Theo had schedules for everything―when to change Alex’s bandages, when they came in to dose his medication into his IV. She’d written down all of the instructions from the doctors in a notebook she kept with her at all times. Every day during visiting hours she drove down to U of M hospital. Even Alex’s parents gave her room to be at his side. The police had written off Roger’s crash as an accident. I knew better. He’s been following me, using the tracker to figure out my location, probably on Phillip’s orders. Then, Phillip sent him to the school dance in the hopes that he could take me out. I knew I had no proof, but it made perfect sense. “So, what is the doctor’s prognosis?” I asked her as we sat beside his bed, listening to the ventilator breathe for Alex. Our hands were clasped together. Her face was washed clean, free of glitter and makeup, and she was wearing her glasses and very plain clothes. Alex’s mother was knitting on the other side of the room. She set her needles on top of her knitting bag, attached to an unfinished blue sweater.
