Chapter 3 - Opening the Curtains
Lawson turned instantly, rushing through the heavy doors of the medical suite with Prescott right behind him. Dr. Yates and two private nurses were already hovering over Jonah’s bed, their faces pale as they scrambled to adjust the IV lines and prepare a syringe of epinephrine.
"His blood pressure is crashing!" Dr. Yates shouted over the sound of the alarm. "The infection is septic! His body can't fight it off anymore!"
Blythe was crying in her bed, her tiny, frail body shaking as she watched the chaos surrounding her twin brother. "Jonah! Jonah, wake up!" she whimpered, her pale lips trembling.
Lawson grabbed the edge of Jonah's bed, his knuckles turning stark white. "Fix it, Yates! Do something!"
"We are doing everything we can, Lawson! But his immune system is entirely depleted!" Yates cried out, his hands shaking as he injected the medication into the line.
Suddenly, a calm, commanding presence pushed past the panicked medical staff. Waverly had bypassed the guards. She dropped her backpack onto the floor and immediately went to Blythe’s bed. She didn't look at the monitors; she didn't look at the needles. She lifted the crying little girl into her arms, wrapping her tightly in a warm blanket, whispering soothing words directly into her ear.
"Shh, sweet girl, look at me," Waverly murmured, her voice an anchor in the storm. "Look at my eyes. Breathe with me. Jonah is just taking a deep sleep, but he can hear you. You need to stay calm so he can feel your strength."
Blythe’s frantic breathing began to slow as she locked her glassy eyes onto Waverly's serene face.
Then, Waverly stood up, still holding Blythe, and walked over to the massive, floor-to-ceiling black velvet curtains that kept the room plunged in total darkness. With one swift, violent motion, she pulled the heavy cords.
The heavy drapes flew apart.
Blinding, brilliant winter sunlight poured into the room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and shattering the funeral-like darkness that had encased the children for weeks.
"What are you doing?!" Dr. Yates yelled, shielding his eyes. "The light—the children need rest!"
"They don't need rest, they need to know they are still alive!" Waverly shouted back, her voice ringing with absolute authority. "You have turned this room into a morgue before their hearts have even stopped beating! Look at them! Look at the snow, look at the sky!"
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As the sunlight hit Jonah's pale face, the little boy's eyelids fluttered. The flatline alarm suddenly broke into a erratic, but distinct, rhythmic beat. Thump. Thump. Thump. His blood pressure began to stabilize. The epinephrine had worked, but it was the sudden warmth of the sun and the fading of the chaotic energy in the room that made his chest rise and fall normally once more.
Lawson stared at his son, then turned his gaze to Waverly, who stood bathed in the golden winter light, still holding his daughter close to her heart. In that exact moment, the mafia boss realized that the expensive doctors were only managing his children's demise—but this broken woman was fighting for their life.
