Warnings: None for this chapter
It took me only nine minutes to get to St. John's Hospital. (a trip that would usually take me more like fifteen to twenty minutes) I was thoroughly surprised I wasn't pulled over. All I could think of was seeing Ciel again. In my mind's eye, I imagined him, lying there on a hospital gurney, a bloody mess. It was a painful thought. I began to blame this whole dreadful situation on myself, even though I knew deep down it wasn't entirely my fault. If only I had kept a closer eye on him. If only I had been there to protect him. . .
I parked, rather erratically, and ran into the lobby. Sitting patiently in a chair beside the door was a police officer with his dark hair combed to the side of his head. The moment he saw me rush in, he stood and approached me.
"Sebastian Michaelis?" he asked.
"Yes. How is he?" I said, my voice clearly depicting my worry. He sighed.
"Last I was told, he was in stable condition. That was about a half an hour ago. The doctors are still keeping an eye on him though. Now, you say you're the boy's uncle?"
"Yes. He and his mother, my sister, live in Swindon. She fell ill some time ago. I agreed to look after him while she recovered." I really didn't want to lie to a police officer. However, it was a bit safer in this case. Particularly if the man ever learned that this homeless child never really wanted to be in my care. In which case, I would likely go to jail for kidnapping, despite my good intentions.
"What's the boy's name?" He asked, grabbing a notepad from his back pocket and a pen from his chest pocket; waiting eagerly for my answer.
"Ciel Michaelis," I lied. I never did learn Ciel's actual surname. Even if I had, I certainly couldn't have given it to the man.
"And, what was he doing so far away from home?" the officer inquired. I had very little time to invent a story, but thankfully, I am an exquisite liar.
"He wasn't adjusting well to London. And, of course, his mother's illness added a great deal of stress for both of us. He and I got into a little argument last night. This morning, when I went to wake him, I couldn't find him. I assumed he ran off, as angry children do. I drove around searching for him most of the day," I explained, without stuttering a word.
"Were you planning on calling the police?" he asked disapprovingly.
"I was, once nightfall came. I figured he needed to blow off a little steam. I was sure, once he did, he'd come home. I wasn't too worried about him wandering about in the daylight. After all, my neighborhood and those surrounding it are all very nice, save for the college campus, but I hardly feared that they would bother a child, especially in broad daylight." Officer McKnight (or so read his badge) nodded; apparently accepting, though judging by his facial expression, he still disapproved of my excuse.
"Well, it's very fortunate indeed that he wasn't killed. We have a few officers scouting the area for the vehicle. Unfortunately, we've not yet found any witnesses. Hence, we would like to speak to the child when he recovers."
"Of course," I said with a nervous smile. He wrote his number in his notepad, ripped it out carefully, and handed it to me.
"Please give me a call when you get him home." I took the piece of notepaper from him, a perplexed line forming on my brow. Again, my curiosity was getting the better of me.
"Certainly. . ." I said, as he turned to leave, "Officer?" He turned back around to face me. "Could you tell me, what exactly happened when he spoke to you earlier?" I really wanted to know why Ciel had given the police my name. Asking the stubborn child when (and if) he wakes up would likely get me nowhere. He had made it abundantly clear that he didn't appreciate my efforts to care for him and he was (obviously) quite eager to escape me. It is curious that he should rely on me now.
"Well, as I said, he just barely managed to whisper your name," he explained, "He came to for a few minutes. I asked him for his name, the name of anyone we could contact, where he lived, pretty much anything you can imagine. He didn't answer, he just sort'a groaned. It didn't really even seem like he knew I was there. He was just staring at the ceiling. After a few minutes, he started losing consciousness again. Just before he closed his eyes, he said your name."
"Thank you officer," I said, fighting back the urge to grin wildly. What on earth would the man think of me if I did that?
"No problem. I hope your nephew feels better soon," he said, shaking my hand before retreating through the double doors of the hospital lobby.
"Thank you, sir." I said, with a wave, even though he could no longer see me. Once he was gone, I turned on my heel and approached the front desk.
"Hello," I said calmly to the receptionist, even though inside, I was a nervous wreck, "I am here to see about the young boy that was brought in a couple hours ago, the hit and run victim. . ." I tried to explain. She nodded.
"Right, the Joe Bloggs. Hold on a moment," she said, standing and walking over to a file cabinet on the opposite wall. "Here we are," she said, handing me a pile of paperwork, "just fill these out for us."
"Of course," I said politely, taking the massive pile of papers over to a lobby chair. Great, now I would have to lie some more. I didn't know even the most miniscule details about Ciel, let alone his medical history. If he had an allergy to a particular kind of medication and the doctors administer it to him, it could be a fatal mistake. One that would really be my fault. But, as I actually didn't know anything about Ciel, I lied. Just like I had been doing since I discovered the boy.
Once I finished filling out the paperwork, I took it back up to the front desk and handed it to the receptionist. She took it and gave it a quick glace.
"Okay, have a seat. The doctor will be out to speak to you soon." Have a seat? Wait? I've waited enough. It's been over a week since I've seen Ciel. Now he's severely injured. Now he needs me. . . and I'm being told to wait. It was almost enough to make me snap at the stocky receptionist. But I thought better of it. What would that accomplish? Me getting thrown out of a hospital, that's probably all.
So I waited, and waited. . . and waited, for what seemed like hours. But, in fact, only about thirty minutes had passed. Each minute felt like a weight, pulling me further and further into a pessimistic abyss. The longer I had to "wait", the slimmer Ciel's chances of survival seemed. By the time the doctor emerged into the lobby, I had convinced myself that he was going to tell me that Ciel didn't make it. The silver haired doctor advanced toward me with a smile, which eased my fears a little.
"Hello there, Mr. Michaelis," he said merrily, glancing down at a clipboard in his hand.
"Hello Dr. . ." I began, looking down at his name tag, "Simmons. How is my nephew?" The anxiety I felt in the brief moment of silence between my fateful question and his answer was almost unbearable.
"He's stable at the moment," he said. I took a deep breath, thankful he was still alive. "He has broken his left fibula, which is going to need to be operated on."
"When are you going to operate?" I asked worriedly.
"Depending on his condition, we would like to do it tomorrow, around noon," he explained, "Additionally, he has broken his left elbow and two phalanges in his left middle and index finger. These are all minor and should mend themselves just fine in due time. Really, he's lucky to be alive. When they brought him in, he had moderate internal bleeding and he was hardly breathing. Does he have a history with asthma?"
I couldn't answer the doctor's question. Not only because I didn't know the answer, but also because, for the first time in years, I was scared. I was afraid that, now that I had Ciel back, I was at the risk of losing him all over again. In his short life, this poor child has faced death more times than the average adult. It wasn't fair.
"Mr. Michaelis?" the doctor asked, giving me an incredulous glare.
"Oh, I'm not sure actually. If he does, I wasn't informed of it," I said. "So, he's alright now?"
"Yes, at the moment. He's still in the ICU, more or less just so we can keep a close eye on him. Once we're sure his vitals are steady, we'll move him. He's still unconscious but you are welcome to go see him," Dr. Simmons said, pointing down the hall, at the door labeled 'Intensive Care Unit.'
"Thank you," I muttered quietly, nearly running down the hall once I was out of the doctor's eye line. I walked past several beds before I found him. He was almost exactly as I imagined him; bruised and bloodied. The nurses had undoubtedly cleaned him up quite a bit, but he still had dried blood deep in his nostrils and on his bottom lip, which looked to have been busted. (only visible through the plastic mouthpiece attached to a nebulizer) Other scrapes and cuts on his face were covered in little white bandages. He was hooked to a couple of other machines, neither of which I recognized.
On his left arm, which was lying innocently over his blanket, near his elbow, was an atrocious dark purple bruise. The way that arm was resting looked unnatural (and quite uncomfortable). Even though the boy looked as though he'd just braved the seven layers of hell, the look on his slumbering face was peaceful, somewhat happy even.
I put my hand on his chest gently, just to feel it rise and fall steadily. He was still alive. I still had my chance to feed my curiosity. All that I had been lamenting this past week just disappeared, and I felt that pesky optimism creep up on me once more. I sat there, staring longingly at him, until a nurse came in and shooed me away.
"I'm sorry sir, but visitors to ICU patients are only allowed to stay for fifteen minutes. If you would like to remain in the hospital, you'll have to obtain a visitors pass from security," she said offhandedly.
"Is that right? I think I'll do that. Thank you," I said, even though I knew she didn't care to hear my gratitude. She obviously hated her job almost as much as I hated mine. I leaned down and kissed Ciel on the forehead. I had a feeling that if I had done that when he was awake, he would never talk to me again. But thankfully, he was fast asleep.
"Goodbye for now Ciel," I whispered. As I did, his eyelids twitched lightly. It clearly wasn't, but I told myself that it was his way of saying goodbye. It made the situation feel a little less tragic.
I found my way out of the ICU and back to the front desk, where I flashed the receptionist a charming smirk, in response to which she smiled and blushed softly.
"Excuse me, could you direct me to security?"
"Oh, yes. It's just at the end of the hall there," she giggled, pointing down said hall, "you can't miss it."
"Thank you kindly," I remarked pleasantly. I walked down the west hall, looking from one end to the other for a sign reading; 'Security.' Finally, I found it, painted on the wall in bright red letters, just above a desk guarded by a wall of plexiglass. The man on the other side of the plexiglass was looking down at a pile of paperwork, intently sifting through it.
I got his attention and, after more paperwork and almost another half an hour of waiting, finally obtained a security pass. With it, I went to the critical care lobby, where I had been told to go, and began to doze off in one of the hideous (and uncomfortable) orange chairs provided for visitors, all the while pondering how much this was all going to cost me. Honestly, if it was for Ciel, I didn't care.
A/N: Well, that's it for this chapter. Note to Americans/Canadians: "Joe Bloggs" is a name commonly used in English speaking European countries as a placeholder name. (ie. for corpses, unknown persons, protecting identities and such) Much like our "John Doe." At the end there, Sebastian is concerned about how much Ciel's stay will cost him. This is mainly because in the UK, (or so I understand) stays in the ICU are ludicrously expensive. I'm sorry it was such a short chapter. Please review if you have time! Thanks for reading!
Title: Butterflies are beautiful and graceful. But, at the same time, they are horribly fragile and breakable.
