White Space Season 2

some answers, OK?”
    His eyes were so kind, she nodded. “OK,” Sarah said. “Thank you.”
    He returned her nod, still smiling, then said, “But first, you have to take the pills.”
    He handed Sarah a glass of cold water to down the pills, then left the room.
    She felt immediately exhausted.
    Whatever they’d given her was even stronger than last time. She closed her eyes and saw nothing but black.

    **

    Sarah woke to the sound of a man’s voice.
    “Ah, you’re awake,” he said, pleasant and … familiar .
    She slowly opened her eyes, hardly able to believe what she saw — Blake Conway sitting in the chair beside her.
    “Hello, Sarah,” he said.

    TO BE CONTINUED…

::EPISODE 9::
    PROLOGUE — Warren Conway
    (Age 12)

    Something was wrong.
    Warren’s father Blake Conway never paced.
    Yet, here he was, polishing linoleum with his loafers, walking from one end of the New York City hospital room to the other, thousands of miles from home. No longer on vacation, he now pounded the floor in frenzied circles, wrapping his way around the small room, looping from bed to window and back, his face odd, if not haunted.
    No, Warren realized, it wasn’t odd or even haunted . Blake Conway wore an expression his son had never seen him wear before. Blake Conway looked terrified.
    “Will you please stop pacing?” Warren’s mom Kate said, looking up at her husband with pleading eyes. “You’re not making this any easier.”
    Father stopped at the foot of her bed and set his hand on the metal railing. “The anesthesiologist should be here by now, damn it. This is inexcusable.” He managed to keep the snarl from his face, though it was still there in his voice. “This would never have happened if we had stayed home.”
    “Don’t make a scene, Blake.” Mother’s quiet glance ordered her husband to seal his lips and forego drama. Warren rarely saw his father back down from a fight, and only did so at Mother’s request. The man who seemed to tower over the rest of the world was never worried about making scenes . If things weren’t his way, there was hell to pay. He was The Blake Conway . In New York he was a visiting king. On Hamilton Island, Warren’s father was almost God.
    “Seriously,” Warren’s mom said, her eyes now a deeper shade of pleading, “not now.”
    “OK, Honey,” Father said, leaving the foot of Mother’s bed and returning to the front, stroking her long, soft hair before leaning down to leave a gentle kiss on her sweat-beaded forehead. “I just can’t stand to see you in pain.”
    “It’s OK,” Mother said. “I’ll be fine. Nothing I haven’t done before.”
    Mother was the only person who could tame Father’s fire; the only person who could ever tell him no. Blake collapsed into the short chair beside her long bed, temporarily soothed through the moment’s tempest, though Warren knew that wouldn’t last long.
    Father was still anxious, desperate to storm the hospital hallway outside until he found someone to stare in the eye and find out what in the hell was happening.
    Warren wanted Father to storm the hall, too.
    This was the first time he had seen his father show fear, but it was also the first time Warren had ever seen his mother in significant pain. He was only a kid, but if Warren had his father’s size, or wore his rather sizable crown, he would have been running down the hall already, screaming for someone to help his mother.
    Mother’s eyes met Warren’s. She smiled. “It’s OK, baby.”
    “OK,” he said, dropping his eyes from hers because it hurt too much to hold them. He half smiled then shifted his attention to the science magazine in his lap.
    The glossy pages held several articles of interest: something about the reality of time travel, and one on how science might be able to one day cheaply map a person’s DNA, so that anything that could possibly be wrong with a person could be discovered and, when possible, repaired.
    Try as he might, Warren couldn’t manage his focus for more than a few paragraphs before his eyes would flit up from the sentence, abandoning words at their period to grab another rare, unguarded glimpse of Blake Conway, proving his Father was mortal like everyone else, showing true fear in the face of something he couldn’t control: the birth of his second son.
    Warren turned from his mother’s anemic smile and stared at the door.
    Why isn’t someone coming?
    They better not let anything happen to my baby brother, or