Can you take me higher
To a place where blind men see
Can you take me higher
To a place with golden streets
--from Higher by Creed
He raised the scythe again with a grunt. At least the pathetic whimpering had been stopped; he didn't want to, but it had to be done. He was suddenly curious; who had he slaughtered? He leaned forward and squinted at the now still form.
(no no no dear god NO)
He stumbled away, dropping the bloodstained scythe to the soft husk-littered earth.
It was Gabe.
Her throat had been jaggedly cut by the blade, and crimson blood stained her white nurse's uniform. Gabe's mouth was frozen in a scream of terror. Worst of all, the girl's blue eyes were wide open, staring at him. Tears still rested in their corners from when she had begged him for mercy. Now the eyes stared at him, accusing, hating.
(You killed me.)
He pressed his hands to his mouth, backing away.
(You killed me, you murderer.)
A strangled sob welled in his throat, but he forced it back down. Gabe stared up at him through the thin sheen of blood.
(You killed me.)
(!!NO!!)
He covered his face with his arms, but her eyes still stared at him. Blue eyes that were filled with tears and blood.
(I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry--)
He grasped her hand, but it was cold and limp and dead.
(I'm so sorry, Gabe, please--)
And her eyes, doll's eyes, stared upwards. Cold and glassy. Dead.
(!!NOT GABE!!)
Micah jolted back to reality, and this time, he did scream. He almost immediately clapped his hands to his eyes, trying to force back the awful vision of Gabe.
(She was dead, and you killed her.)
"No," he whimpered. "No, it was a dream. Just a dream. She's not dead, not really--"
"Who's not dead?" The voice frightened him; it was sudden and close and horribly cold. He removed his hands from his eyes and was immensely relieved to see Gabe-- her throat intact, no blood, and perfectly normal eyes. She was standing by his bed and in the process of turning off his light. It was dark, aside from the dim glow of the lamp. It was such a beautiful relief, seeing her there, that Micah threw his arms around her.
"Oh God, Gabe--" Her body tensed.
"Mr. Balding, kindly take your hands off of me." The utter chill to her words made him wince, but he buried his face in her stomach.
"Gabe, Gabe, I had this horrible nightmare--"
"That's not my problem, Mr. Balding." Gabe pulled away harshly and began for the door. "As soon as I can speak to Dr. Phillips, you will be assigned another attendant." Micah stared at her with wide, dark eyes. His world -- or what was left of it -- was crumbling. It was crumbling before his eyes.
"Gabe, no, don't--" The girl had walked away, leaving the light on, and was heading for the door.
"Good night, Mr. Balding."
(stop her stop her stop her!)
He prepared a shout to make her halt, a harsh yell or a barked order. Instead, Micah covered his face with his hands and began to cry.
(oh you idiot stop that)
It was an awful sound to his own ears, pitiful and weak. But he couldn't help it. The horror of the dream was mingling with the very real horror before him, and his already ragged nerves had been shattered. From behind the darkness of his hands, Micah heard Gabe turn on her heel.
"Oh... oh my God, Micah, no, don't cry--" Arms slid gently around him as she continued talking, her own voice close to tears. "Don't cry, I'm so sorry, please don't cry--" He turned his face into her and hiccupped through his tears.
"It was horrible, it was you, and you were dead--" Micah sobbed and tried to force back the terrifying image. "Your throat was--"
"Sh," Gabe said in a quiet voice, holding him tightly. It suddenly hit him-- he had been forgiven.
(Not like you deserve it.)
"I'm so sorry," he whimpered. "For everything, for everything I did... I'm so sorry..." She laughed softly and ran a hand through his hair.
"Me too, Micah. Now quiet. Everything's fine." Gabe rocked him gently, waiting for the fear to leave his body.
(Gabe's alive, Gabe's forgiven you, and everything's fine.)
He looked up through eyefuls of tears and sniffed.
"No, something's wrong," he said quietly. The girl blinked and pushed his hair back from his forehead.
"What makes you say that?" Micah sniffed again, dragging a hand over his eyes.
"Don't lie," he mumbled. "Something's wrong." Gabe stared at him, brows twisting into a frown, then pressed a light kiss against his forehead.
"Okay. There's a problem." He shifted a little and waited for her to continue. There was a long pause, then she sighed in frustration. "You see, I was really upset earlier, and I already spoke to Dr. Phillips. He was upset that I bothered him with such silly things, but he said he'd move me to another patient tomorrow. He also said that any more problems and he'd move me to the unemployment line." Micah sat up as straight as he could.
"What are you saying?" he asked in a voice that sounded too panicked to be his. Gabe winced and ran a hand through her hair.
"I'm not your attendant anymore, Micah. Pruitt is." He pulled away quickly, eyes wide.
"No, that's not fair!"
"I know it's not!" cried Gabe, taking his shoulders firmly. "But I can't do anything about it! I promise, I'll drop by whenever I can--"
"Pruitt'll kill me!" Micah knew he was acting like a child -- but hell, it was late, he was tired, and this wasn't fair... "You can't leave, Gabe!" Humoring him, she kneaded at his shoulders gently.
"You make it seem like I'm being transferred to another hospital. Micah, I'll be just down the hall." He let out a little sigh of defeat and slumped down.
"Promise?" he mumbled. Gabe leaned forward and kissed his forehead tenderly.
"Promise." She smiled and gently ruffled his hair. "It's almost midnight, Micah. Go to sleep."
(Gabe lying there dead in her own blood)
"I can't," he croaked, fingers grasping her sleeves desperately. "I can't, I can't, I'll have another dream--" Gabe saw his panic and pulled him to her again.
"All right. All right. Don't sleep." She kneaded the back of his neck and frowned thoughtfully. "Would it help if I stayed with you for a while?"
(No, because I'm a weak stupid frightened little bastard who can't even--)
"Yeah," Micah admitted weakly. Gabe pulled away to turn off the light, then wrapped her arms around him again.
"Okay. Okay." She whispered to him a while longer, stroking his hair and murmuring words of comfort. It didn't even matter what she was saying after a while, because she was just there, she was there with him. Finally, Micah drifted off in the dark
(Gabe's not dead she's here and she loves me)
and fell into a reluctant sleep. He didn't dream.
He woke up to a hand being pressed against his forehead. The night's rest had done him well, as Gabe said it would, and he felt infinitely better. Micah smiled and leaned into the fingers, not noticing how they were much too bony and about forty years too old.
"Mmph. Morning, sexy."
"Excuse me, Mr. Balding?"
(Pruitt it's Pruitt you moron)
His eyes snapped open. Well, naturally, it was Pruitt, her beady little eyes surprised for once. Micah felt a hot flush creep over his cheeks.
"I-- Sorry, Nurse Pruitt," he mumbled, lowering his head to hide his embarrassment. She remained flustered for a moment, then pulled away and bustled towards the cabinet.
"Mm hm." Pruitt snatched the clipboard that Gabe had used and jotted something on it. "Temperature normal." Without looking up, she clapped her hands sharply. Micah jumped.
"What was that--"
"Stimulus normal. Physical features--" Now she glanced at him, squinting carefully. Pruitt didn't look through him, she looked at him, her eyes hard and gleaming. He didn't like it. "--still rather pale."
(I'm pale all the time, you ignorant bitch.)
"Who are you talking to?" Micah said sharply, voice dripping sarcasm. Pruitt leered.
"I'm recording your current conditions, Mr. Balding. Your former attendant didn't do so, and I am picking up her mess." He felt an unexpected flare of anger.
"Gabe didn't leave a mess," he said quietly. "She did just fine." Pruitt's lips twitched into an ugly, pursed smile.
"I see." The tone of her voice told Micah that she didn't. "Well, at any rate, I'm in charge now." That simple statement caused another pang of sudden resentment. He clasped his hands calmly in his lap and stared at the back of Pruitt's head.
"Nurse Pruitt," he said in a voice with forced gentleness, "did you put a crucifix in my bed?" The nurse paused, in the process of recording more "conditions".
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Balding."
"Sure you do," Micah insisted, not quite gentle this time. "It was a little plastic thing, a cross, Jesus nailed to it? Quite charming." Pruitt looked up and forced a tight-lipped smile.
"I merely put it there for spiritual purposes." He stared steadily at her.
"Mm. Indeed. And the Jesus made out of a corn cob? And sending the priest into the wrong room? Were those for spiritual purposes too?" The older woman's lips thinned a little more.
"I don't know what you're--"
"Can't you get fired for that?" Micah asked slowly, voice cold and hard. He knew she had put it there, just knew it. Pruitt knew it too, but she had something else up her sleeve. She approached the bed and leaned threateningly close to Micah's face.
"Just as a nurse can get fired for having a relationship with a patient." His throat suddenly felt made of cotton, dry and scratchy.
(How could she know? How?)
"What makes you say that?" he asked in a voice he hoped was nonchalant. It didn't fool Pruitt.
"Here's how it works, Mr. Balding: you keep the spiritual enlightenment to yourself and I don't tell Dr. Phillips about that blasphemous girl. Got it?" Her face had gone very hard, very tight, the corners of her mouth twitched into a sneer. Micah swallowed.
"Gabe's not blasphemous," he whispered. "She's--"
"I don't care," hissed Pruitt. "God did not intend for the blasphemous to sin with the murderous." He jerked back as if hit in the face. Anger filled him, hot and racing, and he forgot about Gabe's job.
"Take that back." Pruitt's eyes gleamed; she had hit a nerve, and she knew it.
"Don't test me, you little sinner," she said venomously. "I'll turn in your precious Gabrielle faster than you can blink." Smirking, she turned and headed for the door. Micah clenched his hands and spat after her,
"Take it back!" Pruitt gave him another thin smile.
"You know, she was named after God's angel Gabriel," she mused. The elder nurse opened the door and snorted into her hand. "Some angel." The anger turned white-hot.
"TAKE IT--" But Pruitt had already left, shutting the door tightly behind her. Micah stared after her, chest heaving with forced self-control. He had never felt so mad before; no one had ever pushed his buttons like that --
(except)
-- except his father.
("Dirty, filthy, sinning little mongrel.")
("...for the blasphemous to sin with the murderous.")
Micah shuddered at the similarity, his anger fading away to a cold dread. How had she known about Gabe?
(She can't know. There's no way.)
(But she does know!)
He put his hands to his forehead and groaned. Every time things turned out right, they went straight into another pile of shit.
(I want to talk to Gabe.)
But what he really wanted was for this to all be over-- to be someplace where he still had legs, where Pruitt left him alone, where Gabe was with him all the time.
(She is an angel, really. No matter what that bitch says.)
Someplace without corn.