mistymidnight
Author's Notes: If I fed you an elaborate story about why I didn't update for two months, would you believe me?
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Didn't think so.
I'm planning on about two more chapters; maybe make it an even twenty.
Chapter 18The hospital smelled like ammonia and clean clothes. The smell made Tara sick. Everything was too clean. Why did the hospital have to be so impeccably clean? It would be so much easier to blame whatever happened on the hospital if it was filthy and in violation of a zillion health codes.
It was too cold in the hospital, too. The air conditioning was pumped as high as it could go and Tara shivered as she walked down the hallway, even though she was wearing a fuzzy lilac sweater. She pulled the sleeves down over her hands and wrapped her arms around herself. It was too cold. She hoped her mother had a lot of blankets.
She reached the door and knocked, before slowly opening the door. "Mom?"
"Hi, sweetie," her mother rasped, and Tara was startled at the person lying on the bed before her. This wasn't her mother. This was an imposter, a play-actor with breathing tubes in her nose and machines hooked up to her. This couldn't be her mother. It couldn't.
"Mom," Tara said, rushing over to grasp her mother's hand. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you, too, Tara-pooh-honey-bear."
Tara felt tears stinging at her eyes, but held them back. She had to be strong for her mother.
"Tara," her mother said. "Take care of Donny and Daddy."
"Mom," Tara said, panicked. "I won't have to, Mom. You'll get better. We'll take care of them together."
"Sweetie." Her mother smiled sadly. "I'm not going to get better. You know that."
Tara felt a tear push out of the corner of her eye. It tickled as it crawled down her cheek.
"Mom," she said, "I'll make it stop. I'll find a spell—"
"Tara," her mother said. "You can't do that. You can't give and take lives. It's not your job."
"I don't care!" Tara burst out, even though she knew her mother was right.
"Tara," her mother said, squeezing her hand, "you need to honor my memory. Don't undercut everything I've taught you. Don't use your power for selfish reasons. It's my time."
"You can't leave me!" Tara cried. "Don't leave me."
"I have to, Tara," her mother whispered. "I'll miss you. But I want you to do five things for me."
"What?"
"I want you to live your life to the fullest. And sweetheart, I want you to go to Disneyland and swim in a lake in the mountains and laugh until your tummy hurts and eat Jell-O before it gets jiggly."
Tara smiled through her tears. "I will. I promise."
Early the next morning, Brooke Maclay died.
Tara made Jell-O.