The Dead Don't Dance Read Online Free

wrinkle melted away and her breathing slowed.
    â€œMaggs?”
    I slid my hand under hers and thought how her callused fingers seemed so out of place on someone so beautiful. Under the rhythm and short blips of the heart-rate monitor, I watched her heart beat, listened to her short, quick breaths, and waited for her big brown eyes to open and look at me.
    They did not.
    I stared out the window over the parking lot, but there wasn’t much to look at. South Carolina is one of the more beautiful places on God’s earth—especially where the wisteria crawls out of the weeds that can’t choke it—but the parking lot of Digger Community Hospital is not. I turned back to Maggie and remembered the river, the way the light followed Maggie’s eyes, her smile, her back, and how the water had dripped off her skin and puddled on her stomach. “Maggs,” I said, “let’s go swimming.”

chapter three
    T HE DAYS TURNED INTO NIGHTS AND BACK INTO days, and I became afraid to blink, thinking I’d miss the opening of her eyes. During that time, I’m pretty sure other people came in and out of the room, but I never saw them. I think I remember Amos putting his hand on my shoulder and telling me, “Don’tworry, I’ll take care of the farm.” And somewhere during one of the nights, I think I remember smelling the lingering aroma of Bryce’s beer breath, but for seven days my entire world consisted of Maggie and me. Anything outside that picture never came into focus. The periphery of my life had blurred.
    On the afternoon of the seventh day, the doctor took me out into the hall and gave me his prognosis. Consternation was painted across his face, and it was clear this wasn’t easy for him, no matter how much practice he must have had at delivering bad news. “Dylan, I’ll give it to you straight,” he said.
    The seconds melted into days.
    â€œMaggie’s out of what we call the hopeful window. The longer she stays in this vegetative state, the more involuntary muscle responses she’ll begin to have. Unfortunately, these muscle responses are from spinal activity, not brain activity. Within the next few weeks, she’s got a 50 percent chance of waking up. The following month, it drops in half. Following that . . . ” He shook his head. “Of course, this is all just statistics; miracles can happen. But they don’t happen often.”
    Later that afternoon, the hospital executive responsible for accounts receivable stopped in for a visit. “Mr. Styles, I’m Mr. Thentwhistle. Jason Thentwhistle.” He stepped into the room and extended his hand.
    I immediately didn’t like him.
    â€œYes, well, I think we should talk about your financial arrangements.”
    I turned my head slightly and narrowed my eyes.
    â€œComa patients often require long-term hospital care. . . .”
    That was all I needed to hear. I hit him as hard as I could—maybe as hard as I’ve ever hit anybody. When I looked down, he was crumpled on the floor, his glasses were broken in three pieces, his nose was twisted sideways and smashed into his face, and blood was pouring out of his nostrils. I picked up his heels and dragged him out into the hallway because I didn’t want him bleeding on Maggie’s floor.
    â€œD.S., YOU BEEN HERE SINCE YOU LEFT THE HOSPITAL? ”
    I opened my eyes, remembered Thentwhistle, and looked around. The head hovering over me was familiar.
    â€œDylan?” A big, meaty black hand gently slapped me twice in the face.
    That was definitely familiar. “Amos?”
    Slapping my cheek again, he said, “Hey, pal? You in there?”
    I must have moaned, because Amos grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me.
    â€œYeah, yeah,” I said, swatting at his hands, “I’m in here.” My head was killing me, and the world was spinning way too fast. Amos’s hands stopped the spinning but not the