The Magician's Apprentice

Realization

I love you, Eves.

Well, if it isn't momma's favorite lil' Eves!

I'll always be there for you, Eves.

I wasn't sure why it bothered me so much when Stephen called me Eves. I knew that it was a sign that he was getting more comfortable to address me, but all the same, it almost felt like an insult to my mother. To make matters worse, I was beginning to suspect that I had heard Stephen's voice before...

That shouldn't be possible, though, I thought, my brow furrowing.

I was back in my room, sitting on my bed with my back leaning against the wall. I pulled my knees to my chest, and closed my useless eyes as I tried to directly remember mom's death.

It began with a phone call, if I recall correctly.

I was at violin practice. I had just finished a rehearsal of "Homeward Bound." I had been practicing it to perform in front of my mom in hopes of rekindling our previous bond that had slowly diminished with drink after drink. I had even hoped it would make her sober again, hearing her favorite song from childhood.

My teacher, Mrs. Roth, had received a phone call. I remember that soon after answering it, she turned away from me, most likely so I wouldn't read her face as she processed the news. After about thirty seconds of speaking to the other end in a soft voice, she hung up and said, "Evie, I just got a call from the local hospital..."

Oh God, I thought, closing my eyes. "It's my mom, isn't it?" I asked in a quiet and surprisingly even voice.

She finally got this stupid, I thought, reopening my eyes. After almost ten years of drinking, it finally ends like this.

"Yes," Mrs. Roth said, sighing heavily. She was familiar with my mom's drinking habits, and I could tell that she also wasn't shocked by the news. "Her doctors are calling all family members—"

"Is it a D.O.A?"

"No," she said, her green eyes filling with sadness. "But it's pretty serious, Eves. I'm going to drive you there, if you're okay with that."

I nodded wordlessly, a knot slowly tightening in the pit of my stomach.

The drive to the hospital felt like a surreal dream, and after what felt like an hour I was whisked into the Emergency Room entrance, and a female voice asked, "Are you Evelyn MacMillan?"

I nodded, and my slightly blurred vision focused on a woman with blonde hair pulled back in an operation cap. "Evelyn," she said in a kind voice, "your mother got into an accident and sustained heavy injuries to her brain."

I just stared at her as she paused for me to react to this. I noticed that nearby there was another doctor, his face partially concealed by a surgical mask. He was holding his posture impatiently, and his pale blue eyes glinted coldly.

"She's still alive," the doctor said, looking surprised by my blank reaction. "And we've got the hospital's best neurosurgeon to help her. I'm going to give your hourly updates, and if you ever need anything, just call for me, Dr. Palmer. Okay, sweetie?"

I nodded again, unable to swallow the lump that was constricting my throat.

Giving me a last concerned glance, Dr. Palmer jogged to her colleague, and just as they walked out of view I heard him mutter, "You need to stop spreading false hope, Christine."

I strained my ears for her reply, but I couldn't hear it in time.

That man better not be mom's Hail Mary, I thought, the knot in my abdomen hardening, this time out of anger. I don't want her to be in the hands of someone like that.