Chapter 4

The next evening, the Kennedys sat at their long, polished dining table. The table was laden with food, but an empty chair sat like a gaping wound in the family portrait.

"Where is he?" Mr. Kennedy demanded, slamming his fork down. "Does he think he' s too good to eat with us now?"

Aloysius dabbed at his eyes with a napkin. "I think he' s still mad at me," he said, his voice a fragile whisper. "I tried to be nice to him, I really did. But he just has so much hate in his heart. It scares me."

"That ungrateful brat," Mrs. Kennedy fumed. "After we were gracious enough to let him back into this house!"

Honora pushed her chair back, her face grim. "I' ll go get him."

The three of them marched down the hall to Jesse' s room. Honora banged on the locked door.

"Jesse! Get out here right now!"

There was no answer.

"Don' t make me break this door down!" her father yelled.

Silence.

With a furious cry, Honora drew back her foot and kicked the door. The cheap wood splintered, and the door flew open.

Jesse was lying on the floor, curled in on himself. He was unnaturally still.

Honora rushed to him, grabbing his shoulder to shake him. The moment her hand touched his skin, she recoiled. He was burning up.

"He' s on fire," she whispered, her voice filled with a dawning horror.

Her father knelt beside her. He saw the dried blood crusted around Jesse' s nose and on his lips. He saw the waxy, gray pallor of his skin.

"What' s happening?" Mrs. Kennedy shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth.

Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the anger. They bundled Jesse into a blanket and rushed him to the hospital, the same one they had dragged him from just weeks before.

The same grim-faced doctor met them in the waiting room.

"I told you," the doctor said, his voice heavy with accusation. "He has late-stage glioblastoma. There is nothing we can do. He is dying."

"No!" Honora cried, shaking her head in violent denial. "You' re wrong. You' re not a good enough doctor. I' ll find someone else."

She spent the next hour on the phone, calling in every favor, pulling every string the Kennedy name still held. She managed to get the top neuro-oncologist in the state to come to the hospital.

The specialist reviewed the scans, his face impassive. He conducted a brief examination. Then he came out to face the family.

"The diagnosis is correct," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "In fact, it has metastasized. The cancer is in his spine, his lungs. I' m truly sorry. It' s a matter of days."

The doctor who had first treated Jesse stepped forward, his eyes blazing with fury as he looked at them.

"How could you not know?" he demanded, his voice shaking with contempt. "The fever, the bleeding, the fatigue. Did you never once ask him if he was in pain? Did you ever once actually look at him?"

Honora stared at the doctor, her mind reeling. The pain... The numbness...

She remembered whipping him with the belt. She remembered his empty eyes, his lack of reaction. It wasn' t defiance. It wasn' t a trick. He couldn' t feel it. He physically could not feel the pain she was inflicting on him because his body was already shutting down.

A terrible, guttural sound escaped her throat. The truth hit her with the force of a physical blow. She saw every cruel word, every slap, every moment of her vicious, relentless punishment in a new, horrifying light.

"Oh, God," she sobbed, collapsing onto the cold hospital floor. "What have I done? What have I done?" She clawed at her own face, her nails leaving red streaks on her cheeks. "I did this. I did this to him."

Her parents stared at her, their faces masks of shock and dawning fury. They had believed her story. They had followed her lead.

"You knew he was this sick?" her father roared, his voice trembling with rage. "You saw him like this and you did nothing?" He grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. "You let this happen!"

He shoved her against the wall, the sound of the impact echoing the slap she had given Jesse so many times before. The carefully constructed world of their lies had shattered, and they were left standing in the ruins, pointing fingers at each other.