For now, we will not speculate on his mental condition if he recovers. Our focus is on making sure he does recover.
Ten seconds.
That’s what I keep thinking. Ten seconds. Maybe even five. Yes, I’m quite certain it’s five.
If I’d pulled that trigger five seconds faster, Jay would be dealing with a sore throat and nightmares. Traumatized, but alive.
Five seconds faster and Anders would have seen me shoot Sophie and stayed his own finger, and she’d be alive.
Five seconds. A blip so fast we barely register its passing. How can I possibly be judged for missing such a narrow window?
Because it is not the blink of an eye. After Jay is stable, I measure time in five-second intervals. That’s how long it takes Anders to cross the room and retrieve gloves from a drawer. That’s how long it takes April to tell Diana she should leave, and Diana to protest. That’s how long it takes for Dalton to burst in, frantic because he’d been in the forest and returned to hear I’d been attacked by a patient. That’s how long it takes for me to go outside and ask Kenny to reassure people that the situation is under control.
Five seconds.
I might have saved two lives if I pulled that trigger five seconds earlier.
Yet I couldn’t. I know that. I made a mistake fourteen years ago, let anger and outrage pull a trigger for me, and a man died for it. A man who deserved to be punished for what he did, but who did not deserve to die.
Too fast. Too slow. When it comes to this, it will forever be one or the other. There is no time I have ever fired a gun and later rested confident that I did exactly the right thing, even when, in the back of my mind, I know I did the only thing.
I will question it.
Anders will, too.
There will be late nights, the two of us, huddled in some quiet place, nursing drinks, whispering our doubts to the only person who truly understands them. I love Dalton with all my soul, and he has done things he regrets, but only Anders and I share this in our past—the shame of pulling a trigger when we shouldn’t have.
Now we are locked together in a new regret. I will tell him that he did the right thing and saved my life, and he will not believe it. He will tell me that I did the right thing in trying to save Sophie, and I will not believe it.
I saw the plastic tubing around Jay’s neck. I saw blood. I should have shot Sophie right then. But I misjudged. I thought I had the situation under control, and it was only when she yanked that tubing that I realized my mistake.
Five seconds.
“I would like to speak to my sister alone now,” April announces.
I jump. I think we all do as her voice cuts through the tiny room. Dalton’s grip tightens on my hand—I hadn’t even realized he was holding it until now.
“Eric,” April says, “you may have Casey back in ten minutes. I need to speak to her alone.”
Anders nods and waves Dalton to the door. They go out back. April waits until they’re gone and then walks to the door, her head tilting.
“They aren’t going to eavesdrop, April,” I say.
“Not intentionally, no.” She pauses and then, satisfied, returns to me. “I have a dilemma, and I wish to consult with you.”
Her words make my stomach flip in a sensation so alien that it takes a moment for me to identify it.
My sister is admitting she has a problem.
She wants to talk to me about it.
She may even need my advice.
I have been waiting for this moment all my life. How many times did I want to ask for her advice, but I couldn’t because we didn’t have that kind of relationship? If she had opened the door, though, I’d have leaped through. Even just the proof that my perfect sister had problems, needed advice, would have meant so much. I grew up feeling like the screwup, the girl who never quite got her shit together, because April did everything effortlessly.
“Okay,” I say. “What is it?”
“I want to say that I am unable to properly care for this patient in his condition.”