Pink was dying.
Oh, of course everybody in the hospital kept telling Samara that he would make it, that he was going to be fine, but she knew it. Felt it.
Just a few more hours, and he would be dead.
But the doctors and nurses didn't know. Didn't understand. She almost wanted to tell them, so that they would stop telling her everything would be fine. Wanted to tell them they didn't need to keep trying to save him. There was nothing they could do now. Samara could feel his death coming, just as she had felt her own death coming, just as clearly as she saw the things in her head.
And oh, the things she was seeing now. Horrors. Things that other people would never see, even in their worst nightmares. Things that no one should have ever seen, let alone a young child. Most of the time, it was all she could do not to throw up with each new image that appeared in her brain.
She had tried closing her eyes.
It had only made things worse.
The worse thing was, as long as she had been with him, it had almost stopped. The pictures had gone, most of them, and she had gotten used to not seeing horrors all the time. And the pictures that had been left were... less terrifying. Even nice sometimes, when Pink would hug her and smile at her like she was the most precious thing on Earth. She had liked that.
But he was leaving, and the bad pictures where coming back.
They had arrived at the hospital two days earlier, and she had been allowed to stay with him at the hospital, in his room.
It hadn't been easy to achieve.
First she had had to convince people that they weren't the man and the girl in the newspapers, and that hadn't been too difficult in fact, because of their dyed hair and of the way she wouldn't let go of his hand. They didn't look like a kidnapper and his victim, it seemed. Then she had made everyone believe they should let her stay in Pink's room instead of sending her away with social workers, and it had been more difficult. Every time somebody came in the room she had to make them forget she shouldn't have been there. But it was still easier than all the times when she had made people kill themselves. Making people change their mind was easier than having them die. She wished she had discovered that earlier.
Pink would have been proud of her if he had known.
She was a good girl now. She hadn't killed anybody at all since that day at the restaurant, even when she had been frightened.
At first she had hoped if she was good enough, the heavens would thank her and make Pink all better again to reward her goodness. Mommy used to say if you were a good girl God would love you and He would help you and answer your prayers.
But nothing happened.
Apparently, two days of goodness weren't enough to make God love her.
Sometimes a nurse would come and see her. Talk to her. Try to make her feel better. They were nice, usually, and they tried very hard to make her smile. But they couldn't make the guilt go away. Without her, Pink would never have been hurt. Without her, his life wouldn't have been ruined. Without her, he would be asleep in that cold white room. Without her, he wouldn't be dying. It was all her fault, once again.
The nurses stopped coming after she realized he was dying. The pictures had become so strong by then that other people would see them too, even though they hadn't realized yet that it was her fault. In any case, they would all find excuses to stay away from her. Just like before. So she was once again alone. Just like before.
On the day before Pink's death -Samara knew it, felt it with a painful certainty -a braver nurse than the others came in to talk to her and, instead of telling her that Pink would be fine, he asked her how she was.
He was an older man -old by the standards of a young girl in any case. He might have been forty, but could also have been much younger or older. Samara instantly liked him. He didn't seem to mind the pictures, and treated her the way Pink had. As if he saw her not as a monster or as a silly little child, but just as another human being. She liked that.
-You always look so sad, he said. It won't help him you know.
-Nothing can, Samara answered honestly. He's going to die. Today. I know it.
-Well, with you having such bad thoughts around him, there are few chances he'll want to live, don't you think? You know, you're so gloomy and sad that coming in this room feels like entering a tomb.
Samara frowned.
-How can I have good thoughts when I don't even know what's wrong with him? She asked. Nobody tells me anything. They say he's fine. But I know he's not, because people who are fine, they don't sleep always like he does!
-They don't want to scare you, that's all. Because your uncle is very sick. His head was hurt badly and it touched his brain, so the doctors aren't sure he'll ever wake up again.
-He's going to die.
-No, maybe not. Dying is different. What's happening to him is called a coma, and it's like sleeping but it lasts longer. His body is still alive, but his mind... it's more difficult to know. Maybe he hears everything that goes on around him. Maybe his body goes on, but his mind is dead. Now one can know, unless he wakes up some day, and we can't know if that will happen. Do you understand?
Samara nodded, even though she wasn't sure she really did understand. She knew people could be alive, or dead. She had no idea there were so many shades between those two states. There were many things she didn't know, and she didn't like that.
Perplexed by that entirely new concept that had been exposed to her, she forgot to make the nurse forget she was there when he left. When she realized it a few hours later, she decided it probably wasn't important. He had been a such nice man, almost as nice as Pink. He wouldn't do anything bad.
And indeed, the nurse did nothing bad. From his point of view, emailing the colonel to tell him he had found Samara was the right thing to do.
6 months of waiting, and for such a short chapter? If you feel disappointed, you are probably right and I apologize. Life has been... well, let's say it has been interesting. I am just starting to pick up writing again, after weeks and weeks of a terrible writer block. I hope to be able to conclude this fanfiction in the not too distant future, and promise I'll try very hard. And I'll try not to post next chapter in half a year.