Gerard refuses the drugs they offer him, the painkillers and the sedatives. Thank whatever gods there are that they listen. He can’t really say why it’s so important that he not have them. The painkillers would probably make his mind clearer, at least, they wouldn’t be offering them if they didn’t think, know, he needs them, but he won’t take them. Maybe he doesn’t want to be that aware of what’s happening. Maybe he doesn’t want to risk surviving somehow and getting hooked.
Maybe he just wants to be sure he’s still himself to the end.
Brain tumor, they said. He’s not sure if they told him what kind of tumor, specifically, if it’s cancer or something else. Not sure if it matters in the end, really. It’s big, bigger than it should be. He heard at least one nurse speculating as to why he didn’t get treatment before now, how he could possibly not have known. He doesn’t know how to explain that he grew up being essentially told his pain was unimportant, can’t describe the chronic headaches only two people in the world ever cared enough to help him with that he eventually learned to shake off. He certainly doesn’t know how to explain that he trusted the old woman when she said it’s nothing, you’re fine and didn’t consider for a moment that she might not be using any kind of supernatural abilities to determine that.
What it boils down to is this: Gerard Keay is dying. Not at the hands of a powerful supernatural entity or in battle with the forces of evil, but attacked from within by his own brain. He’s not sure if that should be a comfort or an irritant.
He surfaces from the icy pain for a minute to see the old woman looking down at him, almost sadly. He wonders if she’s actually going to miss him or just the help he gave her. If she’s seeing a life cut short or just resigning herself to the fact that she’s going to have to do the work that needs doing alone.
The one advantage, maybe, to the first seizure happening when it did is that he won’t be dragging anyone else into this. He promised, but…well, it’s out of his hands now. Still. At least he can keep them away from her. At least he can maybe keep them safe a little longer.
Okay, that is clearly the brain tumor talking. They aren’t safe and he knows it. Keeping them away from helping to stop the Dance isn’t making them safer. They need to know, but he can’t tell them now. He can only hope the old woman is able to turn it back on her own.
He blinks and she’s gone. She thinks he’s as alone in the world as she is, and he’s fought like hell to keep it that way. He doesn’t want her anywhere near them. She’ll do this to them, use them up and discard them like they’re nothing. Like his mother did. Like Martin’s mother is still doing, really.
Ruthlessly, with all the concentration he can manage, Gerard pushes all thoughts of Mary, and Lily, and Gertrude—the Unholy Trinity of women who prodded and nagged and shunted him around until he wound up here—out of his mind. He will not give them his last moments. He refuses.
He closes his eyes and takes several deep, slow breaths to calm himself. He almost manages it. And then a sudden spike of pain surges through his entire body, almost electric, and he finds himself in the grip of another seizure. Everything whites out for an indeterminate amount of time.
Somehow, he doesn’t die then. His vision eventually clears, for a given value of “clears”, and he resurfaces to see her looking down at him again. The look in her eyes tells him she Knows how bad it is. He’s very close to breathing his last.
Pain hits him again, sharp and sudden. It’s enough to draw a cry from him, hoarse and indistinct, and he feels tears prick at his eyes. His lips form an M, but he can’t manage more than that, can’t plead for the presence of either of the two people he loves most in the world, let alone the one he wishes was here now to make it better.
As glad as he is that they aren’t involved, right now Gerard would give everything for a chance to say goodbye properly. For his brother and sister to be there to hold his hands when he goes.
He lets his gaze drift away from the old woman. There’s…something in a corner. Something fuzzy and white. A cobweb, maybe. Gerard tries to focus on it…manages, barely. It’s definitely a cobweb, strung over what looks like a security camera of some kind. He’s never noticed a security camera in this ward before, certainly not one pointing at his bed. It seems kind of like an invasion of privacy, but this is America, after all, so who knows.
Or maybe it’s not supposed to be there. Maybe he didn’t notice it before because it wasn’t there. Maybe it’s one of Them. Or two of them, he thinks, tracing the gossamer strands of silk to where they connect the camera to the wall. Funny that he can see it so clearly, see the details so vividly when it’s so far away from him and he can’t focus on what’s up close. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s because he’s so close to death that the sharp details of fear are visible. He directs his thoughts at it as best he can.
If you touch them, he thinks, I swear I’ll go after you. I don’t care what comes after this. Nothing will be strong enough to keep me from protecting them. You hurt them and I will come after you.
He’s not sure if he’s actually hoping for a response, but he doesn’t get one. Maybe the camera shifts slightly, maybe the spiderweb sways a bit, but most likely it’s just his brain shutting down and making his vision go fuzzy. Fuck, everything hurts. There’s a part of him aching for a cigarette to soothe his nerves, but that won’t help. Anyway, Martin doesn’t like it, and he’s honestly right not to, even if it’s not the nicotine that’s killing him in the end.
Two pairs of eyes, one blue, one green, seem to peer down at him from the ceiling. Gerard fixes his own eyes on them, even though he knows they’re not really there. They feel close to him, all of a sudden. With a great effort, he manages to force out a single word: “Love.”
And thus ends Gerard Keay.