The Sleuth Will Set You Free - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Seven

When had everything become so backwards?

"Will."

It was freaky hearing him talk.  Like a ghost in a boy's body.  Every time he let the word out, something sprang to life in my chest, hoping that maybe he'd keep going, but then the monitor would beep again, slow, steady, and far too loud, reminding me that hope is the most dangerous ghost of all.

I slid a fistful of flowers into the vase just beside him, figuring that the room deserved something that was alive.  Ellie's room had gotten flowers within hours of her arrival, but mine were the first that had made it to Bill's room.

Information.  That was the only reason they were keeping him alive.  He had been Will's closest confidant and they needed answers.  Only a few people in the world would have cared about the actual death of William Kasey instead of just the loss of information that came along with it and, to be honest, I wasn't sure that I was one of them.  I'd like to say that I still cared for him.  That the betrayal of his best friend in no way affected the way I cared for him.  But that would be a lie, because some part of me demanded answers.  Some part of me couldn't stop thinking that if Will knew something, then Bill knew it too, and neither of them had told me to run.

But the rest of me—or maybe just the rebel in me—still wanted to care for him.  So I did.  Until Bill woke up to defend himself, I would do it.  Innocent until proven guilty.  That was how this whole thing was supposed to work anyways.

There was a window in his room, slim and made up of stained glass.  Maybe some people found it comforting, as if an angel were looking down, casting its mystical glow over whoever had the misfortune of occupying the bed.  It didn't do that for me.  All I could do was settle down in a hard, plastic chair and find where the glass stained his skin, remembering the last time I'd seen a boy drowning in so much red.

I can't tell you how long I sat there for.  I just remember watching the light inch across the room, thinking that not even the stained glass held any competition to the colors that were streaked across Bills body.  He had deep, rich reds chipping away at his lips and at an eyebrow.  Some of his bruises were turning yellow and green, but others, like the one along his hairline, were still dark purple.  I wondered if it still hurt, even all these weeks later.  Probably not, the doctors had said.  That was why his body had been asleep for so long.  Bodies sleep so that they can block out pain.

So then how on earth was I still awake?

"Will," he said again, lightly.  Absently.  His lips were so chapped that a layer of skin was flaking off in thin white chips, but he still said the name.

Half of me wanted to break down and cry, but the other half couldn't remember how.  Half of me wanted to reach across the room and pull the plug on the boy myself, but the rest of me would cut off the hand that dared try.  Conflict was alive and well within me, swelling up until I could feel it pressing against my insides, threatening to burst.

So I just sat there, not daring to move, listening to the chimes of my friend's voice as he called out for the person he loved.  It was like clockwork, over and over and over.  Maybe that was why I was so shocked when he eventually said, "Maggie."

That was when I knew that I didn't hate Bill.  Not really.  When you hate someone, your heart doesn't do a flip when they call your name.  When you hate someone, you don't feel overcome with relief at the thought of them waking up.  I didn't hate Bill.  I couldn't.  Even if I was supposed to.

I sprung from my seat, not even thinking as I grabbed the hand without a cast.  "Hey.  Hey, buddy, I'm here."

His eyes stayed closed, the monitors at my back keeping the same, steady pace as before.  I searched for some sign of life, waiting for his eyes to flutter open or for him to lick his lips.  Even just the squeeze of his hand would have been enough for me, but he didn't do any of that.  He just laid there, exactly the same way as before, except now, I was there too.