Baz woke with a headache and without clothes.
Next to him, still tangled in the Egyptian cotton sheets, Gwen sat bolt upright.
Somewhere, a phone was going off.
Baz blinked the sleep out of his eyes, groping haphazardly under the pillows.
Gwen found the source first, pressing her phone to her ear while clutching the sheets to her chest.
Her face paled, her normally controlled expression faltering. It wasn't good news. In Baz's experience, any news that came first thing in the morning was bad.
"I'll be there," Gwen said. She hung up, letting the phone drop to the mattress.
"What happened?" Baz dared ask. A dull throbbing beat against the inside of his skull, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the look on Gwen's face.
"It's my father. I need to get to the hospital," Gwen said.
Baz straightened up. "Gwen, I'm sorry."
"You don't need to be sorry," Gwen said. She slipped out of bed, throwing open dresser drawers.
Baz didn't have the luxury of fresh clothes, but he found what articles managed to make it into the bedroom...which were scant, but better than nothing. He had very little interest in having a conversation about Gwen's sick father while nude.
It was hardly a conversation. Gwen marched around the room, putting on a conservative dress before shutting herself in the bathroom. No experiences waking up in bedrooms that weren't his went quite like this. Did he stay to comfort her? Did he call himself a cab and let her be?
Even if Baz had miraculously had an identical experience, Gwen was a wildcard. She as of yet hadn't reacted to anything the way he might expect. The best he could do was finish getting dressed, then figure out the next move from there.
Baz found his shirt and his jeans in the sitting room, accompanied by empty wine glasses and the bottle. Behind the splitting headache, there were foggy memories. What had he told her? What had she said?
What had been cathartic at the time did not help his position.
He fished himself a glass of water from the kitchen, managed to find his phone and wallet in the sitting room, and waited for Gwen.
She stepped into the room, the previous night's makeup removed for new red lipstick and mascara.
"Are you coming or not?" Gwen asked.
Baz stilled, searching her face for what need she could possibly have for him. She didn't look traditionally upset in a way that required comfort. It more closely resembled annoyance, or thinly veiled anger. Pain could be deceptive that way. Gwen didn't strike him as the type to cry. Maybe wanting to was enough to frustrate her.
In any case, he would've guessed Gwen preferred to be alone in her grief where no one could see her fracture.
"You want me there?" he asked unsteadily. The night before was a lot of things. Fierce, hungry, passionate... not what Baz considered intimate. Waking up in her bed didn't equate trust. If anything, it left Baz more lost than he'd been before partaking in Gwen's poison of choice.
"Don't you want to be?" Gwen raised an eyebrow, "it's the first place Rei would turn up."
Baz nodded slowly, his stomach unsettled. Was it caused by the wine or Gwen's eerie detachment?
"Can you drive a stick?" Gwen asked. "There's a Cadillac in the garage that's not too intimidating."
That might've sent another man into a frenzy, but the offer of a Cadillac didn't do much for Baz.
"I can't drive at all," Baz replied. If he could, maybe the possibility of rolling around in a sports car would be more exciting.
Gwen stared at him. "You can't drive at all?" she repeated, like she thought she might have heard him wrong.
Baz shrugged. He never had much need for it. Temperance, despite its hills, was very cycling-friendly. Transit wasn't bad. That—and one summer of driving lessons with his father—had left Baz utterly uninterested in spending any more time behind the wheel.
"I hate driving in heels," Gwen muttered to herself.
***
The phone rang a second time. Staring at it on the side table didn't make it stop. The dread came in a wave, like a chill running up her spine, until Rei finally reached for it, ignoring the blinking light of an unheard voicemail.
The receiver was awkward and too big in her hands, the cord tangling into itself. How strange now for a phone to serve only one purpose, no screen or 3G connection. Just a phone, just for calls. More particularly, just for this call.
"Hello?" Rei said. The ringing stopped, but it somehow still existed in her mind, rattling around in her ears.
"Hello, is Rei there?" the voice on the other end even sounded medical. She must've been one of the many nurses and doctors Rei spoke to at the hospital during Angelo's first night there.
They explained to her the diagnosis, how Angelo was in stable condition but would need to remain at the hospital. The lawyers came and informed her of Angelo's living will and how he'd granted her power of attorney. They all ignored the fact she spent the night in the waiting room still dressed in a floral cheongsam dress and her mother's Chinese hairpin, a tad overdressed for the evening she ended up having.
"Yes, speaking," Rei said. Her stomach tied itself into knots, waiting to hear news she was in no way ready for. All around her were reminders of Angelo. The whole apartment was one big reminder, the entire building under his ownership. The books and the art were all memories, relics of trips Rei heard so many stories about, it was like she'd gone herself. He brought back the butterflies, pinned in frames, until she had the chance to see them for herself in person.
"I'm Barbara Hurst calling from Seaside General Hospital. I understand you have power of attorney for Mr. Angelo Ferrero," the nurse said.
"Yes," Rei said. She couldn't deny it. She couldn't hide from the responsibility of it, the hard choices that were inevitable when someone was dying. It wasn't the kind of problem that would go away if she just ignored it.
"I have his living will here. Today is the deadline for any intrusive procedures, according to the document. You are granted power to overturn the directive," the nurse said.
Rei couldn't stop her hand from shaking, or the rest of her body. Why had he put so much on her shoulders? Why did she have to be the one to make decisions that might kill him?
"What exactly does that mean in this case?" Rei asked.
"Would you like to discuss in person?" the nurse asked.
Rei froze. She'd spent so much time at the hospital, sitting at his bedside, quietly reading aloud. It hurt too much. It was a terrible, helpless feeling to sit next to someone who couldn't speak, who might not have even known she was there. She hated seeing a lively, generous man reduced to a hospital bed.
"I can't at the moment, unfortunately," Rei answered.
"Alright. Intrusive procedures include stereotactic radiosurgery doctors have considered as a treatment option, or any other surgical procedures. No further biopsies," the nurse explained.
Rei knew what that meant. She knew exactly how the situation ended, one way or another. The living will didn't change what was inevitable. It just... diminished the last of her hope. There would be no miraculous recovery. Angelo would not wake up suddenly and completely. Even in the best-case scenario, there would be so much rehabilitation.
Part of her wanted to insist that they do everything within their power, the radiology, the surgeries, anything possible. He could afford the best. Treatment wasn't limited by money.
It was limited by Rei, and Angelo's desire not to needlessly prolong his life. He had to outline it in a living will or doctors would do everything, letting machines breathe for him and feed him on the off-chance he made a recovery.
"I...I agree. Whatever the living will says. No more procedures," Rei said, "that's what he wanted."
Her heart sunk, like she was someone else speaking the words. It felt too much like giving up. She knew better, knew that the fantasy of recovery was, in fact, wholly fantasy. Rei already lost the Angelo who'd supported her when she disappointed her parents, the man who had nurtured her interest in the world at large.
He was gone. She was just respecting what he asked of her. She had to make the decisions because she was the one who would make the right ones in the end.
Even when it felt too much like shattering her own heart.
"Alright. Thank you," the nurse said.
"Thanks..." Rei whispered back, the best she could muster. She hung up. The tears came immediately, beading in her eyes before she even set the receiver back into its cradle.
The lump of a sob rose in her throat. She sunk into the sofa cushions, burying her face in the throw pillows.
Crying in the otherwise empty apartment, she was more alone than ever.
***
"There has to be something you can do," Gwen insisted.
The doctor shrugged. They may have been in a private room, Angelo receiving the best care, but to a doctor, Gwen was just another upset family member demanding more than could be done. Baz couldn't imagine she was the first daughter to yell at him. Maybe she wasn't even the first that day.
"The directive is very clear. There won't be any more treatments," the doctor said.
Baz kept his arms crossed, trying not to let the hospital make his skin crawl. While Gwen argued, Baz couldn't keep his eyes off the man in the hospital bed. They were similar in the fact that it was like neither of them were there. Baz didn't need to bear witness to the conversation. It felt too personal to him, even if it didn't to Gwen.
"I'm his daughter. Doesn't that mean anything?" Gwen pressed, her hands on her hips.
"You don't have power of attorney," the doctor said, "we've already reached out and have confirmation that there will be no more treatments."
Machines buzzed and beeped. Lights blinked. Angelo did not contribute to the discussion of his own fate.
"Excuse me? Who exactly has power of attorney?" Gwen said. "How did you get confirmation?"
"Rei Collingwood."
Baz looked up. The doctor looked over his clipboard, re-examining the paperwork, maybe too tired or too disinterested to care about the bewildered looks both Gwen and Baz gave him.
"Rei's missing," Baz found his voice again. It was the first thing he'd said since they walked into the hospital.
Hospitals prickled him with bad memories. The antiseptic smell drew them out like moths flocking to a flame.
"We called the number on file. She answered. She confirmed Mr. Ferrero's wishes."
Baz blinked. It felt like the entire city was on the hunt for Rei, but that wasn't true at all. Baz just surrounded himself with all the people who were looking. The hospital didn't know. They didn't care. News was something that rattled on outside while the doctors and nurses worked. Rei answered a phone call and that was that.
"What number?" Gwen asked.
"That's a matter of confidentiality," the doctor replied.
"She's a missing person. You'll have to give it to the police or something," Gwen said.
Baz's heart jumped. Could it be that easy? They'd trace the phone call, find Rei, and the whole thing would be over?
The doctor shrugged helplessly. He was just the man that practiced medicine. He was just the man who happened to get between Gwen and what she wanted.
"I'm calling my lawyer," Gwen said, marching out of the room. The doctor trailed listlessly behind her, likely on to a task more important than fighting with a young woman.
Baz hesitated. There was Angelo Ferrero, alone.
He was older than Baz imagined he was. It probably meant Gwen's mother was a much younger woman, but that wasn't uncommon from what Baz had gathered from his short career breaking into homes. Angelo wasn't responsive at all. He couldn't appreciate the expense of his private room or watch the daytime talk show on his TV.
Baz sat down in the chair next to the bedside. Monitors flickered, giving more indication of Angelo's condition than Angelo could.
Being alone in a hospital was the kind of thing Baz wouldn't wish upon anyone. Nothing felt quite like abandonment like walking up surrounded by white walls and no one around.
Baz's stomach turned, part hangover, part uncomfortable memory. The least he could do was be a presence for a little while to a man who didn't sound like he would last much longer.
He took the TV remote and flipped idly through the channels, looking for anything better than a talk show.
He almost flipped right past the news. The hospital staff may not have had the time to catch the headlines, too busy working long hours, but Baz had a spare moment.
The words scrolled along the bottom, under the news anchor. String of burglaries connected to recent kidnapping.
If Baz had his own heart rate monitor hooked up, it would've flatlined for a split second.
No.
His mind raced through every break-in. He'd been so careful. He always wore gloves. He didn't cut himself on anything. What piece of evidence would lead the police his way? Fuzzy surveillance footage of a figure in all black? His online shoe purchases? A stray strand of hair?
Baz was running out of time.
_______________________________
A/N: I missed a few Fridays here so I think I'm going to post two chapters a week for a little bit to help make up for that.
Do you feel bad for Gwen?