The Night Visitor by Dianne Emley

overnight shift and that it wasn’t open to discussion. It was the first time the sisters had spoken to each other in years.

    Tom smoothed Rory’s hair, which was tangled on the pillow. It was still tacky with hairspray. He used to love to stroke Rory’s hair, especially when it was freshly washed and as smooth and cool as silk. He dropped his hand, the act of intimacy disturbing him. He hadn’t yet accepted that this was Rory. It was as if a poorly functioning changeling had taken her place.
    Brad said, “We have waterless shampoo.”
    “Her mother will be by. She’s good at things like that.” Tom held on to the bed rail and looked at Rory.
    “Th’angel,” she said. Her eyes were closed.
    “You might want to touch her and talk to her,” Brad said. “Let her know you’re here.”
    Tom took Rory’s hand. Her skin was cool. Her fingers closed around his.
    “I wonder if she knows it’s me.”
    “She very well may.”
    “Hey, Ro.” Tom’s voice was businesslike. “How are you?” He ran his thumb over hers.
    She opened her eyes and looked at him with fear. She pulled her arm back. “No.”
    Tom released her hand and stood straight. She kept fearfully looking at him until her eyelids drifted closed.
    Brad had finished his work. “Keep trying. She’ll recognize you.”
    Tom wished he could believe it. He was still haunted by Rory’s strange behavior yesterday. It was as if she were being drawn away, lured even, to…where?

    After Brad left, Tom felt less inhibited. He leaned over the bed, held Rory’s hand, and stroked her cheek with his other hand. “Rory, it’s me. It’s Tom. I love you, Rory.”
    At first, she tried to pull away, but then she relaxed. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his then closed again.
    “This can’t be love because I feel so fine…” he sang the tune she’d sung to him the previous night.
    She smiled and hummed a few notes.
    “That’s right, baby.” Tears filled his eyes. “That’s right.”
    She frowned, her eyes still closed. “Doves loose.”
    Her words sent a shockwave through him, supplanting his burst of hopefulness with fear. Whatever it was still had a grip on her. He became desperate to pull her back. “Rory.” He clutched her hand more tightly as he leaned over and whispered into her ear. “Stay here with me.”
    She was still frowning.
    “Wake up, Rory. I love you.” His voice hitched. “I don’t know how I’d go on without you.”
    The furrows in her brow softened. Her lips parted and her expression became dreamy.
    He pressed her hand against his face and sighed with relief. “I love you, Rory.”
    Her eyes remained closed, and she smiled.
    His heart soared. He kissed her palm.
    She said, “Junior.”
    Tom slowly placed her hand on the bed and stepped away.

22
    Sylvia Torres rounded the street corner as she walked from the hospital’s parking lot and almost turned back when she spotted a news crew. A fresh wave of fatigue settled over her. She couldn’t leave. Her mother was waiting for her in Junior’s room. It was the first time in months that Sylvia had visited Junior. Her mother visited her son every day without fail.
    Sylvia held her purse in front of her face and kept walking, but a reporter brightly approached, the crew following.
    “Sylvia…Sylvia Torres. Whitney Andres from KTTN. Can you comment on this new tragedy for your family?”
    Sylvia was partway through the hospital’s front door when the haze that had overtaken her since she’d first learned about Danny dissipated. Rage took its place.
    She stopped hiding her face and said, “I only want to say this. Danny was a good son and brother and uncle. I don’t know what was in his head last night, but I can tell you one thing. Richard Tate took the law into his own hands. He didn’t give the police a chance to peacefully resolve the situation. That’s how the Tate family takes advantage of people like us. They framed my brother Junior in the Five Points shootings. Rory