Echo of a Bird's Cry

THE SURVIVOR EMILY OCTOBER 22

I almost died. It still feels surreal to have survived, to know I beat the odds. Ignoring the excruciating pain and aches in my body, I stare down at the seams of black sutures that stitch my wounds closed.

Abel grasps my hand. He stares at me with serene blue eyes.

I press a kiss to his fingers and he smiles. "The detectives are on the way."

He glances over at his father. "You okay, Pops?"

David flashes a brief smile before shaking his head. "You're the one in the hospital bed with a bullet wound in your chest and you're asking me if I'm okay." He comes over to Abel's bedside and leans over the metal railings to kiss his son on the cheek. "I love you so much. I thought I was going to lose you, son. I've never prayed as hard as I did in the past few hours. I'm just happy that you both are breathing."

David hugs me too, mindful of my shoulder. It feels good to have warmth from people that care about us.

Eden knocks on the room door before entering. She brings us both a bottled water. She's definitely under our parent's influence now. The Versace dress flares out with each step. Her pristine Gucci sandals match the snow white color of her dress. There won't be any more blue jeans and t-shirts and Chuck Taylors for Eden and me. If our parents have it their way then it would be high fashion from this day onward. Let the world believe our morals and values are just as high as the price of our clothes.

Something in Eden's hair sparkles, catching my eye. It's a silver comb encrusted with vibrant crystals. The comb pins her thick ringlets up on one side of her head. I stare at her, searching for a piece of Eden, hoping I find it. Our parents love to transform us into versions of themselves, which means they conceal our flaws and highlight our best features. They smooth out the jagged edges of our differences until we reflect everything our parents want us to be—polished trophies. We tend to lose our identities under our parents' thumb. I find a piece of Eden that's untouched by our parents. Her fingernails aren't manicured yet. But I'm sure they will be filed into perfect ovals and polished within the week. I hope Eden doesn't lose her sense of self once every surface of her body is scrubbed, painted on, and decorated. I can be embellished like a Fabergé egg with jewels and makeup and still manage to be myself. I wear profuse luxuriousness like armor. Eden's different. Being smothered by glamour is triggering for her.

I'm glad no one else has come searching for me. I left my family behind in my room. I didn't want to overwhelm Abel. My family is big and opinionated and loud. I didn't want my parents or sisters to disturb Abel's quiet space. He needs peace while he heals. But Eden can't help herself. She needs to be able to see and touch me to make sure I'm okay. She needs to be near me. I understand so I don't mind the constant contact.

She strokes my hair, giving me a soft squeeze. "Hey."

"Hi."

She touches Abel's hand and squeezes David's shoulder. "Do you mind if I stay in here a bit? Emily's room is crowded."

"You can stay as long as you like, Eden," Abel says. "I'm ready to leave this place. I can't get much rest in the hospital. There's always someone coming in to draw blood or ask questions, interrupting the little rest I do get. And I'm tired of being pricked with needles."

David pats his son's arm. "Hopefully you both can leave soon. I'm ready for you to get out of here too. I want you home so I can take care of you."

Dr. Camilla knocks and opens the door. She smiles at both of us. She smells of coffee and medical soap when she comes nearer. "How are my favorite patients?"

"We're okay," Abel says. "Though, I am ready to go home."

Dr. Camilla places the rubber ear-tips of her stethoscope in her ears and lifts Abel's hospital gown, exposing a little of his chest. My heart pounds when a glimpse of his white bandage shows. This man was shot in his chest and he survived. She puts the diagram of the stethoscope over his chest and tells him to breathe in and out. "I know you're ready to go, but I'm going to keep you for a few more days."