When Our Paths Crossed (bxb) - Complete

Identify the Body

I STAND IN front of the hospital, my chest tight. I have to go in, but I can't. I'm rooted to the sidewalk. Entering the building would be accepting that everything is real. That this void I'm feeling is real. 

My brother is dead. If I stay outside, I push back the inevitable. 

The evening is chill, but my body is on fire. My tightly clenched fists hanging at my sides are sweaty, while chilling tremours rippled through me. Tears threaten in the corners of my eyes, but they don't fall. 

Finally, my body moves, even though I'm no longer in control. It's in automatic mode; I'm a passenger. As the automatic doors to the ER slide open, I remember the last time Dan and I were in the hospital. 

We were ten. I'd fallen off the jungle gym on one of our rare outings to the park, and aside from needing a cast, I also needed stitches on my knee. Ten total, which was Dan declared was amazing. Dan had insisted on coming with mom and me, clutching my hand stoically the entire time. 

"You'll be okay, Eli," he grinned, nudging my uninjured shoulder playfully. When I glanced at him doubtfully, he added. "You're going to look so cool with a cast. I'm almost jealous!"

"Jealous? But it hurts so much, Danny," I whined, receiving a withering look from my mother from the front seat. Dan frowned, squeezing my hand with tight reassurance. 

"I promise, Eli," he whispered as we pulled into the hospital parking lot. "Doctors know what they're doing, and the cast will help set your broken bones." He smiled lopsidedly, resting his forehead against mine. "I'll be with you the entire time." 

And he'd upheld his promise. He refused to leave my side the entire time, even when the doctor went to set the cast. 

My twin had always been smarter and stronger than me, even during his addiction and mental health battles. I don't think I could have held out as long as he did. Except that, now, I was the one still standing, and he was lying on a cold, hard table in the morgue.

The hospital reeks of sterilization, the air thick with sickness and grief. It takes all my willpower not to flee right then and there. I hate hospitals, and knowing that this trip is to confirm my brother is dead makes it even worse. 

I swallow my unease and approach the reception desk. The nurse sitting behind is cheerful with a polite smile and a rosy, round face. She's a striking contrast to the otherwise dismal surroundings, but maybe that's why she's been stationed at reception. To give people a sense of comfort.

Comfort is the last thing I want right now. 

"Hi," I say, my voice cracking. Quickly, I clear it and start again. "I, um, am looking for the..." Say it, Eli. "...The morgue?" 

The nurse's smile falters, just for a breath, and when it's back, there's a pitying thread in her expression. "Oh, of course, I'm so sorry, dear. I'll have someone come up and escort you there—"