Remember Me by Christopher Pike

choked on the word.

    For an instant, my fingers appeared to go through the material of his sweatshirt. To go right into his arm. I recoiled in horror.

    Jimmy rejoined my parents. The woman at the desk picked up a phone and requested a doctor somebody. The young

    white-coated gentleman appeared within seconds; it seemed he had been waiting for us. I would have tried to say hello to him had I not still been in shock over my hands' newfound powers of penetration. He spoke quietly to my dad for a few seconds, and then we were off.

    1 expected the doctor to lead us to one of the examination rooms, or perhaps to the critical care ward. But he immediately whisked us into an elevator and pushed the bottom button.
    The doors rifled shut. My father turned to the guy in confusion.

    "Why are we going down?" he asked.

    "I told you, I'm just an intern," the young man said "Dr. Leeds is in charge of the case."
    He added, almost ashamed, "I'd rather you saved your questions for him."

    "But what's in the basement?" my father asked. And then, more reluctantly: "Is she all right?"

    The intern spoke to the elevator wall. "Ask Dr. Leeds.'

    Downstairs, we walked along a short, narrow hall that dead-ended in twin green metal doors. They opened from the inside just before we reached them. A white-haired man appeared and clasped my father's hand. He looked like a kindly old country doctor. I could imagine the twinkle in his eyes as he handed a little girl patient a lollipop and told her that if she took her medicine like a big girl, she would be outside and playing with her friends in no time. But now the doctor was not smiling.

    The intern nodded and left.

    The white and black letters on the doors said: MORGUE.

    "Mr. and Mrs. Cooper," the elderly gentleman said.

    "I'm Dr. Leeds. I'm afraid I have bad news for you."

    "How is she?" my father asked. "Is she going to be all right?"

    "No, she's not." Dr. Leeds let go of my father's hand and looked him straight in the eye.
    "She's dead."

    "Who's dead?" I asked.

    It must have been a stupid question. The rest of my family knew the individual's name.
    My father paled again, much worse than he had in the kitchen when he had picked up the phone.
    My mother literally doubled over in grief. Jimmy had to grab her to keep her from passing out. I couldn't bear it. I had to turn away. When I looked back a few seconds later, my mother had somehow managed to straighten herself up, although she was crying openly now.

    "I want to see her," she said.

    Dr. Leeds looked concerned. "Later would be better."

    "No," my mother said, wiping her damp cheek. "Now."

    "Honey, please," my father said, reaching out to take her from Jimmy. My mother would have none of it.

    "I'm seeing her!" she cried, brushing off both Jimmy and my father. "I have to see her."
    Then she suddenly stopped, clenching her eyes shut, her whole being shaking. "My baby."

    Her baby? I said to myself. My mother didn't have a baby.

    She didn't even like babies.

    "Would it be possible to see her?" my father asked.

    "She fell four stories, headfirst, onto a cement sidewalk," Dr. Leeds said reluctantly.

    "You just can't take her," my mother pleaded pitifully, her head bowed. "Jim, don't let him take your sister."

    Your sister? I thought miserably.

    "But I'm his sister," I whispered.

    My father and Dr. Leeds exchanged uneasy glances.

    Jimmy stepped forward. His eyes were still vacant, but there was a trace of life around his mouth, a flicker of strength.

    "It'll be hard for us to see what happened," he said quietly. "We know that. But I think it could be harder for us to have to think what happened, without seeing her. If you know what I mean?"

    Dr. Leeds considered a moment. "All right," he said finally, turning toward the green metal doors.

    "Give me a

    few minutes."

    While waiting with my family in the bleak hallway, I started to get a funny feeling. I was already scared and confused, but this new feeling was worse. My cold