A Twist of Fate SERIES (Pentatonix)

(6) Hallelujah

( SCOTT )

It's now been six days since the accident. Six days since old memories were triggered. Six days since my heart was ripped out of my chest and sewn back in ten times over. Six days since my OCD came back. Six days since everything changed.

I haven't stopped thinking about it. The accident, the past. I've been living in a constant cycle. Wake up; think; get dressed; think; skip breakfast; think; stop by Arlington Medical Center; cry; leave because I can't bear it; stop by Dallas Regional Hospital; cry; leave because I can't bear it; think; check my phone but don't answer anything; go back home; think; either sleep for eternity or not at all.

It's not healthy, that's what my doctor would say, and that's particularly why I haven't called to get my OCD prescription renewed. I don't need somebody who doesn't understand to try to make me understand.

I now stand in the doorway of Kirstie's room, just staring over at her, my stomach doing all sorts of twisty things. Today, I wear a jean jacket over a plain white T-shirt and black jeans—a little more put-together than the last few days.

Currently, Kirstie's asleep, her head turned to the side. I can see the bruise on her forehead starting to turn green, and less bandages covering her body. I'm concentrating so hard on telepathically trying to bring her memory back, trying to bring Kirstie back. Because even though 31-year-old Kirstie thinks she's 24-year-old Kirstie, she's still not the same. And I wonder how she's not gone crazy yet, because she must think we're all lying to her.

Suddenly, Angelica appears beside me in the doorway. She leans up against the frame, her arms crossed over her chest, and sighs as she looks over at her daughter. She doesn't say anything for a couple of moments. "The doctors said there's really nothing else we can do for her," she says quietly, shaking her head. "We've tried showing her pictures, playing music, talking to her...hell, we even got the best shrink in this whole hospital here to talk to her." She sighs frustratedly, covering her face with her hands. "I...I don't know what to do. Nothing's working."

Silently, I turn my head back over to look at Kirstie, my heart pounding against my ribcage so hard I think it's going to burst out of my chest. Although I can't help but agree with Angelica's statement, I decide that I won't do so aloud. Instead, I force a small smile and say, "She'll come to eventually. I know her. I know she's in there somewhere."

Angelica sighs, and I look over to see her shaking her head, her eyes glassy. "I don't know," she mutters quietly. We stay silent for a couple minutes, before she sighs again and silently guides me out of the room. "So, how's Mitch doing?" is the first thing she asks after the door is closed.

I press my lips into a hard line, Mitch and his condition being tough subjects for me to talk about right now. I swallow the lump in my throat, and say, "Yesterday, he was the same as Wednesday. I haven't gone to see him yet today, though."

Angelica nods. "Is there any improvement?"

I draw in a deep breath, then consider the question. Mitch is still in a vegetative state, as he has been for the last four days. He's still a seven on the Glasgow scale. Truthfully, I don't see any improvement, but Angelica's looking at me expectantly, her eyes begging me for some good news.

Knowing I don't want to make her anymore upset than she already is, I lift a shoulder. "I mean, his eyes were open almost the entire two hours I was there yesterday, though I don't really think that means anything. He'll just stare blankly at the ceiling, sometimes moving his arms or his legs. It breaks my heart, seeing him like this, but, uh,...I guess there's always hope, right?"

Unfortunately, Angelica sees right through me. "Scott, just tell me the truth. It's obvious Mitch isn't doing too well, am I right?" When I don't answer right away, she says, "Don't sugarcoat it. Yes, I've had my own share of bad news lately, but I care about Mitch, too."