Never Again

I paced nervously outside the room my brother Ted was being operated in. Staring at the white of the hospital walls was making me sick, the color radiated into my eyes. I read somewhere that you can get snow blind from looking at white snow without proper goggles, and I vaguely wondered if hospitals like these could have the same effect. But the idea dropped almost instantly; I had more important things to worry about.

My mind wandered away again, trying to avoid the dilemma currently at hand. The hospital reeked of antiseptic and cleaners. I wondered why hospitals were always filled with that repulsive smell. I couldn't stand smelling it, and it made me feel like puking. But maybe the reason I wanted to puke was because I was anticipating what was to come.

I piped up, "What if Ted…"

My brother Ned, who had just gotten over his most recent wave of migraines, cut me off. "Ted's going to be alright, Sinead. I promise you, he will."

I looked up unconvinced into my brother's icy blue eyes. "How can you be sure? There's still a 37.586 percent chance his method that the doctors approved won't work, a 24.7 chance his eyesight will be lost forever, and a 5.98 percent chance he will…" My voice trailed off. I. will. Not. Go. There. I told myself. Unfortunately, it didn't work and my mind wondered to the worst possible outcome. Something we had somehow managed to escape for our short time in the clue hunt, but now the possibility seemed more likely than it ever was.

"I'm worried," I finally managed. "I don't want Ted to… to…"

"Don't worry. He won't. We've escaped a bombing alive, an angry mob of cousins ripping paper out of each others hands, and a pyromaniac madwoman who almost," his voice cracked for a second but he covered up quickly "almost shot us." He hesitated on the word us and my guilty conscience from my past actions creep into my mind again. In the Madrigal's gauntlet I had to make a choice; save my brother, or save the serum. I chose the serum. Only afterwards did I realize how wrong and selfish I was. What would have happened if Amy and Dan hadn't been there?

Finally a nurse emerged from the room and walked toward us. "The operations done," she told us.

"Did it go well? Is Ted okay?" I asked, not sure I wanted to hear an answer.

"Yes. The doctors say so far his calculations have been ringing true. Your brother is healthy, but they don't want you to see him until tomorrow. I suggest you go home and come back tomorrow morning," the nurse smiled sympathetic at me.

"Okay, thanks," Ned said while I just stood there, relief spreading across my face.

The next morning we arrived at the hospital when my parents left for work. We got there shortly after it opened and navigated our way to Ted's hospital room. After Ned's headaches acted up again, we sat down next to Ted's cot.

"How do you feel?" Ned asked concern in his voice.

Ted cracked a weak smile. "Like I could recite the first hundred digits of pi." That was an inside joke between us for as long as I could remember. Ted could have, in fact, recite the first hundred digits of pi. Ned used to be able to do that too, but he couldn't do that anymore since his headaches started.

We sat there in an awkward silence for a few minutes, but they seemed to last forever. Finally I asked the question that's on our minds. "Is your eyesight getting better?" I felt horrible for asking, because I'm the only reason he was like that in the first place.

If there was one thing I could ever take back, it was the day of Grace's funeral, the day I convinced my brothers to search for clues instead of accepting the three million dollars. Then none of us would have to be like that, with Ted and his eyesight and Ned with his headaches. I was the only one who escaped any ongoing effects. Sometimes I replayed that day in my mind, musing over options I could have taken and what the outcomes would be. But it was useless, thinking about something that never happened. Wishing for a happy ending that never came. It's all too much burden for me to carry on my shoulders, but I carry it anyway. I deserve it.

Ted seemed to perk up slightly. "Yeah, I think it is. I can see details now, even if I can't see color. Before all I could see were just blobs of light and dark."

I was happy by that news, I guess, but I didn't find any joy. All I thought about was how, because of my selfishness and fantasies, my brother was robbed of his gift of vision. I gently placed my palm on his hand and Ned did the same. "I'll never, ever do anything foolish for the clues again." I looked up into my identical brothers' eyes.

"Never."