Before I Wake by Robert J. Wiersema

let her go, the moment I feel her last breath, as vividly as I remember that gush of bloodand love I felt as I heard her first cry, as I first saw her, tiny and twisted and perfect, wailing to raise the moon.
    Ashes to ashes. Blood to blood. Cries to silence.
    SIMON
    It was cold outside the emergency-room doors but sheltered from the wind and the rain. A small crowd had gathered around the garbage can, and the air was thick with smoke.
    â€œCan I buy a cigarette from someone?” I asked the group in general. “A cigarette and a light?”
    A kid near me, no more than sixteen or seventeen, wearing a plaid flannel coat, fumbled for his pack. “Here,” he said, handing me the du Mauriers, waving away the dollar I held out to him. “Take a couple.” It was only when he turned to share the flame from his lighter that I saw that his face was a mess of blood, most of it coming from a jagged wound near his hairline. His right eye was swollen shut, his cheek scraped raw and bloody.
    â€œThanks,” I said, inhaling the first lungful of smoke, handing him back the cigarettes.
    â€œNo sweat.” He seemed remarkably composed for someone whose shirt was crisp with dried blood. Shock, probably.
    The girl with him, a pretty blond in tight jeans and a denim jacket, looked more concerned.
    â€œAre you all right?” I asked him, the nicotine rushing through me.
    He seemed puzzled by the question. “Oh yeah. Just a little spill off my bike.” He lit a cigarette for himself and offered the pack to the girl, who waved it away. “What about you?”
    I shook my head. “Not me. It’s my daughter. She got hit by a car. A truck, actually.”
    â€œThe one on the news?” the girl asked.
    I nodded. “Sherry.”
    â€œOh shit, man, that’s”—she shook her head—“I don’t know.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œDid the police get the guy?” She was wearing glittery silver lip gloss, and her cheeks were pink.
    â€œWhat guy?” the boy asked, looking between us.
    â€œI told you inside,” the girl said. “The guy who hit his—who hit Sherry. He just took off. The police are looking for him and everything.”
    The boy stared at me and took another drag off his cigarette. “Oh wow, man. If it were me I’d fuckin’ kill that guy. That’s just, I mean, she’s just a little kid.”
    â€œThree,” I said. “She’s three.”
    â€œThat’s sick, man. I tell ya, I’d kill him. And there’s not a jury that would convict me.”
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    My cell phone rang as I was taking another drag. I didn’t need to check the number to know who it was.
    KAREN
    Simon came back just before nightfall. No sunset tonight, no warm orange glow, just a slow darkening of the rain, the sky, the room.
    â€œHow are you?” he asked when he saw me looking at him.
    I shrugged.
    â€œI brought food.” He set the bags on the swing table next to the bed. “And coffee.”
    I tried to smile. “Thank you.”
    He leaned over the bed and smoothed back Sherry’s hair, careful to avoid the bandages.
    â€œYou missed the doctor,” I said.
    â€œWhat did he have to say?” he asked without looking up.
    â€œNot Dr. McKinley. Dr. Tompkins. A specialist.”
    He straightened up. “And?”
    I couldn’t do any more than shake my head before bursting into tears. Simon came around the bed and held me until I stopped crying.
    â€œSo nothing has changed,” he said, as he stepped away from me.
    I nodded.
    He busied himself with the food on the table.
    â€œIt’s not much.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe food. It’s not much. Just doughnuts.” He shrugged, and I tried to think of where he might have found a doughnut shop nearby. “I thought we could get something from the cafeteria a little later.”
    Eating was the last thing on my