Book 4: Can't Lose Her

Michael

Faye’s room is chaotic. Nurses and the physician crowd her bed to the point I can’t see her through the fray. I push through them, seeing her pale and writhing, arching off the bed in pain. 

“What’s wrong with her?!” I shout. I look around the room at the faces that surround me, but no one is saying anything. I can't tell what the problem is, not yet anyway. But it looks bad. It all looks very bad.

Faye murmurs, white foam tinted with blood bubbling from her lips. Her unseeing eyes are glassy with pain as she bucks off the bed before going completely still.

“A seizure,” the physician begins. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's not quite telling me the truth. I've never seen anyone foam at the mouth from a seizure before, not like this anyway.

So, I don’t believe a thing he's telling me. I scoop her into my arms, elbowing my way out of the room, and run like my life depends on it–because her life depends on it.