Blood, Ring and Fire

Chapter 1

Halle POV

The machine next to my mother's bed beeped every two seconds. I had been counting the beeps for almost an hour, because counting was easier than thinking.

One. Two. Three.

My mother lay still under the thin white sheet. Her face had gone gray, and her lips were dry no matter how often I wet them with a cotton bud. Three weeks ago she had been standing in our small kitchen, singing too loud and burning the rice. Now she could not even open her eyes.

"Mama," I whispered. "I'm still here."

She did not answer. She had not answered for two days.

The door opened, and Nurse Bisi came in with a tablet in her hand. She was the kind one. She was the one who brought me tea at night and pretended not to see me sleeping in the plastic chair. But tonight she did not smile.

"Halle," she said softly. "Can we talk outside?"

My stomach dropped. I already knew. When the kind nurse asked to talk outside, it was never good news.

I followed her into the hallway. The lights were too bright, and the floor smelled like bleach. Somewhere down the hall, a baby was crying.

"Is she worse?" I asked.

"She is stable for now," Bisi said. "But the doctor changed her medicine this evening. She needs a new drug before morning. It's important. It helps her heart while her kidneys fight."

"Okay. So give it to her."

Bisi looked down at her tablet. "Our pharmacy does not have it. We ran out two days ago. You will have to buy it outside."

"How much?"

She told me.

I did the sum in my head. It was almost everything I had left. Not almost. It was everything.

"Okay," I said again, because what else could I say? "I'll get it."

Bisi did not move. She was still looking at the tablet, and I could see her trying to find soft words for something hard.

"There's more," I said. "Just tell me."

She sighed. "The billing office sent another notice. The last payment did not cover the full amount. If the balance is not paid by eight tomorrow morning, they will stop her treatment and move her to the general ward."

"The general ward can't take care of her," I said. My voice cracked. "You told me that yourself. You said she needs this unit."

"I know." Bisi touched my arm. "I'm so sorry, Halle. I begged them. I really did. It's not up to me."

I nodded like a fool. I kept nodding even after she walked away.

Eight in the morning. It was eleven forty at night.

I went back into the room and opened my purse. I already knew what was inside, but I counted it anyway. Folded notes, a few coins, a bus ticket, and a lip balm with no cap.

I had sold my phone last week. I had sold my laptop the week before. I had sold my mother's sewing machine, which had hurt the most, because she had made every dress I wore until I was sixteen on that machine. I had borrowed from my old school friends until they stopped picking up my calls. I had worked double shifts at the supermarket until my manager told me to stop coming in looking like a ghost.

I bent down and kissed my mother's forehead. Her skin was cold.

"I'm getting your medicine," I told her. "I'll be quick. Don't go anywhere."

It was a stupid thing to say. She couldn't go anywhere. But I said it every time I left the room, like a prayer.

Outside, it was pouring rain.

I did not have an umbrella. I did not even have a jacket, just my old gray sweater with the hole at the elbow. I pulled it over my head and ran.

The only pharmacy still open at that hour was across the main road, the wide one with four lanes and no proper crossing. In the day, there was a man who helped people cross for small change. At night, there was only rain and the yellow street lights and cars flying past like they were racing the devil.

I waited at the side of the road with my heart pounding. When the road was clear, I ran across, splashing through puddles until my shoes were soaked through.

The pharmacy was small and bright. An old man sat behind the counter, half asleep, with a radio playing soft music beside him. When I showed him the paper from the doctor, he sighed and went to the back.

He was gone a long time. I stood there dripping water on his clean floor, praying under my breath.

Please have it. Please, please have it.

He came back with a small brown glass bottle in his hand.

"Last one," he said. "You're lucky."

I almost laughed. Lucky. I had not felt lucky in a very long time.

He told me the price. It was a little more than Bisi had said.

I emptied my purse on the counter. Notes, coins, everything. I counted it twice. I was short.

The old man watched me. I could feel my face burning.

"Please," I said. "This is all I have. It's for my mother. She's in the hospital across the road. I promise I'll bring the rest tomorrow. I promise."

He looked at the coins. He looked at my wet hair and my wet sweater and my shaking hands. Then he pushed the bottle across the counter.

"Go," he said. "Go before I change my mind."

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you. God bless you."

I held the bottle against my chest like it was made of gold. In a way, it was. It was my mother's heart. It was the next few days of her life.

I stepped back into the rain. My purse was empty and light. I didn't care. I had the medicine. That was all that mattered.

The road looked clear. Rain was falling so hard that the street lights looked blurry. I checked left. I checked right. There was nothing, only the sound of the rain hitting the ground.

I started to cross.

I was halfway across when I heard it. An engine, loud and angry, coming fast from the left. I turned my head.

There were no lights. Just a big black shape coming straight at me out of the rain.

I didn't think. My body moved on its own. I threw myself forward, and the car flew past so close that I felt the wind of it on my skin. I hit the ground hard. My knee slammed into the road, and I slid into a deep, dirty puddle by the curb.

For a second, everything was quiet except the rain.

Then I heard a small sound. A tiny crack, like ice breaking.

I looked down at my hand. It was empty.

The bottle lay on the road a few feet away, broken into three pieces. The medicine was running out of it, mixing with the rainwater and the mud, washing toward the drain.

"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."