THE ESCORT

FOUR | GREED, THE GREAT MOTIVATOR

"Hey, Mace."

Her brother stared at her, that familiar crinkle appearing between his brows, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Elodie shifted in her chair, pressing her fingers into the spine of her paperback book as she fought—just as she'd done everyday—the tears brimming in her eyes.

One would think that she would be desensitized to the pain of watching her brother lay in bed without any recognition of her, but it only seemed to worsen everyday. Plus her encounter with Luke had made her sleep fitfully, so she was emotionally raw and vulnerable right now; a by-product of the little sleep she was able to get in.

Too keyed up on her run that morning, she'd decided to visit Mace earlier than usual, grabbing her dog-eared copy of The Lord Of The Flies, a book by William Golding which explored the politics of boys whose plane crashed into an island without the supervision of an adult. It was a fun read for those who were looking to pass time, but was deep for those who loved searching for meaning in literature works, like she did. She'd read it enough times to be able to quote some of its passages offhand.

Elodie had sat down by her usual position by the bed, watching Mace sleep, and brought out her novel to get in a chapter or two, when she noticed that she was being watched. Mace had woken up, and watched her quietly.

"I made more money yesterday," she told him, smiling. "Two more months and I'll be able to get you out of here to get you the treatment you need. Isn't that great?"

He slowly blinked.

This made her grin. The doctor's had said that he may not recall who she was, but he heard her clearly and was able to process some words, albeit slowly than a normal, healthy human would. Mace's blinking was a way of communicating that he was with her.

"I've also made a huge dent in..." She swallowed. She'd been carried away by her joy that she'd almost brought up the one topic she was careful not to mention around him: their parent's death. Mace hadn't taken it well when they died, which was the main catalyst of all their problems. Bringing it up again could cause a relapse, and it was dangerous for him.

"Never mind," she said, and raised the book into his line of vision. "This is my new read for the month. Although I wouldn't call it new, seeing as I've read it over and over again. But it feels new to me each time."

He blinked again.

"Mace, I love you," she suddenly said. "Don't ever doubt that or forget it."

The door to the room slid open, and Mace's nurse, Adeline Adeleke, an African-American woman with tight curls and small smile, walked in bearing a tray filled with a syringe, two little bottles of liquid she recognized but couldn't remember its name."Hello, Ms. Evans. How are you doing today?"

"I'm fine," she answered, closing her book. "And you?"

"We take each day as a blessing."

Elodie watched as she began to setup the injection which she would inject into the IV bag connected to Mace's left wrist. "How's he been?"

Adeline drew the first liquid into the syringe, tapped it's tip, then set about drawing the second liquid into the same syringe. "Better, I believe. Last evening, he made a sound that could pass for a growl when I touched his right hand accidentally."

She sat up, heart racing. "What?"

Several times, Mace's former nurse had reported to her about how he'd make sounds, even eat and sometimes gag, but her brother never did those things when she was around. In fact, he only chose to stare at her, bit blinking at times, and sometimes he blinked, or simply shut his eyes.