Photographyâs a tough business. Especially in this town. Very competitive.â
George nodded. âRight,â he said, without any conviction.
Tom swallowed, regarding his friend closely. He hadnât noticed beforeâbut George seemed haggard. His skin was very pale. Puffy sacks hung beneath his eyes.
âIâm sorry,â Tom murmured.
âItâs okay,â George answered. He smiled tiredly. âItâll pass. Every relationship suffers ups and downs.â
Tom nodded. That statement was truer thanGeorge probably even realized. It certainly applied perfectly to his relationship with Gaia. He extended a hand. âIf thereâs anything I canââ
âDonât worry,â George interrupted. His voice caught. âIâll make it work.â His jaw twitched, but he looked Tom in the eye. âFor Gaiaâs sake.â
Concentration Camp Victim
WHEN HEATHER FIRST STEPPED INTO the cold and antiseptic-smelling intensive care ward, her first reaction was one of rage. Pure rage. Staring down at Phoebeâs skeletal frameâthe way she was hooked up to all those IVs, lying under the blankets and sickly green hospital robes as if she were already a corpseâHeather wanted to wring Phoebeâs neck. To scream. To tear Phoebeâs beautiful brown hair from her scalp.
You idiot! How could you let this happen? How could you do this to yourself?
But she didnât. She kept her mouth shut. Because Heather knew if she tried to speak, she would very likely start bawling like an infant.
âI canât believe we didnât see this coming,â her mother whispered at her side.
Heather swallowed and shook her head.
Right,
she thought bitterly. Maybe part of her anger had to do with the guilt that was presently shredding her insides. Heather
had
seen this coming. Only last week sheâd found herself gaping in shock at Phoebeâs naked body, fresh from the showerâat those protruding eye sockets, at all the bones that jutted sharply from beneath her pallid and anemic flesh. Heather had even gone so far as to comment on how thin her sister looked.
Too
thin. Heather had seen something like this coming and done nothing to stop it.
Now Phoebeâs body was so starved, so deprived of nutrients that it simply wouldnât function. It had shut down, like a toy that had run out of batteries.
Of course, toys didnât have souls. They didnât look like concentration camp victims, either. They didnât need life-support systems just to keep their frail hearts beatingâ
âMaybe you should go home, Heather,â her mother whispered.
âNo,â Heather croaked. She shook her head again, violently. Sheâd only been here twenty minutes. She had no intention of leaving. Not until Phoebe gave her some kind of signâ
anythingâ
to prove that she was still with them. And a pulsating beep or a blip on a screen didnât count. No way. Phoebe had to say something.To open her eyes, if only for a second. Even the mere lifting of a finger would be enough.
The door opened behind them.
Heather glanced over her shoulder. A short, balding doctor in a white lab coat stood there, holding a clipboard.
âIâm very sorry,â he murmured with a sympathetic smile. âYouâre going to have to wait outside now. We need to run a few more tests.â He gestured down the hall
Heather exchanged a quick glance with her mother. Her throat caught. In the sickly blue glow of the fluorescent lights, she couldnât help but be struck by the resemblance between Phoebe and Mom. Both had those same deep-set eyes, the same mouth ⦠only Momâs lips were full and red, whereas Phoebeâs were cracked and nearly white. Momâs arms didnât look like you could snap them with two fingers. A network of purplish veins werenât bulging beneath translucent skin. Heather shot a quick glance back toward her