Chapter 2

Consciousness surged back into Suzi’s mind, a fragile ember rekindling in the aftermath of chaos. The realization that she still clung to life settled upon her like a whisper, a secret shared between her and the universe. The oppressive weight of another body, once crushing her, had dissipated. The acrid tang of gunpowder and blood no longer clung to her senses, replaced by the sterile scent of antiseptic cleanliness.

Her surroundings shifted, a disorienting dance of reality. No longer sprawled on the unforgiving marble floor of Dr. Adamson’s lobby, Suzi now lay cocooned in a hospital bed. The soft beep-beep-beeping of medical monitors serenaded her—a familiar rhythm from her days as an End-of-Life Companion. The official term was ‘Death Doula,’ but the world rarely grasped its essence. Suzi had grown accustomed to explaining her role, guiding families through the delicate transition from life to whatever lay beyond.

Blinking sluggishly, Suzi surveyed her reality. Monitors tracked her pulse and breath, wires snaking from her body to mysterious destinations. Through half-closed lids, she squinted at the muted light filtering through shaded windows. The world outside remained distant, filtered through their presence.

There, perched on a love-seat couch, was a lump of a person—a small figure with unruly brown and green hair. One leg tucked beneath, they bent over a book, mouthing lyrics from unseen air pods.

Suzi’s feet stirred beneath the blankets, a feeble attempt to rouse the oblivious occupant. But the hospital linens clung, refusing to yield.

She strained to call out, her voice a mere rasp as she whispered, “Rio?”

The music in Rio’s ears drowned out Suzi’s plea. Her daughter remained lost in her world, ensconced in the rhythm of her own existence. Suzi’s gaze shifted to the bedside tray—a meager offering of sustenance. A foam cup, a straw, unopened strawberry gelatin, and a plastic spoon. The oxygen sensor on her index finger added an extra layer of complexity as she reached for the spoon. Fumbling, she regained mastery over her trembling fingers.

Her target remained oblivious, the bobbing head of her daughter. Suzi flung the spoon, aiming for connection. It fell short, landing on the floor near Rio. But it slid, a beacon of motion that finally caught her attention.

Rio’s eyes snapped up, bloodshot and tear-filled. She abandoned her book and pen, lunging toward her mother. Their hands met—a lifeline across the chasm of uncertainty.

“Mom! Can you hear me?” Rio’s impatience spilled forth.

Suzi’s smile was fragile, etched with relief. “Yes, baby. I’m fine. Water, please.”

Rio retrieved the cup of ice water, cradling it with care. As Suzi sipped the cold water, she savored its soothing touch against her parched throat.

“You’ve been asleep for three days. What happened? I got a call that you were in some accident, and we rushed up here that night.”

Three days—three days lost in the abyss. Rio’s words tumbled out, a torrent of concern. Suzi’s mind wove a delicate connection, threads of memory fraying. “I don’t remember much,” she confessed. The truth eluded her, a puzzle with missing pieces. “And who’s ‘we’?” she asked, curiosity tugging at her fragile tether to reality.

“The doctors didn’t…” Rio’s voice trailed off as the door swung open, revealing a figure that sent Suzi’s heart plummeting.

Aiden—the man she’d loved since their college days, the father of her children, the one she’d left behind. Emotionally, her heart sank, but the heart monitor betrayed her, racing from a cool 62 beats per minute to a frantic 90. Her temperature spiked, matching the turmoil within.

“Hey! She’s awake,” Aiden announced, his smile bittersweet.

In his hands, two steaming cups—coffee, an elixir to combat exhaustion. Suzi knew his habits well; he rarely touched caffeine unless sleep deprivation had him in its grip. On the other hand, her daughter, Rio, regarded coffee as an essential sustenance, a critical food group, a companion through meals and snacks.

Aiden crossed the room, delivering one cup to Rio before approaching Suzi’s bedside. His greeting was warm, lips brushing her forehead, his hand cradling the back of her skull. Suzi observed him—the evidence of sleepless nights etched into his wrinkled clothes, the disheveled hair, the red-rimmed eyes. Despite it all, he looked good. Really good. And he smelled of her favorite cologne—Mercedes Black. Two years had passed since she’d seen him, over a year since they’d spoken. No social media updates; her only lifeline was her kids, who responded matter-of-factly: ‘Ask him if you want to know.’

Aiden had lost weight, but his hair and beard remained familiar. Those dimples when he smiled—how she’d missed them. A few more grey hairs, a touch of salt in the pepper. And his wedding ring—absent. Why should he wear it? She’d broken his heart. Yet the faded indention on his finger lingered a phantom reminder.

Annie, her seductive alter ego, whimpered in Suzi’s mind, stirring memories of passion and longing. His hands—firm, yet gentle—had explored every facet of her being. She glanced at the coffee cup he held, noting the absence of the ring. Pull it together, woman, her inner critic chided.

“Happy Thanksgiving. How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m good,” Suzi replied, her voice returning. But her emotions were a tempest—smiling like a schoolgirl, tears threatening. “How are you?” she asked Aiden.

Over the years, she’d accumulated a collection of wedding bands—her engagement ring, wedding band, the crown-shaped renewal ring from their fifth anniversary, and two colored anniversary bands. Aiden had married each facet of her personality, each band a testament. Six months ago, she’d stopped wearing them all, except for the renewal band. Now, even that was absent.

“Good,” Aiden stepped back, leaving Suzi uncertain whether he referred to himself or her. “I’ll go get the doctor.” He moved toward the door, a man driven by usefulness.

“Dad, we can hit the ‘Call Nurse’ button,” Rio offered, reaching for the wand beside the bed.

But Aiden exited the room, leaving Suzi and her daughter alone.

“He has to feel useful,” Suzi murmured to Rio.

Her gaze lingered on her daughter, who held a foam cup and straw, sipping the coffee Aiden had brought. Suzi’s heart swirled with questions, but one stood out.

“How’s Charles?” she asked, her voice steadier now.

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“I’ve not really been able to talk to him,” Rio replied, “but he’s stationed in Germany. He’s hoping to be home for Christmas or New Year’s, depending on how things escalate there.” Rio’s eyes held a mix of concern and weariness, mirroring Suzi’s own tumultuous emotions.

“And before you ask or panic about it, Dad and I have been going to your apartment and taking care of Ygritte.”

Suzi’s heart clenched at the mention of Ygritte Snow—the white American Staffordshire Terrier who had become her soulmate in dog form. Ygritte was the reason Suzi had seen Aiden the last time. Three months of solitude in Chicago had driven her to seek companionship, prompting her to ask him to bring Ygritte up to her.

“Thank you,” Suzi murmured, her emotions tangled like a leash.

As a doctor and nurse entered the room, Aiden remained conspicuously absent. Dr. Parker, with his fake smile, approached Suzi’s bedside, wielding a penlight like a tiny beacon of scrutiny. But it was his choice of address that grated on her—Judith. Legally and officially, yes, that was her name. But it carried the weight of her past—a past shaped by an aunt who had treated her like shit during her formative years. Dr. Adamson, the psychiatrist, had dissected her psyche, attributing her lack of confidence and her battles with anxiety and depression to those painful family ties.

“I’m good,” Suzi replied, realizing she hadn’t even sat up yet.

The doctor pressed the button on the bed, seemingly satisfied with her almost-normal voice.

“Any headaches or pain?” he inquired, probing for hidden fractures.

“Mmm, no. Not really,” Suzi answered, her arms and head moving cautiously, checking for any dissonance within her body.

He waved his finger in front of her nose, pointing at the ceiling, then turned the penlight on, directing it at her chest. “Follow my finger with your eyes only, please,” he instructed, testing her ocular coordination.

She complied, tracking his finger as it danced between her eyes. Next came the cap removal—a revelation of her wild, unruly hair. Rio, her daughter, rolled her eyes, a silent commentary on the doctor’s attempt at humor.

“You had a small contusion on the back of your head,” he informed her, his touch gentle. “But scans didn’t show any sign of concussion. Any pain here?” His fingers explored the base of her skull.

“Nope.”

“Good. Do you have a history of epilepsy or seizures in your family?” His fingers shifted to her wrists.

“No.”

“What about sleep disorders like narcolepsy?” His line of questioning veered into confusion territory.

“Not that I know of. If anything, it would be insomnia. Why?” Suzi’s brow furrowed.

“Have you been sleeping more or less often before this incident?” His persistence puzzled her further.

“No more than usual. Why?” she echoed.

Stethoscope in place, he listened to her back, gathering data. Then he stepped back, locking eyes with her. “When you were remanded to the ER, you were unconscious,” he began, “non-responsive to normal stimuli. Brain scans, however, showed a high level of activity. Your synaptic waves indicated either deep meditation or a state of unawakenable sleep.”

“Of course, there was brain activity, you troglodyte,” the hateful Judy persona chimed in.

“Wow. I don’t remember anything. No dreams or anything.”

“You’ve been in this state for over three days,” he continued, “but your readings are normal now. We’ll keep you for observation overnight, aiming for release tomorrow morning. Maybe you can squeeze in some Black Friday shopping before the deals vanish.”

“I wonder how many people have died in this bed,” the Spike personality mused, a morbid curiosity.

“I’d really like to go home today,” Suzi asserted. “If something feels wrong, I’ll come back.”

“Mom, you need to stay,” Rio interjected.

“I have to take care of Ygritte,” Suzi said, her priorities clear, “and call the funeral home. Nick needs to know I’m alright and apologize for missing work.”

Nick Washington, a prominent funeral director in Chicago, held sway over the city’s highest and most distinguished funerals. His connections ran deep—longtime friends with the Obamas even before Barack became an Illinois senator and later the President. But it was Nick’s funeral home business, Eternal Springs Funeral Home, where Suzi, seeking her first real opportunity in the funeral industry, found her chance with Nick’s growing enterprise.

“Dad has already talked to Nick,” Rio assured Suzi, “and told him you were in the hospital. We’re already taking care of Ygritte. They’re covered.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “What happened to Dr. Adamson? And the guy that shot him?” Suzi asked the doctor.

“You were the only one brought in,” the nurse explained, “but there is a detective who wants to speak with you.” She handed Rio a business card and a small bag containing pieces of body jewelry. “You were covered in blood, but no wounds other than a small contusion on the back of your head.”

“It was Dr. Adamson’s blood,” Suzi revealed. “He was shot right in front of me.”

“We’ll let the police investigate,” the doctor replied, “but you might be misremembering due to shock.”

“We know what we saw,” the defiant Judith personality echoed in Suzi’s mind. “We don’t ‘misremember’ anything.”

The doctor focused on practical matters. “We’ll remove the monitors,” he said, “as well as the IV and catheter, and bring you some food.”.

“My belongings?” Suzi inquired. “Clothes, purse, rings?”

“Unfortunately,” the doctor explained, “we had to cut you out of your clothes. Your belongings are with the police. We only have your piercings, which we removed for scans.” He left, promising to return later.

Nurse Rachel tended to Suzi, removing the anodes and IV. Rio stood up, turning away during the catheter removal.

“Where’s your dad?” Suzi asked.

“Do you want me to go find him?”

“I’m done,” the nurse said.

“No. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be here anyhow.”

“Mom…” Rio’s voice held a blend of frustration and concern as she turned back toward Suzi. “Dad has been here more than I have.”

The urgency in her words painted a vivid picture: Aiden’s unwavering presence, his commitment to Suzi’s well-being. When the hospital had called, Rio had dialed her father, and he’d raced to her side, covering the distance from Jeff City in record time. Their bond transcended mere obligation; it was love, unyielding and fierce.

“He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be,” Rio continued. “His toothbrush and bathroom bag are in the bathroom right there, right now.” She pointed to the door across from Suzi’s bed.

“I’m fine now,” Suzi insisted. “Really. You guys don’t have to stay.”

“Damn it, Mom!” Rio’s frustration escalated as she placed the water cup on the bedside table. “Why be so stubborn? We love you. Let us love you. DAD loves you.”

Her emphasis on “DAD” carried weight. Aiden harbored no blame; he understood her dreams, her need to escape their hometown. The funeral industry—the path Suzi had chosen—was her lifeline, and Aiden celebrated it.

Tears traced Suzi’s cheeks, emotions swirling. “I just…” she began, but the nurse’s exit interrupted her thoughts.

“You did what you had to,” Rio reminded her. “Remember your dreams for us? You wanted to fly to us when we graduated or got married. You put your dreams on hold for so long. Dad is proud of you.”

“It’s funny when she throws those life lessons back at us,” the Spike personality chimed in. “Is she too old to go stand in the corner?”

The door swung open, carrying the scent of food. “Who’s hungry?” Aiden entered, tray in hand, a secret behind his back. His smirk held mischief. “What are we talking about?”

“Nothing,” Rio lied.

“I’m starving,” Suzi confessed, wiping her tears.

Ignoring the hospital food, Aiden handed Rio the tray. “You can have this,” he said, revealing a brown paper bag with a familiar logo. “CozMc’s is open down the block. Got you a few items I thought you might like.”

As they ate, The Simpsons played on the television. Rio’s phone interrupted—a call from Charles. She stepped out, leaving Suzi and Aiden in a quiet room.

“You good?” Aiden asked Suzi.

“I’m good,” she replied, smiling.

“I’ll go let Ygritte out,” Aiden said. “And get you fresh clothes for tomorrow. Our hotel room will be more comfortable than this chair.”

“See you tomorrow?” Suzi inquired.

“As you wish,” Aiden quoted The Princess Bride, a familiar refrain from their married days.

“We are still married,” the Suzanne personality asserted.

Aiden squeezed her foot, a silent promise, and left. Rio returned, sharing news of Charles. His mission would keep him away for months.

“I’m sure he’ll be safe,” Suzi said.

“Dad went to the hotel,” Rio informed her.

“Yeah, It’s just you and me tonight, kid,” Suzi said, embracing the quietude.

“Sounds good to me,” Rio murmured, settling into the reclining chair beside Suzi’s bed. She clasped her mother’s hand, using Suzi’s arm as a makeshift pillow.

“I love you, Mom,” Rio whispered.

“I love you too, baby,” Suzi replied, her voice a tender murmur.

As the room dimmed, Rio drifted to sleep, her head resting on her mother’s arm—a familiar embrace, a comforting echo of childhood. The television played The Simpsons, a lullaby of animated voices and flickering colors. In this quiet bubble, mother and daughter shared a moment of respite, bound by love and the gentle rhythm of their breaths.