I must have blacked out. I'm slumped down on my side by the time my eyes open up again. But all I see is the spot of sun the flashlight is burning into my eyes. With an uneasy groan, I push myself up and look around me.
Nothing's gotten in. And probably no one has gotten out. I don't think I'd still be alive if something came by and found me.
Leaning forward, I grab the flashlight and push myself up. As I turn the cone around, my eyes fall upon the lobby I'm in. Except for me, it's all pristine. There's no blood, no rushing nurses, no crying patients, no ambulances. None of those familiar sounds are there.
After hearing that thumping noise back at the brothel, I'm not sure what is worse - the sound of something there, or the silence indicating that there isn't. Both thoughts are equally chilling.
As the light brushes upon the front counter, I spot a folder. It's the only thing that's not in place - the only thing that stands out. Being me, I want to open it up and see what it's about. But in me there is a sense of dread. I don't know who it's for. But I also don't think I want to know what's in it.
But like a moth drawn to a flame I go over. Soon my hand is brushing against the cover, and I freeze.
Primary Subscriber: Blake Belladonna-Xiao Long
Patient: Yang Xiao Long
It's a thick file. I… I don't want to see what's inside. But I think I already know what's in there. It's records of my stay here in the hospital. It's the amount of lien paid out for me.
I wasn't stupid. My stay at the hospital wasn't cheap. Insurance covered some things - medication, the overnight stays, the doctor visits. But the coverage didn't last forever. And I know exactly when it ran out.
I know exactly when it ran out because it was the day we had our argument.
I open the folder, looking at the dates of the bills, and I come to the last one. August 14th, 2038.
A shaky breath courses through my body as I remember the words we exchanged.
"How much of our benefit is left?"
It was said with such… discontent. It was dismissive, almost. It was a question that already had an answer - it just needed to be said. But there was no response.
"Blake." It was a firmer tone this time. "How much is left."
When the words finally came out, I felt defeated. It was as if the end had come.
"It ran out two months ago. After it was declared terminal, your life insurance paid out. We were given a hundred thousand lien, and... it's all gone now."
It was like watching a picture book of emotions. Outrage. Sadness.
But what hurt the most was look of betrayal.
"Yang, I… I'm-"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
It's like a sack of bricks.
"I'm sorry, Yang, I-I… I couldn't. I just-"
And then everything comes out, with anger rearing its head and standing tall.
"I mean, I'm costing us so much. We could have done something together with that. We could have spent a little more time together. Hell, you could have done something with it for yourself. And now look - we don't have that money and I'm still in this fucking bed!"
"You mean I'm not allowed to care for the one I love?"
It's a short flash, but it's there. It got a taste of freedom and now it's here to claw its way out of our throats. We were trying to be nice, trying to be calm and patient with the other, like how love should be.
There's a lull in our conversation. Neither side wants to say anything, like we both know what's going to happen if anyone speaks.
But the coughing comes, the coughing that took so much away from me. It always comes. And I hate it.
"Why did you have to get sick?"
"... What?"
It wasn't supposed to come out. But what happens afterwards is a one-sided screaming match. Everything bad and worse just comes my way. Everything about me shrinks away, wanting to just disappear, to be swallowed up by the earth.
But eventually it dies down again. Neither of us have the energy to continue the argument. We're both just so broken by this sickness. So broken that we can't even look at each other anymore.
There's one final squeak of words. Its volume pales in comparison to the words said minutes ago.
"I can't bury you, Yang. I just can't."
"Well... maybe you should. I just want this to end."
It was like fine china being broken.
Eventually, Blake left. I didn't get to see her again until that last day. But she cried. Blake cried a lot. I cried too, but she cried more. Of all the things I have done, I have never regretted anything else more than what transpired in that room.
I hurt her. We hurt each other, really. But I hurt her first, and that is what set everything off for the next week.
I close the folder.
Seeing these numbers and figures here, it's… a lot to think about. We could have done a lot with this money. We could have tried to go into the town again. I don't think I could have gotten far, with that damn coughing and all, but we could have been together for a little longer.
As painful as it is, though, I want to put it into the past. I'm not sick anymore. I can hunt again. I just need to find her. I don't know how it will actually go when we try to talk. I have to try.
But before I do so, I need to remember what happened on that particular day. I'm not sure what to expect, but I need to see what happened. Turning my gaze away from the folder, I begin to climb the stairs upward.
My legs are burning by the time I reach the fourth floor, but as soon as I step into the hallway my mind drifts away from it. There's a soft sobbing coming from somewhere on the floor. My mind gazes at the white patient room doors, all closed and probably locked. But there is one door that's painted in red with a glow coming from beneath it.
It's like the brothel all over again, and I make my way towards it. There's a mirror towards the side of the hall, and as I go by it, the sobbing reaches its loudest point and begins to die down again as I move further and further from it.
The mirror is crying. I don't know why, but it is. I don't want to think about it. Once I'm in front of the door, my eyes fixed upon its redness, I feel my heart quicken. It's now or never. With one final shake of my blonde locks, I push on the handle and enter.
