Would you choose water over wine?
Hold the wheel and drive
--from Drive by Incubus
"I don't want to do this."
"Tough luck, pal. You have to."
"I feel like an old man."
"Well, get going, Gramps."
"Young whippersnapper." Micah smirked and situated the blanket over his legs
(stumps)
carefully. Gabe had taken him out into the hall early that morning in a newly pilfered wheelchair. He had asked her suspiciously if she'd stolen it, but she just shook her head with a grin. Now she stood behind him, hands wrapped tightly around the handles of the chair.
"Keep talking like that and I'll take you to the seniors ward." Gabe chuckled and gave him a little push for emphasis, not letting go. "Ready? I'll give you a nudge and then you have to spin the wheels with your hands."
"Okay," he said unsurely, glancing down at the large silver wheels beneath him. They didn't look at all friendly, but there was no other way to get around. So Micah sighed and positioned his hands on the wheels. "Go on. I'm ready." It was nearly 6 a.m., and with a glance around he realized that there was no one in the halls.
(Odd. Seems rather quiet, even though it is early.)
"Allrighty. Here we go." Gabe gave him a gentle push and he felt the wheels start to shift. Micah hurriedly caught up with their rotations, moving them forward with random thrusts of his hands. He felt a little sense of triumph
(hey it's not that hard)
before the little glide turned quite suddenly into a rocket. Hands from behind shot him faster down the hall, and the random doors that he was slowly passing turned into a brown-colored blur. Micah squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the air hit his face sharply, and resisted the urge to scream.
"Hey!" he shouted and pulled his hands away. The wheels were moving so quickly now that he couldn't keep a hold of them. Micah cracked an eyelid and glimpsed a wall that was coming towards him much too fast for comfort. A sudden panic filled him
(oh god I'm going to crash)
before the same hands that had shoved him reached out, snagging the handles just in time to stop him before he went flying into the wall. There was a little giggle.
"Oops. I didn't mean to push that hard." Micah whirled and glared at Gabe.
"What are you trying to do; kill me?!" The girl blinked in surprise.
"Oh, c'mon. It wasn't that bad." She dropped to a knee beside him. He repositioned the blanket over his legs
(stubs)
and kept scowling.
"You weren't the one in the chair," he muttered. Gabe rolled her eyes but grinned, leaning closer.
"Poor bay-bee," she crooned, fingers slipping up to tickle at his sides. He let out a surprised yelp and swatted at her hands.
"Don't!"
"All right, all right." Gabe stopped, but took his hand in hers and jiggled it gently. "C'mon. We need to get you back in bed before Pruitt catches us out here." Micah nodded, fighting a smile, and pulled his hand away.
"M'kay." He took hold of the wheels again and swiveled around. "I'll lead the way. I think I've got it."
"Good," she said, grunting as she stood. Micah wheeled himself carefully down the hall and glanced up at the numbers on the door. Gabe, trailing behind, called, "Remember, it's number 215."
"Got it," he shouted back, counting the numbers as he passed.
(209, 211, 213--)
He stopped suddenly as his ears caught a soft sound; crying. Micah wheeled in reverse.
"No, don't go in there--" Gabe picked up her pace, trying to stop him from looking into the room. That merely sparked his curiousity. Cautiously, he poked his head into the room.
"Hello?" he said quietly, glancing around. It was just like his, just as pristine and white. There was a bed, a counter, an IV tube, and in the bed-- a small, huddled man, curled up in a ball and crying piteously. He looked old, probably 60, with white hair and a wrinkled face. Micah frowned slightly. "Hey, are you all right?" He could still hear Gabe calling faintly--
"No, Micah, don't..."
--but he wheeled farther into the room.
"Do you need me to call a nurse, sir?" The man looked up and his face paled, eyes widening in shock and
(no that can't be)
terror.
"Devil's child," he whispered, and Micah felt like he had been slapped.
(He didn't just say that. He did not just say that.)
"What?" the boy murmured in disbelief. The man scrambled back against the wall, tucking his knees beneath his chin.
"Son of Satan," he hissed, age-worn eyes widening another notch. "Demon spawn! Straight from the pits of Hell, you are!" Micah swallowed dryly.
"I don't know what you're--"
"You're a murderer!" the man screeched. His eyes bulged as he continued screaming at the stricken Micah. "Slayer! Exectutioner! Assassin! Killer!" Micah pulled away frantically, hands slipping on the wheels. He couldn't cover his ears, but he wanted nothing more than to block out the man's shrieking.
"Shut up, shut up!" Micah backed up right into a wall, and since there was no where else to go, he clamped his hands over his ears. "Shut up!"
"Murderer!" screamed the man, face white as paper and bloodshot eyes bulging. "Murderer! MURDERER!"
"Mr. Towers!" cried Gabe as she skidded into the room. Two other nurses followed her quickly, one holding the alleged Mr. Towers down as the other stuck him with a syringe. Gabe wrapped her arms around the shocked Micah.
"Sh sh sh," she murmured, putting her forehead against his so he couldn't see the flailing old man. Micah let out a surprised little gasp and pressed his face into her shirt. He could hear the nurses--
"Do you have him properly sedated, Gretchen?"
--and Gabe--
"Micah, it's all right..."
--but the words of Mr. Towers still rang clearly in his ears.
("Murderer! MURDERER!")
Gabe continued to whisper words of comfort and stroke his hair.
"It's all right, Micah, it's all right-- oh, but I warned you..."
"Gabrielle," said one of the nurses stiffly, "do you have everything under control?"
"Oh, yes," Gabe replied in a voice just as tight. The other nurse whispered something.
"Your patient is properly calmed, I believe." The pert comment made Gabe straighten and whirl; Micah watched as her lip curled ever so slightly.
"So he is," she said quietly, but he could hear the pent-up rage. "Then we'll just mosey on back to his room, won't we?"
"Indeed," muttered one of the nurses. Gabe grabbed the handles of Micah's wheelchair, turned him around, and pushed him quickly out of Mr. Towers' room.
Once they were back in room 215, the door was swiftly and tightly shut.
"Those women," Gabe said through clenched teeth, but her fingers were gently rubbing at Micah's shoulders. The shock of what had just happened was still very strong-- she was helping. Just a little.
"Mm." Micah wheeled slowly over towards the bed, the girl trailing close behind. "That man-- Mr. Towers-- is he...?"
"Crazy?" murmured Gabe, and she shook her head. "Nah. He's suffered a lot; lost his wife and grandchildren in a car accident. He's... under very stressful conditions." She kneaded gently at his shoulders, working loose the tension from his muscles. "Don't worry about it," she added in a softer voice. Micah shifted and frowned.
"Are you sure? Because I think--" He stopped as her thumbs rubbed at a tense spot on his back. "--ohh. Mmn, that feels good."
"You don't need to think about him." Gabe inched her fingers carefully up the back of his neck, murmuring softly in his ear. "I'm sorry I got you up so early. I should've waited a little later."
"Mmn. No, it's all right," Micah mumbled as he let his head droop to rest against his chest. He was rather tired. Gabe smiled gently and kneaded at the back of his neck. Micah let out a slow breath of relaxation. "Mmn..."
"Better?" she asked quietly, tilting her head to look him in the eyes. He cracked an eyelid and a small smile.
"Mm hm."
"Good." Gabe pulled her fingers away and slipped in front of him. "C'mon, I'm gonna pop you back in bed." He pursed his lips in aggravation.
"But I was just getting comfortable," he complained, then stuck out his arms obediently. Gabe slid her own arms around Micah and heaved him from the chair, turning quickly and setting him on the mattress. It was an insult how easily she could pick him up, but he didn't object. It was his own fault that he was
(crippled lame disabled mutilated freak freak freak)
like this, not hers. Gabe grabbed the blankets and pulled them up to his chest, turning quickly.
"I'm going to get you some water--" Micah, seizing the opportunity, snapped out a hand and grasped the waistband of her nurse's uniform.
"Not so fast--" he began, then stopped as she came crashing back into the bed. Gabe yelped and landed on her back, nearly horizontal across his lap. They both blinked. Then Micah smirked. "Hm. That worked out better than I thought." Gabe snickered.
"Smart ass." She heaved herself to a sitting position, but Micah just pulled her right back down again. "Hey!"
"Seems you're stuck," he chuckled, poking her in the side. She yelped and sat up, but down she went.
"Ack!" Gabe flailed for a moment, then mock-glared up at him. "Oh, the cruelty!"
"I know. Try and live with it." Micah smiled to himself, leaning down to touch noses with her. She smirked gently and gave him a light kiss.
"Much as I hate it, you sexy thing, you gotta let me up. What if--"
"What is going on here?" demanded Nurse Edith. Gabe jerked immediately to a sitting position, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.
"Ack-- Edith--" She scrambled to her feet. "I'm sorry, I slipped--" The older, plumper woman just stood in the doorway, arms full of clean sheets.
"Mm hm." She scurried past Gabe, who had begun to look a little pale.
"Really, Edith, I was--"
"Don't explain, Gabrielle," Edith replied crisply. Gabe shot Micah a look, wringing her hands worriedly. He ducked his head as he blushed.
(See what your hormones have done? Bad doggy. Bad.)
"Please, you have to understand-- you can't tell Dr. Phillips--" Nurse Edith looked up.
"Tell Dr. Phillips?" She chuckled a little and looked at Micah. "I wouldn't dream of it, dearie." Gabe blinked in surprise.
"What?" she echoed dimly.
"She said she wouldn't dream of it--" Micah repeated, and Gabe smacked him gently on the arm. Edith smiled and began unfolding the sheets.
"Oh, George doesn't need to know everything that goes on around here." She grinned and winked at Micah. "Let him figure it out on his own, hm?"
"Sure," Gabe said quickly, then turned back to Micah. She gave him a sideways smirk -- one that was obviously relieved -- and pulled up a chair beside his bed. "As long as Pruitt doesn't find out." Edith shook her head rapidly, shuddering.
"Oh, no. That old witch would have you out of here quicker than you could blink." Gabe gave Micah a sidelong glance and grinned.
"So Edith-- you're really doing this because of Pruitt, aren't you?" The older woman tried to smother a smile beneath her hand.
"No, no, not at all," she said cheerily, unfolding another sheet. "To tell you the truth, the fact that I know something that Pruitt doesn't just tickles me pink." Micah just sat in silence as the two females talked back and forth, looking up for just a moment when Gabe slid her hand into his. He offered a smile
(why does she even care?)
which she readily returned.
"Welp, I'd better go get your medicine." Gabe gave his hand a pat and stood.
"Gabe, dear, I'm going with you. I need to pick up some more emergency sedatives for--" Edith was silenced with a black look from the girl.
"Right. C'mon. Micah," she said, looking over her shoulder, "will you be all right by yourself?"
"Sure thing." He made an impatient wave of his hand towards her. "Go on. The sooner you leave, the sooner you return." Gabe stuck her tongue out at him, then grinned and followed Edith out.
Micah smirked after them, leaning back in bed.
(Need some time to myself. Just a lone wolf kinda guy.)
He yawned lazily as he straightened the blankets on the bed. Things hadn't been normal, not even close, but at least they were getting better.
That was when he saw the lump at the end of his bed.
He froze for a second, then realized that whatever it was, it was too small to be of any harm. Plus, it looked motionless. Micah hesitated before snapping off the sheets. He hated what he saw
(no legs no legs)
below the waist, but what he was really looking at was the thing at the end of his bed.
It was a single cob of corn.
That would've been bad enough, but to top it all off, someone had pinned on a picture of an angry Jesus with a red thumbtack. His normally kind eyes blazed, his friendly mouth was set in a terrible grimace. And, spread across the yellow kernels below Jesus in what looked like dried
(blood?)
ketchup, there were four small words:
Thou shalt not kill.