THE FIRE SAGA

BLAZE 105 - CONVULSION

"Will it hurt her?" Dad strokes Mom's hand lovingly.

"Maybe," I hedge, trying to shove away the bad memories of him standing next to her while she lay helpless in her hospital bed. "It could."

"Sorry, I asked that already."

"You can ask as many times as you like," I offer. "It won't change my answer."

I've relayed the plan. Despite the slight risk of a freakout, we can't leave her free. The convulsions could cause her to involuntarily harm herself or us. We need to tie her to a bed, but she won't fuss. She's been ridiculously pliable. With any luck, she'll wake up swinging, ready to fight the world.

"Will it help her?"

"I'm not certain of that, either."

A great salesperson, I am not. Attempting electroconvulsive therapy is unpredictable at best. There are no guaranteed results. For all we know, it could make things grimmer. The potential for disappointment is high, but there's also a chance that inducing a seizure with electrical pulses may jump start her brain and get it working properly again. While hoping for the latter, I'm not giving him or myself any delusions of grandeur just to get the wheels rolling on this buzz bus.

"We don't have to do this, but if we are, it has to be now. We only have a narrow window of opportunity before they figure out we've defected."

There it is! He scowls. It's predictably disapproving. "Why are we sneaking around?"

That's a fair question, and he deserves an honest answer. "They'll try to stop it from happening."

"For good reason?"

"They err on the side of caution. Caution isn't the answer for Mom."

"I want her back," he whispers.

I roused my mother from her eighteen-year coma, accepting the memory loss. I even expected it to a degree. Someone doesn't just wake up after that long without any side effects. I sort of underestimated the extent of the memory loss...and normal brain capacity. I'm ready to get to know her. Not for what she was, for what she is. I don't expect to get any time back. What I want is new time. Not a half-baked cake.

The secret to happiness isn't wishing for endless sunshine. That isn't plausible in Ceobhránach Cove. In CC, you have to find the blanket possibilities in the perpetual clouds. Happiness means suffering through the rain, so when those tiny rays of light breach the ominous cover, you can see the rainbow they bring with them. I'm not a pessimist. I'm a realist.

Since her return, Amber Tierney is no less an empty shell than she was lying in that hospital bed. Worse, she's growing more catatonic every passing day and hasn't spoken in a week. Before that, the words were nonsensical, and her slurred speech made it difficult to even make them out.

What's keeping her motor running? My blood. Problem is, I can't give her any more blood than I am, and we've tried supplementing donor blood to no avail. She isn't starving to death, just half with us and half somewhere else. Unfortunately, the half somewhere else isn't in my head. No Superego. No Supermom. I could tolerate her condition if I still had something of her. As it stands, I've completely lost her.

"Best get on with it," Dad concedes.

Brody's nervous, so he's pacing back and forth, more nervous than Dad and I. It's a reasonable reaction. He's the electrical conductor being utilized in our therapy session. He's walked past me twenty-seven times. Yes, I counted. Why? Because each time he passes by me, he pokes my arm. The poke itself isn't impressive. What's impressive is the jolt of electricity he shoots through me as he does it. He's practicing release with me as the receptacle. I don't mind. It's the least I can do to account for the unfair responsibility I've placed on him. I also kind of like him touching me, generally. Poorly timed crush? Seems so. Sue me. I'm still human. I'm allowed temporary idiocy.