*Disclaimer* I don't own any of these charcters and they are are only for entertainment.
It's my first story so enjoy!
The darkened lighting of the hospital cast dancing shadows about my feet as I took to my usual habit of wondering the corridors. As ill as I was during the day I felt energized in the hours of darkness. I was dressed in a hospital gown that was far too long, almost brushing the floor, my hair hung loose around my shoulders and my bare feet padded over the cold floor. I walked this route every night, the nurses ignored me. I was familiar sight even this late. They knew that I wouldn't be led back to bed, they only tried it once.
I had completed almost a full circuit when I spotted the man sitting quietly, numbly on one of the hard plastic chairs provided by the staff. I frowned; I had passed him three nights in a row. Why would he be here at night but not throughout the day? Was he here during the day? I don't really remember the daylight hours. The man appeared not to have noticed me; he lifted his head and stared hard at the door as if he was willing whatever - whoever was inside to exit.
"C'mon Ray, you have to do it," His message was a plaintive whisper, a pleading murmur. I stopped and regarded him thoughtfully. He was quite tall, dark-haired with a supremely confident air that was dying in this sterile place. He was worried for somebody who lay in the room beyond, a brother or friend perhaps? I cocked my head to the side, feeling the atmosphere frozen in time. How could I leave something like that? I crept near him seeing his unshaven face and tired eyes. He saw me and started, I smiled and whispered,
"What's wrong?" He looked at me in surprise before answering half-dazedly;
"My friend Ray's ill, poisoned, the idiot ran into trouble when we finished the assignment." I don't know what it is but whenever I ask anyone that they'll tell me. This man needed to sleep, to rest. I patted his arm gently then moved towards the door. The handle felt smooth and cold in my hand as I pushed the door open without a sound.
Inside a man lay on the bed, he was deathly pale, it was hard to see where the sheets ended and his face began. His curly hair was the only definite splash of colour in the room. He was hooked up to breathing apparatus, there was a feeding tube down his throat and an IV drip attached to his forearm. I stopped and watched as he breathed a few times, his eyes were tightly closed and his heart rate rising. I crossed to the bed. I didn't know what I was going to do; I just wanted to provide some comfort. I touched his hand and willed him to get through for the man outside's sake and his own. I didn't like seeing people taking friends and family out of here in a casket. His heart slowed and his face relaxed. I straightened up, my eyes taking in the return of colour to his whitewashed cheeks. Smiling to myself I left, creeping past the now sleeping figure I began to run swiftly and silently back to my bed.
Bodie woke with a start. A doctor's amused face regarded him and he felt his blood rush. He hadn't meant to sleep with Doyle at death's door but before he could open his mouth the man said;
"No need to worry Mr Bodie, your friend's fine, in fact he's on the road to recovery! I'm really surprised actually given how close we were to losing him last night but…" The doctor caught a glimpse of Bodie's expression and repeated carefully. "He's going to be fine." Bodie stopped himself mid-whoop and frowned. The doctor noticed this then Bodie said,
"I had a dream last night; at least I don't think it was a dream." The doctor motioned for him to continue and he did, "A little girl came up to me and asked what was wrong. It's funny her being able to wonder around at night. I think… I think she went into Ray's room."
"What did she look like?" asked the doctor curiously.
"White nightgown, long black hair, she spoke with a bit of an accent. Is she a patient?" The doctor shook his head and answered;
"Then I'm not sure it was luck that saved Mr Doyle." Bodie puckered his brow at this cryptic comment but the doctor rushed on, "Ten years ago in this hospital a little girl died. Her name was Tasha Angelo, the doctors did everything to save her but she died. But every so often people, relatives and friends sitting with patients, see a girl like you described. She would occasionally speak but always she visited the dying and then they recover. We have given up finding a radical answer but she appears to the lucky few." He sighed and fiddled with his glasses. "That sad thing is she doesn't realise that she's dead." He said almost to himself. Bodie stood and walked into Doyle's room, his conversation forgotten in light of his partner's recovery.
The cemetery was silent, the rows of headstones jutting from the grass. Bodie reflected quietly to himself how Ray had nearly joined them. So had he also come close many times to sharing this ground. He walked briskly along searching for the one gravestone. Finally he found it. It was a nondescript one, no different from a hundred others but Bodie seemed to feel a calmness surrounding it. Carefully he laid the flowers on the ground. Kneeling he read the inscription.
To our little angel Tasha, we hope that you are happy in heaven like you were happy here
"Thank you Tasha," he whispered into the air and the faintest breeze stirred his hair. "Thank you,"