Page 75 of Potion Sickness

“Then he doesn’t want to hear it,” Annabel says. “You still say it.”

Skye holds onto the door frame with both hands.

“He’s going to get out of that bed and go on that stage,” she says. “He’ll wake up, and he’ll do the play, and he’ll be good, and everybody will forget about all of this by curtain.”

“Maybe,” I say.

“That’s what I love about him,” Skye says, staring out into the lawn.

CHAPTER 22

Damien comes back into the world asking questions.

It’s Friday morning, opening day. Annabel had come back alone last night and spooned the purge into him a little at a time while Skye held his head. She called shortly after I woke up to say he was surfacing.

When Englebert and I arrive, the hall mirror is gone and there’s a bright rectangle on the wallpaper where it hung.

“What day is it?” Damien asks, his voice shaky.

“Friday,” Skye says.

“Which Friday?” His hand comes off the blanket an inch and drops back. “Did I miss it? Did I miss opening?”

“It’s tonight.”

“Tonight.” He closes his eyes. “How do I look?”

Skye looks away. Annabel looks at the ceiling. Ms. Carter smooths a corner of the blanket, averting her eyes.

“That bad, eh?”

“You’ve been asleep for weeks,” Annabel says.

“I’ve played men who were asleep for weeks. They looked — I looked fantastic. Bring me a mirror.”

“Damien, honey–” Ms. Carter starts.

“Mother. A mirror.”

She goes and gets a hand mirror and holds it up, because he doesn’t have the strength to lift it yet.

He takes his time, turning his head one way and then the other, checking the angles. The face in the mirror is older than his actual forty-something years, folded soft at the throat and pleated at the eyes. He examines every inch without flinching.

“Well,” he says, to the mirror. “There he is.”

He settles back into the pillows and studies the ceiling for a while.

“You know what’s ridiculous? I feel wonderful. That was the best rest I’ve had in years. Are you the doctor?” he asks, looking toward Annabel.

“Sort of,” Annabel says.

“How much do I owe you?”

“We can discuss that later,” she says.

“Fair enough,” he nods. “Could you tell me, by chance, what happened?”

Annabel glances to Skye, who is still holding his hand.