Chapter 4Watch Me Die In Your Machine

Mom was busy giving Daisy her morning meds. "I heard you the first time," she snapped at the wall. "Shut up."

But the chime was persistent. It rang every thirty seconds, a digital heartbeat of annoyance.

Daisy set her water glass down. "Mom, just fix it. It's going to wake June up."

Mom grumbled, sliding her finger across the control screen on the wall. "I just cleared this two weeks ago. How is it full already?"

The file list expanded. Hundreds of clips: Daisy Physical Therapy, Daisy Recovery Log, Daisy Daily Brace Check.

And then, a new file from yesterday afternoon.

Mom’s finger froze. Her face darkened. "This system is for tracking your sister’s medical progress, June. It is not a toy."

She hit the delete button, her voice thick with resentment. "That girl is getting more difficult every day..."

I paced around her, waving my arms, trying to explain. I didn't mean to! The hub must have misheard me! I didn't want to cause trouble!

I bit my lip. If it hadn't misheard... if it had actually called you...

A sob caught in my throat. Would I still be here?

Suddenly, the sound of a key turned in the front door.

Dad walked in, lugging a massive duffel bag, looking like he’d aged ten years since the last time I saw him. He dropped his bags and looked at Mom, trying to crack a joke.

"What’s the matter? Picking a fight with the toaster already?"

Mom sighed, pointing at the screen. "June’s been messing with the hub. The memory is completely tapped out."

Dad kicked off his boots, playing the peacemaker. "She’s a kid, Mary. Kids are curious."

Mom’s voice went sharp. "There’s a limit to curiosity. Do you know what she did yesterday? She put on Daisy’s braces and pretended to be sick. Daisy is fighting for her life, and June is playing dress-up with her agony."

She shook her head. "She’s become so selfish. No empathy at all."

Dad’s expression soured. He looked toward the living room. "Daisy has suffered enough. Playing games with her illness is crossing a line. Where is she?"

Mom jerked a thumb toward the machine. "I told her to stay in there and think about what she’s done. Apparently, she’s been 'thinking' so hard she slept through dinner and breakfast."

She scoffed. "I’m sure she’s awake by now, just hiding under those blankets because she’s ashamed."

Dad walked over, his face stern. He leaned down and tapped the "sleeping" figure’s shoulder.

"June. Get up. You need to apologize to your mother."

No response.

Dad’s temper flared. He reached out and yanked the quilt off the girl’s face.

"June, I’m talking to you. When you make a mistake, you—"

Dad stopped. The quilt fell from his hand, fluttering back over the body.

Mom, seeing him go still, walked over impatiently. She grabbed the rest of the blankets and the coats, throwing them onto the floor.

"Your father is talking to you! Weren't you the one crying about how much you missed him last week?"

Then, the light hit the machine.

Mom stopped.

"Ju... June?"