Chapter 143 | Dreams Of The Dead

                                    

                                          
The hours dragged on with a painful, suffocating weight, every second stretching longer than the last. Eko's head rested on Mya's shoulder, her breaths shallow and uneven as if the very act of breathing required more energy than she could muster. They both stared blankly ahead, lost in the echo of their thoughts, the sterile scent of the hospital a constant reminder of the reality they couldn't escape
Jesse and Richie would come and go, seeking updates or a shred of hope before retreating back to Toni's side. They were all holding their breath, waiting for something to give, for someone to emerge and tell them it would be okay. But no one did.
Mya had discovered, during the painful wait, that Eko had been completely unaware of Matthew's worsening condition and his need for a heart transplant. She hadn't known about the secret conversations regarding his surgery or that Matthew had been quietly considering dates for the procedure. The realization rattled Mya to her core, and she had prepared herself for an emotional outburst from Eko—whether it be anger over being kept in the dark about something so crucial or hurt from being left out of such important decisions.
But Eko hadn't exploded. She hadn't lashed out or raged. Instead, she had simply nodded, her face hollow, eyes distant. Mya had watched as the gravity of it all began to sink in, as though the weight was too much for Eko to process at once. The silence between them grew heavy, fragile, until Eko's composure finally broke. Tears fell—silent and relentless—leaving her drained, utterly emptied of any fight.
By the time there was movement beyond the doors, it felt as though the night had fully descended, its suffocating darkness seeping into the corners of the waiting room. The soft whoosh of the sliding doors broke the stillness, snapping Eko and Mya out of their daze. Both women looked up at the same time, their tired, red-rimmed eyes locking onto Dr. Keaton as he stepped into the hallway. The exhaustion on his face mirrored their own, though a flicker of something else—dread or resignation—passed through his expression.
"I, uh, was just coming to find you," Dr. Keaton began, his voice thick as he cleared his throat, trying to shake off the weight of the news he carried. But the slight tremor in his hands betrayed him. He fidgeted, fingers twitching nervously at his sides, his strained attempt at composure crumbling under the gravity of what he had to say.
Mya was the first to break the silence. "How is he?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Dr. Keaton's eyes flickered between Eko and Mya, as though searching for the right words, something to soften the blow, but there was no way to make it easier. His silence was suffocating.
Both women stood up simultaneously, the weight of Dr. Keaton's silence suffocating them. Eko's voice followed, shaky and desperate. "What? Tell us, please," she pleaded, her heart racing, her stomach twisting in knots.
Dr. Keaton shifted uncomfortably and launched into a clinical explanation of the surgery, detailing the complications, the steps they had taken, the medical jargon spilling from his lips in a detached monotone. Words like "stabilize," "oxygen deprivation," and "complications" floated around her, but Eko couldn't process any of it. It all felt distant, like he was speaking underwater, every word muffled by the frantic pounding of her own heart.
None of it mattered—not the technical terms, not the intricate details of the surgery. All Eko wanted to know was if Matthew was still breathing, still alive, still here with her. But Dr. Keaton wasn't answering the one question that mattered most.
"Is he—?" Eko's voice cracked, her hands trembling as she clenched them into fists, trying to hold herself together. "He's... he's okay, right?" The words felt jagged, sticking in her throat, each one laced with fear and desperation, as though speaking them aloud would force reality into something bearable.