Last Words
A clammy, trembling hand pressed against her forehead. Her own hands gripped the bedside before her as she fought to stay steady on her feet.
"Oh, dear, you're so warm," her mother said in a weak croak, hand falling back to her side. She went silent for a moment, only breathing. It seemed to take her a lot of effort just to speak. "Looks like you finally caught what I have. I'm... sorry, my dear."
She bit her lip. That scared her. She'd watched for the last month as her mother grew weaker and weaker. Finally it had become clear her mother was ill. If she was now sick as well, would she go through the same thing? She'd been struggling to care for the woman who was supposed to be taking care of her. If she became bedridden as well, what would become of them?
"Shh, I'll work as hard as I can to get better so I can take care of you the way you've been taking care of me, so don't worry, OK? I can't possibly stay sick much longer." Her mother patted her on the head. Her mother's voice had used to be a source of comfort, but the illness had reduced it to a weak, raspy shadow of its former self. Now it just reminded her of how bad things had become. "I'm sorry, but, while you're still feeling strong, can you run your errands?"
"Yes, mama," she whispered and nodded obediently. Her errands were to get what little food and medicine they could still afford. They'd been poor enough before her mother had become too ill to work...
. . .
"Duck!" A handful of dirt slammed into the side of her head. Of course, the warning had been shouted well after it was too late for her to actually respond. So, as it was, she just hung her head and did her best to walk faster while trying to brush the filth out of her hair.
This was what always waited for her, only a minute from home, nearly every time she headed out. They had some of the worst neighbors imaginable. And they were currently following her. Apparently she was a source of endless amusement for them. They were just a small bunch of kids around her age.
"Hey!" She ignored them. "Hey!" Still. "Heeeeey!" She turned her head to glare at them, but still refused to speak, and for a good reason. "Aww, c'mon, give us your funny accent again!"
Unfortunately, she'd made the mistake of trying to befriend the local children when she and her mother had moved to Vale a year ago. They'd taken the chance to mock every strange thing about her at the time.
She puffed out her cheeks and tried to walk faster, but suddenly someone grabbed her hair. There were three boys, one of who was now yanking her long, multi-colored hair. Yes, her hair, which was half-pink, half-brown, with a little white mixed in, was one of those "strange things."
"Stop it! Let go!" She complained loudly, unthinkingly breaking her silence. That seemed to placate them momentarily, and her hair was released.
"Calm down, I just wanted to look at it. I've never seen hair like that on anyone else," the offending boy told her, a huge, mischievous grin on his face.
"Yeah, you're so weird! Say something else!" The first boy, their unofficial leader she suspected, demanded.
"No!" she yelled defiantly and turned on her heel to run away.
"Fine, get out of here, weirdo!" they called after her mockingly. At least they finally stopped following her. However, she regretted running away. Before long she slowed to a stumbling walk, breathing heavily. She felt like she was on fire. She was too sick to be running. She began coughing. Was it from being sick, or from her exhaustion?
She couldn't tell. It scared her, because, especially early on, her mother had coughed a lot. It was a big part of the reason her voice was so frail and scratchy. Was she really to end up the same way?
. . .
She was home, but not all the way. She sat outside, in the street, just focusing on breathing. Her mother hadn't gotten better. Over the last week, she'd only gotten worse if anything. She wasn't any better herself. Her own illness was just getting started with its sole purpose of ravaging her body. She was in enough pain as it was; she couldn't stand to watch her mother suffer. Hence why she was outside.
"Hey nerd, still sick?" Of course, sitting outside had its own problems. She just nodded weakly and hoped they would leave. "Want help?" She looked up at them, eyes narrowed suspiciously, and shook her head. There was no way she wanted whatever "help" they were offering.
"Don't be stupid, come on! We'll make you all better!" Suddenly, two of the boys were on either side of her. They grabbed her under each arm and hauled her to her feet. She tried to struggle, but had no strength. They dragged her off to an alleyway a short ways from her home.
The leader then held out a bottle to her. "Here, this medicine helped my parents when they were sick. It'll probably help you too. It's hard to get, though, so we can't let anyone know we have it. That's why we're being sneaky!" He grinned like he thought he was very clever.
"R-really?" She gulped. Could this really help her? And if it did, would it help her mom too?
"Yeah, totally!"
"Wh-what about my mom? She's even more sick!" Her voice was scratchy and it hurt to talk, but she was desperate.
"Of course! Just don't drink it all. Try it now, and if it works on you it'll probably work on her too! Just give her the rest!" They all smiled at her. With trembling hands, she slowly reached out and took the bottle. The glass was a dark brown, and it was hard to see through it, though she could tell it was filled with some sort of liquid.
"N-now?"
"Duh! The sooner you take it the sooner you get better!" His grin spread. Perhaps he thought he was some sort of hero and was excited. "Hey! What do you say?"
"Oh, um..." She gulped nervously. "Thank you." It didn't matter what he thought of himself. She just needed to know if she'd really been saved. Hopefully it wasn't just some old, disgusting soda they'd rebottled. The worst case scenario was them laughing at her. She was already miserable, she'd survive a little humiliation. The risk was worth it.
She unscrewed the cap and shut her eyes. She didn't want to see or smell it in case it was gross. She wanted to get it down as quickly as she could.
She took one, huge gulp and realized her mistake.
It burned. It felt like she'd swallowed fire. Was it alcohol? She'd heard that it burned when you drank it. No, it hurt worse than that. It felt like her throat was tearing apart.
She began coughing, hacking violently. She dropped the bottle and clutched at her throat, clawing at it as if she could get out whatever it was that was hurting her.
"Ha! See? We're gonna cure your dumb accent! We're helping you!" Indeed, they began laughing. She wasn't even paying attention to it. She fell to her knees. She tried to speak, to beg for help, but everything caught in her throat. Soon, even coughing was beyond her. She could only gag and choke.
"C'mon! Say something! Let's see if your voice is better!" Their taunting was relentless.
Her stomach heaved. It was rejecting whatever it was she'd swallowed. She doubled over, another heave rocking her fragile, tiny body. Then it finally came back up.
She hurled out a vile mixture of bile and something else. It was a sour and metallic taste as it spewed out of her mouth. She heard one of the boys shriek fearfully. She hadn't eaten in so long, so there was no mistaking what had just happened. Most of what had come out of her was blood.
Tears streaming, gasping for what few, tiny breaths she could get into her lungs, she reached out. Surely this was too much. Surely they regretted going so far. They had to help her. They all stared at her, horrified.
If they did regret it, it wasn't enough. They turned tail and ran.
She coughed again, spraying out more blood. She couldn't even call for help, her throat was destroyed. She collapsed.
. . .
She wasn't sure how long she lay there. She thought for sure she must be dying. She was sure that any moment she'd fade out and never come back. She was so torn. She wanted to let go, sleep, let the pain go away and just hope for the best. She was also afraid. As long as she was awake, she could focus on each, painful breath and know for sure that she was still breathing.
If she let herself sleep, would she keep breathing? Or would it be too hard for her body without her forcing it to keep going? It was so hard. Her throat felt like it had sealed shut, and she could only manage tiny little gasps. The second after she breathed in, she immediately felt like she was suffocating again. It just wasn't enough air.
"Little girl?" She heard a voice and she turned her head, cheek scraping against the pavement for she could not find the strength to lift herself from the ground. From there, all she could see was a pair of boots and the cuffs of a man's khaki pants. "Little girl!" She saw the boots rushing toward her. He must have seen her move. "Oh my-. . . Oh my, oh my..." She heard his worried mumbling as he knelt down next to her.
Only seconds later she felt herself being lifted off the ground. Finally she just gave in. Someone had found her. Whether she stayed breathing after that or not, she'd let someone else decide. She was so tired, so weak. She let herself drift off
. . .
She dreamed and dreamed and in a few, strangely lucid moments knew she was dreaming and wondered if that was all she had left. Then, full awareness began to return to her. She was still breathing. Not weak, agonizing gasps, but full breaths. They still hurt, but compared to what she'd felt before it was borderline blissful.
She breathed and breathed and finally sucked in one, wonderfully deep breath and let her eyes pop open. She was in a bed, she realized. The sheets were clean and soft, and the mattress was warm, though a little stiff. Her bed at home was softer, though rather lumpy and uneven. All in all, she liked the bed she was currently in a little better. It certainly smelled better.
"Doctor!" It was a vaguely familiar voice, though she couldn't figure out why. It was a man's voice, and she didn't really know many adults.
"Yes?" Another male, but older, voice responded. This one she definitely didn't know.
"Over here, sir. The girl's awake!" She turned her head, and at her bedside was a younger man, perhaps in his late twenties. He had short, black hair, carefully trimmed and tight to his head. She noticed he wore a white lab coat which looked either brand new or very well cared for. He was even wearing a nice shirt and tie underneath it.
Behind him she saw curtains, large and white, all around them. Looking down past her feet, she saw a large gap, big enough for a person to walk through. Where exactly was she? The curtains were soon drawn back a little more, and she saw a glimpse of an open area beyond the curtains. Wherever she was, it was a large room that she was in.
The person who'd given her that glimpse was an older gentleman, likely the "Doctor." He had hair that had all gone gray and a small mustache that was still darker in color. He had some light stubble that was a mix of the darker and the gray. He looked a little rougher than the other man, but he too wore a lab coat, but she could tell it was much older, though still well cared for. He was no slob, but he was well weathered from what she could see.
"Where am I?" That was what she'd intended to say. Her lips began to form that first "W," but next thing she knew her throat clamped down and she broke into a coughing fit.
"Easy there, child. Your throat is in rough shape." The older man moved to her side and sat on the edge of the bed. He placed a strong, but soft hand on top of her tiny one. "You're lucky Doyle here found you." The younger man, Doyle, inclined his head in greeting.
"You're were in bad shape, kid. You swallowed some pretty nasty stuff," Doyle told her.
"I'm not sure what drove you to that, but... that's never the answer," the old man said. "But anyway, I'm sure you're in no mood for a lecture, especially from a stranger."
She certainly wasn't! Did they think she'd done it on purpose? That it was her fault? She'd been tricked! She'd thought it was medicine!
Speaking of which, she didn't actually feel that sick at the moment. A little warmer than even a nice bed should have made her, yes, but nowhere near as bad as she had been. Had they cured her already? He was supposedly a doctor, after all.
She had so many questions! Why couldn't she talk? It was so frustrating!
"Anyway, I'm sure you're confused. You've been out for quite some time." She stared at the doctor. First she was just puzzled, but then slowly her eyes widened in horror. How long was "some time?"
She shot up and the two men both reach out to hold her still. She began hyperventilating, unfortunately prompting yet another coughing fit. But what about her mother? Her mother could barely move. Without her, who would take care of her? Who had been taking care of her?
No one. The answer came all to quickly to her.
"How long? HOW LONG?" She wanted to ask, had to ask. She tried again and again to get the words out but her body failed her. Her throat quickly grew raw and painful as she hacked violently.
"What is it child? Doyle, get a pen and paper!" The Doctor commanded and Doyle quickly pulled a pad and pen out of his coat pocket. The Doctor took it and handed it to her. "OK, now take it easy. First, why don't you give us a name? It'll make talking to you a bit easier."
Shakily, impatiently, she wrote down her name. Neopolitan.
"That's an interesting one, but it certainly suits you. Mind if I call you Neo for short?" he asked her, and she nodded. "Good. My name is Grane Adalgrau, it's nice to meet you. Now, let's cut to the chase then. What has you so spooked?"
How long? Her handwriting was messy, especially so since she was in a hurry.
"Well, you've been asleep three days. I guess this would be the fourth morning since I found you." Doyle did the mental math required to answer her question.
Neo did her best to stave off her panic long enough to write exactly what was worrying her. Mother very sick.
"Ah, of course! You were quite ill when we found you, aside from your throat. Your mother is the same way then?" Grane deduced. Neo nodded frantically that such was the case.
I have to take care of her.
"Well, you're in no condition to do that. Your illness was a serious one, but also one that we've long since developed an effective treatment for. Untreated though... well..." He turned to Doyle. "I think it's best we find this woman immediately. I'm going to send you out again." Back to Neo. "Neo darling, can you tell us where to find her? Is it near where we found you?"
Where had she been? They'd dragged her, but not far. Just across the street, really.
Yes. Across street. Second floor. She proceeded to draw a crude picture with an arrow pointing to her home.
"All right, I'm on it." Doyle tore the sheet from the notepad. "I'll go right now."
"Good boy." Grane nodded and Doyle dashed out of the curtained room. "Now, darling, we have a bit of a wait on our hands. Any other questions now that we can communicate?"
Where am I? She did, and that was the biggest one at the moment.
"Ah, this is my clinic! A lot of people in this part of Vale don't have that much money. They don't buy food and medicine, but food or medicine. And all the medicine in the world won't keep you from starving, so it's obvious what they'll pick." She knew he was right. She'd been living that exact situation. "So, having some money and being a doctor, I found an empty building and set up shop. We get some donations so that I don't burn through my own funds too quickly, and we provide basic treatment to people free of charge."
Cool. She really didn't know what else to. . . write. She really hated it being her only way to talk. At least she had it, she supposed.
"Hm, let me go, will you? I have my own question." Neo didn't bother wasting the effort writing, and just looked at him expectantly. "Are you hungry?"
What? Hungry? She thought about it for a second, and decided she wasn't. By the time she finished processing that thought, her stomach growled and she immediately changed her mind. It had been about four days since she last ate... What had that even been? A slice of bread with some cheese if she remembered correctly.
. . .
Pudding. He'd come back with pudding. Now, she'd had pudding before. You could get a pack of pudding cups for only a few lien. But, when you were as poor as her family had been, after a while, even just a little bit of money couldn't be spared for the luxury of cheap pudding. It was nonessential.
But this was not cheap pudding, and it was gentle on her throat. He urged her to eat slowly so she wouldn't upset her stomach, but before long she began to go all out as her appetite returned to her in full. Of course, it seemed he'd outwitted her, as her spoon wasn't very big, so even at full steam she could only shovel it into her mouth so fast.
That was probably a good thing, though. Not only did it help keep her from getting sick, but it made it last longer. It was really good pudding. It wasn't exactly a proper meal, but it made her feel better and put something in her stomach.
"Was it good?" The way the old man chuckled, it was obvious he already knew the answer.
"Yes." She intended to reply anyway, but of course her voice didn't work. She bit her lip and just nodded a little instead, her good mood suddenly dampened. She then had a thought that worried her deeply. She looked at Grane and pointed insistently at her throat. "Will it get better?" That's what she wanted to know.
"Ah, your voice..." His expression turned serious. "Unfortunately, your illness was left untreated for quite some time. Then, on top of that, you swallowed some very harsh chemicals. The muscles in your throat that allow you to speak were damaged and weakened. With some luck, they'll heal, but... your voice will almost certainly never be the same." He looked hesitant, but eventually he spoke again. "And... there is a chance you'll never be able to properly speak again. Even when the injuries are fully healed, your vocal cords may not work anymore. There are things I would have liked to have done that we just don't have the resources for here."
She might really never speak again? It can't be said that she went quiet, she already was of course, but she did go still.
She'd never had much, and recently she'd lost a lot. As time went on, she'd had less and less as things got harder. And yet, she'd never imagined that she could have her voice taken from her.
"Look," he got her attention, "it's too soon to be worrying so much. And either way, you can overcome something like this. Trust me. From now on, things will simply be... different." If that was supposed to make her feel better, it didn't. "Of course, I understand that right now you're-" He jumped, startled when Neo lashed out, striking her pudding dish and sending it flying into the curtain. She'd already finished it, so the empty, metal dish made a loud clattering as it hit the floor. "-. . . upset."
That was putting it mildly.
. . .
She began to grow antsy. Where was Doyle? Where was her mother? What was taking so long? It had been hours. She supposed she didn't know where the clinic was. Who knew how far she had been taken from home. But still, she couldn't stop her anxiety from building up.
Grane had eventually left her little curtained area, stating he had to check on the few other patients he currently had. He checked back in every so often, but that made it worse. She had no clock to look at, so she began to gauge the passage of time based on how many times he checked on her. Five times, he'd come and gone five times with no word about her mother.
His comings and goings were not quick affairs.
Finally, as he was leaving for the sixth time, something happened. "Ah, Doyle!" he exclaimed, taking a quick left as he exited her space. She could hear them talking, just outside the curtains. Not everything, their voices were hushed, but it was enough. She was mute, not deaf!
She understood enough. She knew what they would say when they came to her. Yet, she didn't know.
"Darling..." Grane said softly as he led Doyle over to her bed.
"You don't have her." She wanted to accuse them, but all she could do was frown with eyes narrowed; mostly at Doyle. He was the one who had failed her.
"Kid, uh..." Doyle rubbed the back of his neck. "I couldn't bring her back. She..."
"She's gone, child," Grane said what Doyle had been struggling to.
"Gone?" She hadn't been there? Had she left to look for her? Neo had thought her mother too sick to move, though.
Grane sighed upon seeing Neo's confused look.
"She had the same illness as you, but if you were caring for her then I assume she had it first. After so long without proper treatment... The illness took her."
Took her? Her mother had been taken? Gone? It finally made sense. She wished it didn't. Her heart began to pound, faster and faster until she could hear it slamming her in ears. Her body shook and she began grabbing and pulling, tearing at the bed sheets, though her trembling little hands could not rip them.
Strangely, she shed no tears. She just felt herself winding up tighter and tighter on the inside. It was getting hard to breathe again; only managing short, frantic gasps. It couldn't be real, no. Why should she cry? It wasn't real.
"Darling..." Grane reached for her shoulder. But it was real, wasn't it? They way they looked at her with such pity. She was pitiful. She was a pitiful, sick, mute orphan. They'd given her nothing but bad news since they'd brought her there.
She pulled away. She had to get away. She threw the bed sheets away and clambered out of the bed. They made no move to stop her. It was like they didn't see her. Her feet hit the cold floor and she bit her lip. She took a step and her legs wobbled. She stumbled past Grane, who still didn't even look at her. Before she could reach the gap in the curtains her knees gave out and she fell, barely able to catch herself with her hands at the last second.
At that moment she heard a pair of startled gasps from behind her.
"Neo!" The next thing she knew, Grane had spun around and was lifting her to her feet.
"What was that? Doctor! You did something before! What-"
"Doyle, not now!" Grane shot back at the younger man.
She gave up. She couldn't even walk. She couldn't even make it out of that terrible room where nothing good had happened. Her mother was gone, and she was stuck there with no choice but to accept that. Finally, she couldn't fight it anymore; her tears came as her body went limp.
All she had in that moment were twin streams of silent tears running down her face.
That was the day Neo realized everything for her had changed. But it was just one change. It was merely the ending of what until that moment had been her life. Looking back, it felt like such a small change.
It's been suggested that Neo isn't actually mute. But I reject that reality and substitute my own. I also take the chance to just absolutely destroy the poor girl. I enjoy tormenting the ones I love.
This is part one of two. The next part will be out... soonish, I hope.
Til' next time!