9.

The hospital waiting room was cold and uncomfortable. The walls a bleak white that hurt the eyes—not that she was staring at them. She was trying her best to stare at everything but the walls. Their bleakness scared her. Just like every little sound that surrounded her. The wheels of wheelchairs, doors opening and closing, whispering, barking of orders, phones ringing…but most of all it was the smaller sounds that got under her skin. The tapping of feet and hands, the clock ticking…The pages being turned from outdated magazines—its images and words faded from constant use and yet they had probably never been read. Just blankly looked at as a way to escape from the thoughts that truly plagued the holder.

Were they going to receive good news or bad news?

She felt so terrified that she was almost numb to the core. Cold even. Her eyes kept glancing towards the hallway that he'd been wheeled into. The nurses had told her that they'd be in touch as soon as they knew something, anything. And yet nobody came. Part of her wanted to yell, to scream—Didn't they know that was her only son? Her baby, her blood, her life—while the other part of her didn't want to move, to blink, to breathe. It had to be a dream.

She still had dinner to make.

She still had a list of things to nag him about. His hair had been getting too long and the sleeves of his shirt too short.

She still had the rest of her life to live out. And she suddenly was paralyzed with the fear that it would be without him there to break the monotony of her life, the comfortable rut that she and her husband had fallen into. Without him there, she had…nothing.

The gentle touch, warm and intrusive, was too much, too intense and she gave a little yelp, jumping from her chair. For a split second, the wild hope that finally someone was going to tell her something lived and soared and then she realized it was her father's wrinkled face looking down at her. His eyes were dark, worried, and he stayed silent. He simply squeezed her shoulder briefly before taking the empty seat beside her.

His presence felt alien for a moment. Out of place. She resented him for being there when it should have been her husband, Hikaru's father, there instead. Hadn't she called him as well? Yes, yes she had. Even through her panic, she'd managed to catch her wits long enough to call him once she'd made sure that her child was in the right hands. She'd gotten a hold of his secretary…it was an emergency, she had pleaded. She wondered briefly, if her message had ever reached him.

"This…" Her father's voice broke the silence. "This happened when he was younger." She blinked. "In the attic, I still remember little Akari-chan running down and getting me." Why was he bringing that up? Hikaru had been fine. Nothing wrong had been found. The doctors had all just passed it off as a case of being overheated… "Perhaps, it is a similar situation. He will be fine." He paused, eyes looking far away. "He is young and strong. He will be… he is fine." He caught himself and the correction made her realize that he wasn't sure of himself at all. She gave him a tight smile and nodded. The only thing a well brought up daughter could do.

Together, they continued to wait.

"Overworked?" He could hear his mother's pained voice through the closed door but couldn't quite work up the energy to open his eyes. "And concussed? From the fall…of course, yes…we'll do everything you say." His head hurt. His whole body ached actually. "But—but he's fine, right? Nothing showed—" His mother's voice faded away. He could imagine her walking away from the door with someone… whoever it was she was talking to.

A warm hand brushed at his forehead and he felt the calluses move strands of hair away from his face. The touch lingered and comforted. He turned to it slightly, still refusing to open his eyes and heard the sharp intake of breath.

"Hikaru?" His grandfather's voice whispered. "You're ok." The words were sighed out in relief. Yeah, except for feeling like his brain had tried to spontaneously combust…he was just peachy. He cracked one eye open slightly to give the old man what he thought would be a decent enough glare. Where the hell was he anyway? He tried to ask but all that came past his lips was a mumbled groan. "Just rest." The old hands soothed the frown that had formed between his brows. "Everything will be fine and you'll be home before you know it." Home? Hadn't he been home? He opened both his eyes then and regretted it as it caused everything to come back to him with that one simple movement.

It wasn't just his grandfather that stared back at him. But multiple faces. His breath caught in his throat and he moved in instinct, rolling off the bed and away, trying to escape with all his might this room. To escape the despairing eyes and hands that were suddenly too alive and too focused on him.

He managed to get as far as the end of his bed before falling flat, his one foot getting caught in the starched sheets. But the pain that rang through his body was nothing compared to the sound of his heart beating wildly in his chest and the growing whispers of voices that should have been dead and gone so long ago.

"He can see…" No. No. No. He wanted to cover his eyes as he yanked his foot from the bed, ignoring the burning sensation it caused to ride up his leg. A warm hand grabbed at his arm and he struggled against it. This wasn't Sai. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not now. Not ever. He didn't want to see…

"He can hear…" No! Hikaru yanked himself out of the hold and ran towards the door. He wanted to scream. He wanted to escape but everywhere he turned there was nowhere to go. The cold floor underneath his feet led to more hallways that were filled…just filled with them… and they all turned to stare, slowly, as one. So hungry…their eyes were so hungry for him…

"Yes…" The little girl was suddenly in front of him. Her eyes wide and glittering. "Yes, he can, he can." Her voice sing-sang in his head and her hand grasped his. "You can, you can…" The scream he emitted then before he fell to the ground was not like anything anyone had ever heard before. Every living body stilled before leaping back into action while all the spirits came and circled the boy, their new host, their new savior, much like vultures did around their dying prey. And there was simply nothing the living could do to stop them.

"There is nothing physically wrong with him." The doctor repeated wearily. "We've redone all the tests, done new ones…We're still waiting on some of the lab work to be done." The silent 'but' that was left unspoken stayed heavy between the four of them. Her husband had finally made his way in, shortly after the last… 'attack'. She listened, dry-eyed and petrified. Her throat was too heavy to ask, to speak, to breathe…

Her father kept shaking his head, muttering the same thing over and over under his breath. He was fine…He was just fine and then he just…His mutterings would stop then, choked off before he would repeat himself. He didn't really need to continue. She hadn't been there to see it happen but she'd been close enough. Her son's scream was really all she could hear at the moment, echoing in her mind and ringing in her ear. The rest that was going around her was muffled, unimportant. Slowly, her arms came up as she crossed them in front of her chest. The memory of that sound would haunt her.

"I think that you will agree that it would be best if he remains here overnight." Her fingers dug into her arms, leaving white-red traces.

"Of course, we'll do whatever needs to be done." Her husband muttered respectfully. An awkward silence wrapped around them.

"I would like to stay here, with him." She finally found her voice. The three men looked at her, surprised. "With my son."

To be continued…