The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(26)

“I’m his sister,” Dalma says, not bothering to give the legal rundown. Props to this doctor for not questioning us given the different shades of our skin.

“I’m not family,” Valentino says. “I can leave.”

“Please don’t go,” I say. I don’t trust the outside world and that includes anything beyond this curtain. “We’ve all had a really, really rough night.”

“So I hear,” Dr. Emeterio says as she studies me and my ECG, aka my electrocardiogram, aka my recorded heartbeats. “It appears your heart didn’t get the memo that you were trying to have some fun tonight. Don’t you hate when that happens?” she adds with a wink.

She’s walking fresh air compared to some other doctors I’ve worked with who suck up everything good in a room. It’s simple, but Dr. Emeterio not blaming me for the heart attack is a huge plus in my book. My primary doctor, Dr. Luke, is always giving me shit for anything bad that happens while I’m out living my life, like I’ve got some death wish.

I guess I do have a death wish: don’t die with any regrets.

“You’re eighteen, so I’m happy to keep chatting with you, but are we waiting on your parents?”

“Guardians are out of town,” I say, not trying to get into my backstory. “But I’m good to start.”

Dr. Emeterio nods. “Noted. Can you walk me through what happened tonight?”

I don’t know where to start, or if it’s even my place. I lock eyes with Valentino.

“Death-Cast called me,” Valentino says.

I hate hearing those words come out of his mouth as much as I hate believing what it means for him. “Then I got shot at in Times Square and Orion saved me.”

“And, uh . . .” I’m reliving the horror all over again—the gunshot, fighting for my breaths, staring at the night sky like it would be my last. “My heart went into overdrive.”

“I gave him aspirin to buy us more time,” Dalma says.

Dr. Emeterio is speechless, and it’s like the light has left her eyes. I’m sure she’s seen it all in the hospital until she turns to Valentino, a real Decker who’s walking, breathing, living proof of Death-Cast’s predictions.

“I’m sorry that Death-Cast called you,” she says.

Valentino is still, the harsh lights of the ER beaming down on him like he’s in the studio. Except no one should take his photo right now because I’d hate the thousand words that picture would say. His arms are crossed as he stares at the floor, lost in his own world—a really fucked-up world where Death-Cast called him and a fucked-up stranger tried to kill him and a fucked-up fate awaits him.

“Can you give him a physical or something?” I ask Dr. Emeterio. Just because someone looks fine on the outside doesn’t mean they’re not living with invisible threats. “Maybe an X-ray can show us what’s going on.”

Valentino considers this, not lifting his eyes. “We know what’s happening. I’ve got a case of death.”

I hate seeing Valentino so defeated. Since I can’t donate some luck, I want to throw some hope his way. It just can’t come from me.

“Dr. Emeterio, there’s no way every Death-Cast prediction is going to come true, right?”

For a single second, time stops.

Breaths are held.

Eyes don’t blink.

No one’s dying.

Then a single word unfreezes everyone.

“No.”

Hearts are beating.

Hope is building.

“It seems very unlikely that Death-Cast will have a perfect record, especially on the first night of the program,” Dr. Emeterio says.

This is seriously music to my ears, and I think Valentino is listening closely too, like this is about to become his new favorite song.

“There’s no known science behind the End Days, or if it’s science at all, but seeing as I don’t have the imagination of my kids, I’m opting to believe Death-Cast’s sources are operating in the same field as mine. I’m not getting stressed out over extraterrestrials or sorcery until someone gives me concrete proof,” Dr. Emeterio says with a little grin. “What’s important to keep in mind is that as life changes and science advances, mistakes are made.”

“This is refreshing,” Dalma says. “O’s doctor doesn’t even believe in Death-Cast.”

Dr. Emeterio rolls her eyes, immortalizing herself as my favorite doctor. “That’s unfortunate. It’s a disservice to our patients to not embrace Death-Cast, especially for someone like you, Orion, who may require a transplant in the near future if your heart isn’t stable.”

“I’m on the waitlist, but my doctor keeps trying to stick a ventricular heart device in me instead.”

“It’s a solid consideration if you’re okay with the necessary recovery time pushing you further down the waitlist,” Dr. Emeterio says.

“Which would suck if my match appeared,” I say.

Every physician we’ve consulted agrees that your boy needs a new heart, but they’re also quick to let me know my situation isn’t critical enough compared to other patients, aka I’m not dying enough for anyone to save my life now.

I’m constantly playing tug-of-war against myself, and it’s this never-ending tie. I want to be strong enough to finally get that win so this game can be over.