Chapter 2

Episode 1 - On the Brink

“Brady?”

Something cold touched his head, clammy and clinging like a wad of wet paper, and Brady flinched away. A gentle hand gripped his shoulder, and the same quiet, sweet voice that he could almost have mistaken for Eden’s caught and cradled his fractured attention.

“Brady, it’s all right. Just breathe—nice and slowly. That’s it. You’re going to be okay.”

Brady pried his heavy eyes open to find the chocolate brown ones of the lab assistant—or whatever she was—bent over him where he lay on the floor, a few tiny wisps of her dark curls tickling his cheek. He instinctively reached up to brush away the sensation, and the girl sat back, pulling the curls into a loose bunch with one hand as her other fumbled in the pocket of her skirt.

“Sorry. Do you think you can sit up? Take it slowly. Don’t try to move too fast.”

Brady put a hand on the floor and pushed himself up, shuddering at the grit that dug into his fingers. He quickly brushed it off and turned to survey the floor, but the whitish tiles looked as clean as ever. What on earth was happening to him? Where was the doctor?

A quick glance down the hallway showed no trace of her, but as he turned back toward the assistant, his vision suddenly blurred and narrowed again. The wall in front of him seemed to dissolve, and he could see Dr. Mattox bent over a whole bank of screens and monitors, apparently taking furious notes. The scratch of her pen and clack of her keyboard rang in his ears.

Brady drew a quick, sobbing breath, and suddenly the whole cacophony of sounds rushed over him again. Tapping footsteps. Beeping monitors. Groans. Coughs. The whimpering breaths of a child who’d cried itself quiet. Covering his ears didn’t help, but he tried it anyway, burying his head in his knees as a moan escaped him.

“Brady.” The soft words were truly right in his ear now. He could feel the girl’s breath on his cheek and her hand on his arm. “Breathe. Just breathe. It won’t last. I promise it won’t. I want to help. Can you tell me what’s happening?”

Her voice was like a lifeline, and he clung to it hard. Somehow just the effort of concentrating on it helped to muffle the rest of the cascade that pounded in his ears. But what kind of ridiculous question was that?

“Shouldn’t you—be telling—me?” The words gasped out around breaths he still had to force himself to take.

“Oh, believe me, I would if I could.” The girl gave a little, choked sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “I’m going to tell you everything I know just as soon as I can, but I need to know how to help you right now. Can you tell me what you’re feeling? Is it your head?”

“It—no. Yes. I don’t even know.” Brady caught a deep breath for the first time in what felt like hours and lifted his head just enough to see over his knees. “It’s not—not a migraine. Not like any I’ve—ever had. It doesn’t even—really hurt. It’s just—too much.”

“What is?” She leaned down to meet his eyes, and he forced himself to blink back the moisture that was starting to gather there.

“I can see—through walls. Feel dirt that’s—not even there. Hear—everything.” Just the words brought the torrent rushing back, and he gripped his head hard.

“Brady. Brady!” Her hands were over top of his, lifting his face to look at her. “Stay with me. Breathe. Try to focus. Concentrate on me and block the rest out. Can you do that?

“Maybe.” He barely gritted out the word, but the girl nodded encouragement.

“Do your best. Focus on me. Breathe.” She modeled a long, slow breath, then sat back against the wall and continued to talk in the same low voice. “I’m Rachelle, by the way. Rachelle Rivera. It’s probably not fair that I know so much more about you than you do about me, but I’m happy to fix that. I’m twenty-two years old, born and raised in Detroit. I’m here for help with Ehlers Danlos syndrome and fibromyalgia, which I’ve been fighting for half my life now. My only living family is a little sister who I would give anything for. And almost a year and a half ago, I signed on to try Dr. Mattox’s newest treatment.”

Brady had let the words flow past like the quiet trickle of a creek, allowing them to block out the rest of the clamor that pressed in from every side, but not paying special attention to their meaning. But the last sentence sat him bolt upright, focused on the girl—Rachelle, had she said?—like a laser, as all the other thoughts and sensations melted away.

“You—you’ve done this? Felt—this?” He gestured helplessly, and Rachelle offered an apologetic shrug.

“Not exactly what you’re feeling, no. Dr. Mattox’s compound—it’s made to target the pieces that don’t function right. In her other studies, it works delayed-release and long-term, a lot more like the cure she’s trying for. But—I don’t know if it’s because we’re so intractable or because the human body is just so incredibly complex—but in all her human trials so far, the compound seems to go into action all at once, improving whatever’s wrong with us to an absurd degree for just a short burst of time before it quits and leaves us right where we were before.”

“I have no idea what you just said.” Brady crossed an arm over his knees and pillowed his cheek against it, knowing he looked like a tired little kid but too drained to care. If this was going to devolve into medical jargon, he might pass out again just to get away from it.

“This is what I mean.” Rachelle held out a hand with one finger bent at an unnatural angle, then quickly slipped it into place again. She reached over and began gently rubbing his shoulders. “My problem is in my joints, my muscles, and basically all my connective tissue. If I’m not careful, I can dislocate something just by moving the wrong way, and some days I ache so badly that I can’t get out of bed. But when I get an injection, I can lift a car without breaking a sweat.”

It took a few seconds before the meaning of her words sank in, and then Brady’s jaw would have dropped if he’d had the energy to let it. Lift a car? The girl couldn’t be taller than five two and looked like she couldn’t carry a gallon of milk without stopping for a rest.

“You can’t be serious.”

Rachelle gave a little snort.

“You’re the one who just said he can see through walls, and I can’t be serious?” She sat in silence for a moment, still rubbing his shoulders, then leaned down to meet his eyes again. “You have any foods you need to avoid?”

She was going to drop something like that on him and then ask about his diet? He should probably fight her on it, but he was too worn out to try, so he surrendered the answer he barely had to think about.

“Just bananas. Don’t ask me why. And nothing too spicy—but that’s more the scent than anything. Nothing else really helps or hurts, no matter how much they tell me it should.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve been there.” From her sigh, he really thought she had. “Just stay here for a minute. Try to breathe and only focus on one thing at a time, okay? I know Dr. Mattox said you hadn’t eaten yet today. I’m going to grab you something from the kitchen, and then we can talk.”