Page 62 of An Immaculate Deception

I slow as I reach the room. I hear Doctor Lobo’s voice and freeze in my tracks.

I do not allow myself to hope this time. I won’t allow my wishful thinking to deceive me a third time.

But he is speaking, Doctor Lobo. He speaks in a normal, conversational tone, though I cannot make out the words.

Then everything is utterly still. The silence feels endless, as if my presence is already known. A burning sensation pushes between my stomach and my chest. My hand trembles as I reach for the door handle.

I open the door.

Mother sits up on the bed, awake. Watching me.

38

Alive.

Awake.

Mother sits in bed. Brown eyes wide open. Not the white pupilless eyes of the dead, of last night, but the bright eyes of the living, shining and full of life. Her skin is not gray and ashen but warm hued and healthy. She is not lying down face up like a corpse. She sits up against the bed frame, posture upright and relaxed. Her hair the same dark hazelwood waves, brighter than when she slept. Her head tilts as she regards me, and she blinks, then lifts her brows, as if equally stricken by the sight of me as I am by her.

“Leandro!” she calls out.

I am unable to react.

Mother endeavors to push the covers off her, wincing with pain. Doctor Lobo assists her while I watch in total dismay. Each micro-movement stuns me completely: swiveling on the bed, raising her arms up for the doctor to help her, pushing her legs out so they hang, and finally standing on her own, albeit with Doctor Lobo’s help. I am beside myself. I fear that it will all go away if I blink, so I stare.

Slowly, with effort, she steps forward, in my direction. I hold my breath, terrified that she’s going to collapse, that her pupils will roll backward into her head, that her head will slump limply on her shoulder, that her heart will give out.

I glance at Doctor Lobo, and we exchange a look. He looks placidly pleased, as if this is all expected, as if she is simply one of his patients awakening from a routine procedure.

She takes slow steps toward me, eyes filled with emotion. She reaches out her hands, smiling. I don’t know when I last saw her smile. She looks utterly unlike the ghostly creature I’ve become accustomed to. I almost forgot what she looks like—the real, living her. Healthy. Breathing. Conscious. Thinking. Behind her eyes, her soul, her mind, her living consciousness flows.

When she embraces me, she’s not cold and languid but warm and firm. I cannot return the embrace, for fear that she’ll break into pieces at my touch.

I thought I would never see her alive again.

I thought I killed her.

But this time, it’s real.

Emotion clogs my throat and a sob erupts.

“Oh, my dear Leandro…”

Her hands cup around her mouth. She and Doctor Lobo stare at me. I’m racked by uncontrollable hiccups and streaming tears. A lump forms in my throat. I taste salt on my lips.

“How are you feeling?” Mother asks me.

“I…uh…”

I start, then stop. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand, try to collect myself. It feels like a rock is lodged in my throat, making it hard to speak. I also don’t know how to answer the question: How do I feel?

I cannot possibly say.

I start: “I thought you were—”

“It’s the work of God,” Doctor Lobo interrupts.

“My dear…” She starts bringing her face to mine as if to kiss my cheek, but Doctor Lobo speaks abruptly and she draws back.