the night, after Jake didn’t show up, I took my dry-eyed leave.

“Really, Edie, we should hang out more,” she said gently as I hugged her on her spot on the couch so she wouldn’t have to stand. Trying not to notice how weak she was when she hugged me back.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” I told her, as Peter escorted me to the door.

“She needs some rest, Edie,” he said when we turned the corner to the front hall. I bent over to push on my shoes and grab my purse. “She’s very tired these days.”

He blocked the door with his hand, and looked pointedly at me. I knew what he was saying with his eyes.

I could think whatever I wanted to think, but he wanted me to keep it to myself.

Peter and I didn’t always agree—but I had always thought I’d known, up until today at least, that he had my mother’s best interests at heart. If he thought I was just going to take this lying down—

The shadows in my mother’s face were mirrored in his too. I’d been busy pretending they weren’t there so I could be mad at him. Now I wondered how many nights he’d spent up, kneeling beside her at the toilet, how many pillowcases he’d found beside him in the morning covered in her hair. I shoved my three-year-old self down into a box and found the grown-up nurse in me again. I stood a little straighter, and let her take charge.

“I’ll visit every other day, so I don’t wear her out. Let me know if you need to take a break too.” I took a step forward, staring at him. “And this time, tell me if anything changes—or I’ll never forgive myself, or you.”

He grimly nodded, and then opened the door to let me out.

I drove off like a sane person. I didn’t take out any mailboxes or lampposts on their street. But two streets over I almost hit a garbage can, so I pulled over again.

Now it was safe to cry. Huge sobs welled up, and I had no Kleenex in my car, so I was forced to daub at my teary-snotty face with the bottom of my shirt. I’m sure I looked charming, asphyxiating with sorrow and baring my pale stomach in turns. When I reached the end of my crying jag fifteen minutes later, exhausted, I knew I could safely drive.

A part of me that wasn’t dissolving in pain started doing calculations. Things would be easier if I hadn’t destroyed all the extra stored vampire blood in the county last December—the thing that had gotten me shun-fired. If I hadn’t done that, and I were in this situation now, I could steal some vampire blood from work … or I could just stand outside the transfusion lab and waylay someone, karate chop them in the neck or some shit, and make them give me all their keys.

But I didn’t know if the lab was still being used, since I’d ruined things so successfully seven months ago, over the holidays.

While I wasn’t paying attention—or while that distant part of me was plotting—I took the exit to County Hospital again. I didn’t fight myself, even as I pulled into the parking lot.

It took a while to find a spot, as seven o’clock was prime visiting time, which was good since it’d make it easier for me to get in. I knew from prior experience here that the intensive care units were on lockdown, and you’d need a badge to get inside.

But floor Y4, the one that cared for all the supernatural patients, had another barrier—and just one elevator. I wove back through the stairs and hallways until I found myself, feeling odd in civilian clothing, outside its orange doors.

First things first. I rummaged in my purse until I found my old badge. I’d kept carrying it, even though I didn’t think it’d do me any good anymore. Chances were if I met an old “friend,” I’d be dead, and not have time to wave an expired badge around. But old habits die hard.

I ran my badge in front of the elevator’s lock. The lights didn’t flash. I waved it, more slowly, again.

No such luck.

Second—I kicked the door. “Hey!”

My voice echoed in both directions down the hall. I didn’t know what else was on this floor; I’d never looked around when I’d been working here. Now I wondered how far I was from a security guard. “Hey!” I shouted, with more force, and slammed my fist on the door.

Y4 didn’t need guards, normally—because it had the Shadows. Creepy tar-like things that fed on the hospital’s pain, they lived deep inside the ground underneath it. They monitored guests at Y4 and kept an eye on the elevator door.

“Come on—” I looked up at the acoustic-tiled ceiling. There were plenty of cracks up there for them to hide in. “I know you can see me. And I know you know who I am.”

The Shadows wiped the minds of anyone who saw anything they shouldn’t. I’d had the option, when I’d left, to let them wipe me. “Please. It’s important—” They were the ones that’d initially contacted me to work on Y4, in exchange for straightening out my brother. I knew they had similar bargains with the rest of Y4’s crew.

Silence. Maybe they weren’t even here anymore. Maybe they were being punished. They’d abandoned Y4 once before, to chase after an escaped prisoner of theirs. I’d destroyed the stored blood in their absence, rather than let it get stolen. There’d been a war on—it made sense at the time.