by Samantha Bryant
It was a miracle. As Michael watched, the flatline blipped once. Then again, slowly. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, telling himself it was just exhaustion and grief playing tricks on him. He had hardly left Emily’s bedside in the two weeks since the attack, hoping and praying for a change. He was underslept and overwrought. And now that she was beyond his hopes and prayers, it wasn’t surprising that his mind would play tricks on him.
Michael brushed Em’s soft, blonde hair back from her forehead and leaned in to place a kiss on the smooth skin there. Her flesh was still warm. He fought the urge to succumb to tears again. He should go and let the staff attend to her body. He’d have to make the call to her parents and her sister, then his own family. Em would want him to make sure that everything was done right. He’d been too late to protect her from whoever had done this to her, but he owed her a proper memorial at the very least.
Then, he saw it again. He had imagined it, hadn’t he? No! There it was yet again. A blip, and then another. He ran to the hospital room door, his face still wet with tears.