"Max!!"
The call makes me snap out of my anger, and I raise my head I have lowered at some point back to Emmie. I instinctively hid my anger, not from the red-head, but from the world, for the string wielders, the puppeteers behind the scene.
I look at Emmie, then down at her hand, before I loosen my hold, an apologetic smile on my face.
"Sorry, Mie, I just recalled what happened, and I got angry."
"I understand. What happened was unfair. The worst is that it seems to be bad luck, an isolated incident that many will soon forget. Try to forget to, okay?"
I pause, then nod. Yeah, if it has been suppressed yesterday already, then by today, then tomorrow, it may just become a mirage, an illusion whose existence will depend only on the scars of Liz and I. It is really unfair. Why can't life be just simple?
I take a deep breath, and exhale. Emmie sees my bad mood, and changes the subject while patting my back.
"How is Lizbeth? Is she alright? She is, right? You don't look sad."
My smile turns bright, a little forced, but that part is difficult to see, because I'm really happy Liz is alright.
"Liz got wounded, but she is alright now. She is the one who chased me out to get some fresh air."
"Really? What happened to her? And you, what happened to your thigh? Are you wounded? Is it serious?"
Emmie immediately returns to being worried, even if less than before. She looks at my bandaged thigh, and really looks hesitant to extend her hand to it. That makes me happy, that she is concerned about me, but too much, and the string will snap under the stress, so I change the subject:
"Where is Helene? Did you spend yesterday with her?"
Emmie looks at me, quite deeply, then exhales. She exhales a big mouthful of air, and lets go of her anxiety, at least as much of it as she can let go before understanding everything. And she smiles with her teeth, then takes hold of arm and puts her head on my shoulder.
"You don't know how worried I was when I went to your place and saw it cordoned off with yellow tape."
There is a moment of silence, before she drops the matter to answer my questions:
"Helene has gone out. I didn't tell her what I saw at your place. And we did spend the day together yesterday. When she called later to get our news, she heard that you left, so she came back, and we went out together later."
We fall silent. With her head on my shoulder and under the cool canopy, we seem to have carved a piece of calm amidst the uncomfortable atmosphere of the hospital.
After a moment, Emmie breaks the silence:
"You called me Mie."
I pause, then smile. That came out on its own. But that came out fine. My smile grows wider and deeper, but not as much as Emmie's, from the movement of her cheek I can feel on my shoulder.
"I like it."
"Me too."
After my words, there is a short calm, then I finally bring up the subject of Emmie's worry. I speak in calm voice, my tone quiet:
"He had a gun."
I don't say who, but the redhead understands. She knows what I am talking about, who I am bringing up, and she trembles slightly on my shoulder, but only holds my arm tighter, and listens.
"He tricked Liz like he was interested in her. He created a chance meeting, and yesterday, he came to our place. I'm just happy he came when I was there, and Liz was not alone."
I don't say that he came to our doorstep long before, after mom and dad died, and right after grandpa and grandma followed them down there. The thought of them brings a lumps up my throat, especially as I now know for certain that they left not because of simple accidents.
I feel my tears coming up, so I raise my head up, as if I find the underside of the foliage, the dance of shadow and light, beautiful. Emmie simply tightens her hold on my arm again.
The wave of emotion wanes.
"He fired at me yesterday."
Ignoring the pain from the strong hold on my arm, I calmly continue narrating:
"He was not trying to kill me. The bullet tore a wound on my thigh and didn't go in, much less hit the bone and stay inside. I just bled a little, nothing more."
I stop there. I don't know if Emmie will catch the euphemism, but sometimes, us girls have an intuition about some things. What Emmie wouldn't have picked up on or usually understood, I am almost certain she must have noticed this time.
Silence descends again, and the calm lasts for a while.
"Can you get a taxi and wait for me outside? I want to go home to pick up some things."
Emmie springs up from my shoulder. She looks at me, then smiles wide, the white of her teeth like a depression eraser:
"I can! But only if you kiss me!"
Her uplifted tone makes laughter bubble in my chest, but I comply. I lean in and plant a deep kiss on her cheek. I get a laugh out of her, and she stands up to run away. Well, she tries to run away, but is forced to stop and slow down after she recalls where she is.
I laugh and shake my head. I respond to Emmie's wave of the hand with an identical gesture. After she has disappeared, I stand up and limp back into the hospital building, each instance of pain reminding me of the nightmare, but more than that, of my sister and I's survival.
It also becomes a knock on my heart, on my conscience Emmie has shed her light on through the ocean of gloom that has buried it.
By the time I reach Liz's ward to let her know that I will be making a trip home, I may have an answer. Or not. Who knows?