Jamie had picked at the skin around his fingernails until it was ragged and bloody, a habit he'd tried to kick years ago. Unsuccessfully, it seemed. He couldn't do anything, except, it seemed, sit by and watch his father deteriorate. It gave him a small glimmer of hope that his dad reacted more when he was around, it helped him believe he might still be in there somewhere.
Doctors and nurses kept coming in and out of the room, taking vitals and doing whatever it was that needed to be done. Jamie barely noticed when they entered or left. Dread had settled into his bones as soon as they'd admitted his dad, and it sat like a lead weight in his stomach.