The pediatric intensive care unit alarm shrieked through the white marble hallway of St. Jude Memorial. Nurses scrambled past heavy double doors as red warning lights bathed the pristine floors in a frantic glow.

Elena: Please tell me he is going to be okay! Somebody do something!

Dr. Harrison: Mrs. Vance, step back right now! We are losing his sinus rhythm!

Elena: No, no, please, he is only four days old! Mark, hold me!

Mark: Doc, save my boy! Take whatever you need from my trust fund, just do not let him slip away!

A sudden slap of sneakers echoed across the linoleum, cutting through the mechanical chaos.

Mark: What the hell is he doing here?

Ten-year-old Toby burst around the corner, his grey hoodie soaked in cold rain and his blue backpack bouncing violently against his spine.

Nurse Clara: Kid, stop! You cannot run into the sterile zone!

Toby: Let me through! I promised him I would be here!

Mark: Don't touch him, stop! You will contaminate the mobile incubator!

Toby skidded across the glossy tile, throwing his body against the clear acrylic bassinet.

Toby: Let me see my brother!

Elena: Toby, honey, step away from the glass! The doctors are trying to save him!

Toby: He cannot hear you, Mom! He can only hear the cold machines!

Before any orderly could lunge forward, Toby shoved his bare hand through the rubberized side port of the incubator.

Mark: Get your filthy hands off my son right now!

Dr. Harrison: Security, grab the boy immediately!

Toby pressed his small palm flat against the swaddled infant’s frail, pale chest.

A dead silence fell across the high-ceilinged room as the erratic, flatlining screech of the vitals monitor suddenly choked.

Elena: Oh my God...

The rhythmic, steady pulse beeped through the room, clear and unbroken, while Toby looked up with eyes that knew a terrifying secret nobody in the room was ready to face.