Within/Without

chapter fifty-one.

Val

I'm not sure how he does it, but somehow Noah convinces his parents and Rose to wait outside in the hall. He says something about too many people making Simon anxious, which I know is bullshit, which apparently Abbie also knows is bullshit, because she insists on staying in the room anyway.

The room smells like lavender air freshener and human sweat, and the heat in here is stifling. Simon's siblings and I stand at the foot of his bed for a moment, watching as he sleeps. The peace has gone from his face; he's broken out in a cold sweat, his eyebrows knitted and his mouth open in a grimace. He's in pain, I think. I don't want him to be in pain anymore.

Whatever you've decided for him, God, at least let it be quick.

Noah takes the vial from his pocket; the liquid within it glints amber in the morning sun. He looks at his sister. He looks at me. "Are we doing this?"

"It's better than giving up," says Abbie with a decisive nod. "It's better than watching him waste away like this."

Noah still looks questioning, but I just nod at him, shoving him around the side of the bed. Larry didn't give his free will away just for us to chicken out. Am I afraid of hurting Simon? Of course. But I trust Larry. Against all reason, I trust him, because that's the only option I have right now.

"Simon, buddy?" Noah says, leaning over his brother, who gives no response. "If this hurts you, I'm real sorry. Actually, I'm sorry in general, okay? I'm sorry, Ginger Snap. I never wanted—"

"Noah," says Abbie, sharply. He glances up at her, his brown eyes lit with fear. "We don't have time."

We don't have time.

Then, because she's right, Noah tips Simon's chin up and pulls his bottom lip down with a finger. There's a small pop as the lid comes off the vial, and Noah empties its contents into Simon's mouth.

The vial clinks down on the bedside table. Noah steps back, wavering on his balance for a moment.

It's only a few seconds of wary silence, of the whirring ceiling fan, of the birds chirping endlessly outside, but it feels like a million years.

Simon's eyes open. He parts his chapped lips, searches around until he finds his brother's face. His voice sounds like paper being torn."Noah? I—ugh. Something—something doesn't feel right—help me."

He starts to shake, violently. It is every episode of his lumped together and dialed up to a hundred, and for a second I watch in horror, not sure what to do. He phases through a dozen different bodies within seconds, gasping for breath, eyes flying wide as he convulses. Noah tries in vain to hold Simon down, but he's thrown off by the force of it. The bedroom door springs open and Hank and Mary and Rose all come spilling in. Mary sees her son and I see the life leave her eyes, even if she's not the one going. The room descends into chaos, a chorus of people calling Simon's name, hoping he will come back to us.

Minutes pass.

An hour.

Simon continues to shake, until finally, he is still.