Chapter 7

Simon stood frozen as Eleanor leaped out of the plane without a moment's hesitation.

His eyes burned, yet not a single tear came.

For all the years they had flown side by side, Eleanor had always pushed him to safety first whenever danger struck.

Now he was the one being left behind.

Simon took a deep breath, tore himself away from the memories, and stumbled toward the storage locker where the parachutes were kept.

Luckily, one last spare parachute pack was tucked in the corner.

Relief washed over him. He quickly strapped on the gear and threw himself out of the burning cabin.

However, when he judged the altitude and pulled the ripcord, it snapped clean off at a small, nearly invisible cut.

Simon's heart plummeted.

Someone had tampered with his parachute.

Images flashed through his mind one after another. He vaguely recalled catching a glimpse of Jeremy lingering by the storage locker out of the corner of his eye while he was at the controls.

Simon closed his eyes as a despair unlike anything he had ever felt before gripped his heart.

How much did Jeremy hate him? Ruining his leg had not been enough. Now, he wanted Simon dead.

There was no time to think. The howling wind swept his thin frame down toward the forest below.

Simon shielded his head with both arms as he crashed through layer after layer of branches, each one snapping and leaving bloody gashes across his body.

He slammed into a pile of fallen leaves, and the world spun before fading to black.

When he came to, Simon was lying in a stark white hospital room.

He instinctively tried to sit up, only to find his wrists and ankles strapped down tight.

Eleanor, Poppy, and Marian stood nearby, all of them looking anxious.

Fear crept into Simon's voice. "What are you doing? Let me go."

Marian frowned and rushed over to pin his hands down. "Jeremy got burned by the sparks from the fire. He doesn't want to die covered in scars, and you're the best match to give him a skin graft."

A dull roar filled Simon's head, and his mind went blank.

Jeremy had nearly killed him, and now they wanted to force him, wounded as he was, to give his skin to the very person responsible?

He thrashed against the restraints like a madman.

Poppy threw her small body over the one leg he had left.

"You can't be a pilot anymore anyway, so what's the big deal about giving Papa some skin?"

Eleanor gave the nurse a cold look.

"There's no time to wait for the anesthesia to kick in. Just start.

"Simon, you'll just have to grit your teeth through it. If you'd stopped Jeremy in time, the fuel tank never would have exploded, and he never would have gotten hurt."

Every word they said tore Simon's heart to pieces.

He cried out in desperation. "Let me go, Eleanor! I did try to stop Jeremy. You're the one who let him do whatever he wanted, and that's why this happened.

"Jeremy sabotaged my parachute. He wanted me dead. Let me go!"

The next second, the cold blade of the dermatome pressed against his inner thigh and sliced away a whole layer of skin.

Simon screamed, his whole body convulsing as his back arched off the bed.

The blade scraped across the most tender parts of his body again and again, leaving raw red strips behind.

Blood soaked the hospital bed. The pain was so intense that Simon began to dry heave, and he could no longer make a sound.

Just then, the door burst open, and a nurse rushed in, looking alarmed.

"We have a problem. Is Jeremy Radcliffe's family here?

"The patient's condition is getting worse. His immune system is failing, and he needs a stem cell transplant. His brother, Simon Radcliffe, is the best match. Right now, Jeremy’s delirious and crying for his family. Even his friend Kevin can't calm him down. You should come see him."

Without a word, Poppy grabbed Marian's hand and ran out of the room.

Eleanor went deathly pale with panic and hurried out after them, leaving only a few words behind. "Wait here for Jeremy's transplant. Hang in there a little longer, Simon. I'll make it up to you later."

All Simon felt was a cold numbness.

Thanks to Jeremy, his body was covered in wounds, and his heart had been ground to dust.

Making it up to him? What could Eleanor possibly give him to make up for a life that had been destroyed?

Simon took a deep breath, fought through the pain to curl his body forward, and used his teeth to undo the strap around his wrist.

He was not going to give Jeremy a transplant, nor would he give any of them the chance to hurt him ever again.

His vision kept going dark, and a piercing ache throbbed deep in his bones as he braced himself against the wall and pushed forward.

When he reached the door, his strength failed him. He staggered into a cabinet and knocked Jeremy's backpack onto the floor.

A pill bottle labeled as targeted therapy for brain tumors rolled out, and the pills scattered everywhere.

Simon went stiff.

Those pale yellow pills looked nothing like any cancer medication. Their size and markings were identical to ordinary vitamins.

Simon suddenly laughed.

There had never been any terminal illness, and Jeremy had never been dying. From start to finish, it had all been a lie Jeremy told so he could take everything from Simon.

This time, however, Simon had no intention of exposing him.

Leaning on his crutches, he walked out of the hospital room one slow, steady step at a time, heading in the opposite direction from the mother, daughter, wife, and best friend he had once called his own.

They could spend the rest of their lives fulfilling Jeremy's fake ‘dying wish’.

As for him, he was leaving them behind, and he would never see any of them again.