The Last Wish - 19
~*~
The day was cold around him, the land dark and covered in a thin layer of mist. His eyes, flickering from one sightless flood of fog to the next, could catch only the vague impressions of landforms in the distance--the shadowy rise of a mountain, the darkened roll of a hill, the jutting zigzag of a forest against the horizon. Other than this, there was nothing, and it seemed that even his own body was becoming lost in the fog, that if he didn't keep glancing downwards to make sure that his legs were still there, they might vanish, too, become nothing more than shadowy ghosts against the mist. Suddenly afraid without knowing why, he sank to his knees on the ground, wrapped his arms around his legs and tried to focus on his breathing. The air was crisp and very cool, no murmur of sunlight to warm it, and yet for some reason, he himself felt warm. He could feel the chill of the wind on his flesh, knew that the air in his lungs was cold, the ground beneath him was cold--but, it was as if some mysterious fire burned within him, drawing the warmth through his veins until the chill of the day paled beneath it.
The inner flame felt like power inside of him--like strength--and so, he uncurled himself and rose to his feet, stared out at the land with the fire of determination in his eyes. The fog suddenly began to melt beneath his gaze--everywhere he looked, the mist dissippated immediately, fluttered into tiny flakes of snow and fell silently to the ground. Amazed by this strange power, he walked in a small circle, letting his eyes touch all the fog, all the darkness, and soon every spot of fog had burst into snow, and it was raining down on him and pricking against his flesh. At last, this work done, he lifted his eyes up to the sky, gazed at that bright grey spot where the sun was enwrapped--and by gods, even the clouds shifted beneath his gaze.
And, then, he was standing alone in a field of snow, the sunlight pale but warm on his face, and he knew very suddenly that he'd made a mistake. Trying to rid the world of all the fog, all the darkness, trying to free even the sun from its bonds--it had been too much. Too much to take on alone. And, now, he felt weakened, drained, as if the very blood within his veins was seeping out. He sank to his knees in the snow--and it was only then that he saw that it was flecked with crimson, only then that he felt the great pain in his chest, felt the great, stinging, screaming agony...
He was going...to die?
Suddenly, just as the thought flickered through his mind, he felt icy hands on his throat, cold fingers against his flesh, and the calm acceptance fled from him in a sudden flood of self-preservation.
"NO!" he shrieked, twisting in the snow, trying to pull away from the hands. "NO! I won't go! I won't! Please--!"
---
A low, dry voice echoed in his ears, then, drawing him from the dream. "Fine, then, don't go. But, if you keep thrashing like that, you're going to break another rib."
Reality trickled into him like cool water. He was lying down on a firm, plasticky mattress, wrapped in warm blankets, his head flung back against a pillow. The air that filtered into his nostrils was warm, sticky almost, sickeningly-sweet with the odor of disinfectants, medicines, and God only knew what else. So. A hospital, then.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes, blinked a few times to clear the sleep from them.
Mitsukake gazed down at him silently for a moment, impossibly tall in his white coat. A slender clipboard was tucked beneath his left arm. "It's good you're awake. I have some questions for you." His eyes went suddenly wide. "Ahh, Nuriko, I wouldn't try to sit up just y--"
"AH!" Breathing heavily in sudden pain, Nuriko fell back against the pillow, clutched at his ribs. "Ow." He glared for a moment at the tall doctor, noticing with a bit of consternation that the deep breaths only seemed to increase the pain. "Next time, tell me these things a little earlier, ne, Mitsukake?"
Mitsukake smiled, a rare enough thing in and of itself. "Usually, it's not necessary immediately after the patient wakes up. Most people who have just broken two ribs wait at least a few hours before attempting to leap out of bed." His voice went dry. "But, then, I suppose few of them are as resilient as you are." The smile faded a bit, then, and Stern Doctor Face returned. "Now," Mitsukake said, bringing the clipboard up before his eyes, "if you could answer a few questions..."
Nuriko sighed lightly, leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "Sure."
"Do you have any history of chronic pulmonary problems?"
"No."
The pen scratched against the clipboard. "Heavy smoking?"
Nuriko made a face. "No."
Scratch-scratch. "All right. Now..." Mitsukake lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the bed, drew back the blankets. "Now, when I do this--" He rested one large hand on the paper-gown-covered chest, pressed his fingers down a bit. "--does it hu--"
"AAH!"
Mitsukake gave a tight smile, scratched something down. "All right. How about here?"
"AAAHHHHH!"
Another tight smile, another scratch-scratch. "All right. How about--"
Nuriko grabbed onto the doctor's wrist, held it suspended above his chest. "Wait. Just. One. Minute," he managed, gasping against the pain. "Is this really necessary??"
Again, that thin smile touched the doctor's lips. "No, Nuriko, it's not necessary. As a matter of fact, I'm not even the doctor assigned to you. I just do this to entertain myself when things get boring in the E.R."
Nuriko sighed, closed his eyes. "Funny."
There was the rustle of cloth as Mitsukake sat back, accompanied by the subtle shifting of the mattress beneath him. "Nuriko..."
The violet-haired boy opened his eyes at the solemn note to the man's voice, found Mitsukake staring down at him with an odd expression on his face. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Mitsukake?"
The man's voice was low. "Miaka told me what happened. You know you could've been killed."
He shrugged, the realization pricking against his skin like tiny flakes of snow. "But, I wasn't." It sounded a little lame even in his own ears, but it was the truth. "Anyway--" His voice softened. "--I had to."
Mitsukake was silent for a moment, gazing contemplatively at the shelf of flowers and cards that rested just beside the bed. "I know," he said at last. "And, confidentially, it's good that you were there. If you hadn't been, Tamahome might be in some serious trouble."
Wild, dark eyes flickered into his mind at the words, made him shiver. "Tamahome," he murmured. "Is he all right?"
Mitsukake nodded. "Yes, he's all right. He had a small cut above his left eye, but that was all."
"What about...Suboshi?"
"Just bruised, mostly. His wrist is broken, and he had a few cuts on his face and arms, but nothing dire. He'll be fine in a few weeks."
Nuriko let out a heavy sigh of relief, leaned his head back against the pillow. "Good," he whispered. "Good."
//I saved him. Because of me, someone's alive who wouldn't have been.\\
Something dark and heavy thudded into his stomach.
//But, that also means that whatever he does with the rest of his life, whoever he hurts...it's my fault. If he finally manages to kill Tamahome, it's my fault.\\
He would've been glad to lay there for awhile longer, mulling over things and thinking darkly about the future, but at that moment, there was a soft knock on the door, followed by the squeak of hinges. And, then, an altogether different kind of squeak.
"Nuriko!!" Miaka squealed, rushing to the bedside. "You're awake!"
Nuriko smiled, shifting himself into a semi-sitting position VERY carefully. "Miaka," he greeted warmly. "I'm glad you're here."
Miaka's small hand was suddenly wrapped around his own, her weight tugging gently at the mattress. "Nuriko," she managed, eyes suddenly large and teary. "I-I'm so glad you're okay! I was so scared that you were...y-you were--"
Dead, his mind finished. She'd thought he was dead.
Don't you remember that you DIED?!
It felt like so long ago, that moment in the school hallway. And, yet, ever since then, things had been falling slowly apart. Tamahome's family dying, Tamahome attacking Suboshi in the hospital, Suboshi returning for revenge, Amiboshi showing up with tales of murder...and, talk of this book. This damned, damned book where people they loved died--where he died, where Hotohori died. Where Mitsukake and Chiriko died. He knew he should be confused--good God, just a few hours ago, he'd lifted the equivalent of a full-sized adult up through a window with one hand!--but, for some reason, things made an eerie kind of sense. It was as if he'd been living in a fog for all his life, unable to see the truth that was glaring just in front of him. Yet, now, suddenly, the air was clear again, and all the land he'd never seen was stretching out before him, rolling off towards a horizon he'd never dreamed of glimpsing.
Mitsukake's voice boomed through his thoughts, drew him up out of the reverie. "He has two broken ribs," he said slowly, glancing between them as he spoke. "Luckily, that seems to be all--except for a small bruise on his shoulder and a slight strain to his right wrist--but, it almost would've been better if he'd broken something else. Normally, when a bone is broken, it has to be immobilized so it'll heal. In the case of ribs, though, that's impossible."
Miaka suddenly looked alarmed. "Why? Why can't you fix them? Is Nuriko going to die??"
Mitsukake stared at her in surprise for a moment, eyes wide and blinking...and, then, he smiled, shook his head gently. "No. No, he's not going to die. Please, calm down, Miaka--Nuriko's in no danger. As I was saying, it's impossible to immobilize ribs, because the patient has to breathe. And, when you breathe--" He glanced at Miaka expectantly.
"Your ribs move," she finished, looking a little sheepish. "What can you do for him, then? He's not gonna have to lay here until they heal, is he??"
Mitsukake shook his head. "No. I'm going to give him something to help with the pain--it's called a rib belt, and it should make it easier to breathe without too much pain." His eyes shifted back to the violet-haired patient. "I'll also give you some painkillers, since it's best that you try to get away from using the rib belt after a few days."
Startled, Nuriko stared at the man. "You mean, I can go home? Soon?"
He nodded. "Yes. I'm going to try to get you out of here as soon as possible." Another thin smile. "It's high school prom season, after all. We're going to need every bed we can spare."
God. Prom... In the blur of all that had been going on, he'd completely forgotten about it--about all normal things. It was hard to remember that he was a high school senior, that he had papers due and finals to study for and a prom in just a few days. Why did he feel so displaced from everything all of a sudden?
"Anyway," Mitsukake continued after a moment's pause, "I'm going to go finish up your chart and write out a prescription. But, first of all, it's very important that you do a few things over the next few days. First of all, wear the rib belt for the first few days constantly, and then taper off after that, wearing it only when you really need to. Second of all, make sure that you take lots of deep breaths, even if it hurts. Coughing, also, is important."
Nuriko frowned. "Why?"
"To prevent pneumonia. Now. If you do everything I've told you--wear the rib belt, take deep breaths, cough--then, you should be just fine. The pain and discomfort will fade off over about two weeks' time, and then we'll schedule a follow-up visit so I can see how you're healing. And, Nuriko." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I know you're...an active person. But, this is very, very important. No strenuous activity at ALL for at least eight weeks."
His eyes went wide. "E-Eight weeks?"
"Yes. And, if the pain gets worse instead of better, or if you have shortness of breath or a fever, then get in touch with me immediately. All right?"
Nuriko nodded.
"Miaka told me earlier that your parents were out of town."
"Hai. They're up visiting Rokou. They won't be back for another few days."
"I would suggest calling them. Under the circumstances, it's best if you're not all alone in a house. It'll be very difficult to get things done, for one thing, and for another, if something goes wrong, there'll be no one to help you."
Miaka sat up straight on the bed, jostling Nuriko a bit painfully. "I'll stay with him!" she exclaimed.
The seventeen-year-old frowned slightly, touching gently at his ribs as if to hold them in place. "What about Tamahome?"
Miaka shook her head. "Don't worry about him. He's staying with Hotohori, now."
"Hotohori?"
"Un. Don't worry, Hotohori's got lots of room in that big house."
"But..." The frown deepened. "Miaka, you have school. You can't just skip a week to take care of me."
Miaka was smiling, but there was something dark in her eyes--something like fear. "Of course, I can!" she protested, and Nuriko noticed that her voice was a little too high, her words a little to quick. "It'll be fun. Like a big sleepover, ne? And, I can keep things clean and answer the phone and bring you things and cook!"
Nuriko made a face. "Ano..." He raised an eyebrow in Mitsukake's direction. "Cooking isn't a strenuous acitivity, is it? O-Onegai?"
Mitsukake smiled. "No. Cooking should be fine. And, off the record, I think Miaka staying with you is a good idea. Of course--" The smile bent a bit. "--officially, skipping out on school for it isn't a good idea, but...I'm sure we can arrange something."
Miaka, suddenly, had circled the bed and leaped at the startled doctor, was hugging him tightly. "Arrigato, Mitsukake!" she cried. "I'll take good care of him!"
"I'm sure you will. But, please, for his safety and yours, let Nuriko do the cooking."
"H...hai."
---
~*~
The day was cold around him, the land dark and covered in a thin layer of mist. His eyes, flickering from one sightless flood of fog to the next, could catch only the vague impressions of landforms in the distance--the shadowy rise of a mountain, the darkened roll of a hill, the jutting zigzag of a forest against the horizon. Other than this, there was nothing, and it seemed that even his own body was becoming lost in the fog, that if he didn't keep glancing downwards to make sure that his legs were still there, they might vanish, too, become nothing more than shadowy ghosts against the mist. Suddenly afraid without knowing why, he sank to his knees on the ground, wrapped his arms around his legs and tried to focus on his breathing. The air was crisp and very cool, no murmur of sunlight to warm it, and yet for some reason, he himself felt warm. He could feel the chill of the wind on his flesh, knew that the air in his lungs was cold, the ground beneath him was cold--but, it was as if some mysterious fire burned within him, drawing the warmth through his veins until the chill of the day paled beneath it.
The inner flame felt like power inside of him--like strength--and so, he uncurled himself and rose to his feet, stared out at the land with the fire of determination in his eyes. The fog suddenly began to melt beneath his gaze--everywhere he looked, the mist dissippated immediately, fluttered into tiny flakes of snow and fell silently to the ground. Amazed by this strange power, he walked in a small circle, letting his eyes touch all the fog, all the darkness, and soon every spot of fog had burst into snow, and it was raining down on him and pricking against his flesh. At last, this work done, he lifted his eyes up to the sky, gazed at that bright grey spot where the sun was enwrapped--and by gods, even the clouds shifted beneath his gaze.
And, then, he was standing alone in a field of snow, the sunlight pale but warm on his face, and he knew very suddenly that he'd made a mistake. Trying to rid the world of all the fog, all the darkness, trying to free even the sun from its bonds--it had been too much. Too much to take on alone. And, now, he felt weakened, drained, as if the very blood within his veins was seeping out. He sank to his knees in the snow--and it was only then that he saw that it was flecked with crimson, only then that he felt the great pain in his chest, felt the great, stinging, screaming agony...
He was going...to die?
Suddenly, just as the thought flickered through his mind, he felt icy hands on his throat, cold fingers against his flesh, and the calm acceptance fled from him in a sudden flood of self-preservation.
"NO!" he shrieked, twisting in the snow, trying to pull away from the hands. "NO! I won't go! I won't! Please--!"
---
A low, dry voice echoed in his ears, then, drawing him from the dream. "Fine, then, don't go. But, if you keep thrashing like that, you're going to break another rib."
Reality trickled into him like cool water. He was lying down on a firm, plasticky mattress, wrapped in warm blankets, his head flung back against a pillow. The air that filtered into his nostrils was warm, sticky almost, sickeningly-sweet with the odor of disinfectants, medicines, and God only knew what else. So. A hospital, then.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes, blinked a few times to clear the sleep from them.
Mitsukake gazed down at him silently for a moment, impossibly tall in his white coat. A slender clipboard was tucked beneath his left arm. "It's good you're awake. I have some questions for you." His eyes went suddenly wide. "Ahh, Nuriko, I wouldn't try to sit up just y--"
"AH!" Breathing heavily in sudden pain, Nuriko fell back against the pillow, clutched at his ribs. "Ow." He glared for a moment at the tall doctor, noticing with a bit of consternation that the deep breaths only seemed to increase the pain. "Next time, tell me these things a little earlier, ne, Mitsukake?"
Mitsukake smiled, a rare enough thing in and of itself. "Usually, it's not necessary immediately after the patient wakes up. Most people who have just broken two ribs wait at least a few hours before attempting to leap out of bed." His voice went dry. "But, then, I suppose few of them are as resilient as you are." The smile faded a bit, then, and Stern Doctor Face returned. "Now," Mitsukake said, bringing the clipboard up before his eyes, "if you could answer a few questions..."
Nuriko sighed lightly, leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "Sure."
"Do you have any history of chronic pulmonary problems?"
"No."
The pen scratched against the clipboard. "Heavy smoking?"
Nuriko made a face. "No."
Scratch-scratch. "All right. Now..." Mitsukake lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the bed, drew back the blankets. "Now, when I do this--" He rested one large hand on the paper-gown-covered chest, pressed his fingers down a bit. "--does it hu--"
"AAH!"
Mitsukake gave a tight smile, scratched something down. "All right. How about here?"
"AAAHHHHH!"
Another tight smile, another scratch-scratch. "All right. How about--"
Nuriko grabbed onto the doctor's wrist, held it suspended above his chest. "Wait. Just. One. Minute," he managed, gasping against the pain. "Is this really necessary??"
Again, that thin smile touched the doctor's lips. "No, Nuriko, it's not necessary. As a matter of fact, I'm not even the doctor assigned to you. I just do this to entertain myself when things get boring in the E.R."
Nuriko sighed, closed his eyes. "Funny."
There was the rustle of cloth as Mitsukake sat back, accompanied by the subtle shifting of the mattress beneath him. "Nuriko..."
The violet-haired boy opened his eyes at the solemn note to the man's voice, found Mitsukake staring down at him with an odd expression on his face. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Mitsukake?"
The man's voice was low. "Miaka told me what happened. You know you could've been killed."
He shrugged, the realization pricking against his skin like tiny flakes of snow. "But, I wasn't." It sounded a little lame even in his own ears, but it was the truth. "Anyway--" His voice softened. "--I had to."
Mitsukake was silent for a moment, gazing contemplatively at the shelf of flowers and cards that rested just beside the bed. "I know," he said at last. "And, confidentially, it's good that you were there. If you hadn't been, Tamahome might be in some serious trouble."
Wild, dark eyes flickered into his mind at the words, made him shiver. "Tamahome," he murmured. "Is he all right?"
Mitsukake nodded. "Yes, he's all right. He had a small cut above his left eye, but that was all."
"What about...Suboshi?"
"Just bruised, mostly. His wrist is broken, and he had a few cuts on his face and arms, but nothing dire. He'll be fine in a few weeks."
Nuriko let out a heavy sigh of relief, leaned his head back against the pillow. "Good," he whispered. "Good."
//I saved him. Because of me, someone's alive who wouldn't have been.\\
Something dark and heavy thudded into his stomach.
//But, that also means that whatever he does with the rest of his life, whoever he hurts...it's my fault. If he finally manages to kill Tamahome, it's my fault.\\
He would've been glad to lay there for awhile longer, mulling over things and thinking darkly about the future, but at that moment, there was a soft knock on the door, followed by the squeak of hinges. And, then, an altogether different kind of squeak.
"Nuriko!!" Miaka squealed, rushing to the bedside. "You're awake!"
Nuriko smiled, shifting himself into a semi-sitting position VERY carefully. "Miaka," he greeted warmly. "I'm glad you're here."
Miaka's small hand was suddenly wrapped around his own, her weight tugging gently at the mattress. "Nuriko," she managed, eyes suddenly large and teary. "I-I'm so glad you're okay! I was so scared that you were...y-you were--"
Dead, his mind finished. She'd thought he was dead.
Don't you remember that you DIED?!
It felt like so long ago, that moment in the school hallway. And, yet, ever since then, things had been falling slowly apart. Tamahome's family dying, Tamahome attacking Suboshi in the hospital, Suboshi returning for revenge, Amiboshi showing up with tales of murder...and, talk of this book. This damned, damned book where people they loved died--where he died, where Hotohori died. Where Mitsukake and Chiriko died. He knew he should be confused--good God, just a few hours ago, he'd lifted the equivalent of a full-sized adult up through a window with one hand!--but, for some reason, things made an eerie kind of sense. It was as if he'd been living in a fog for all his life, unable to see the truth that was glaring just in front of him. Yet, now, suddenly, the air was clear again, and all the land he'd never seen was stretching out before him, rolling off towards a horizon he'd never dreamed of glimpsing.
Mitsukake's voice boomed through his thoughts, drew him up out of the reverie. "He has two broken ribs," he said slowly, glancing between them as he spoke. "Luckily, that seems to be all--except for a small bruise on his shoulder and a slight strain to his right wrist--but, it almost would've been better if he'd broken something else. Normally, when a bone is broken, it has to be immobilized so it'll heal. In the case of ribs, though, that's impossible."
Miaka suddenly looked alarmed. "Why? Why can't you fix them? Is Nuriko going to die??"
Mitsukake stared at her in surprise for a moment, eyes wide and blinking...and, then, he smiled, shook his head gently. "No. No, he's not going to die. Please, calm down, Miaka--Nuriko's in no danger. As I was saying, it's impossible to immobilize ribs, because the patient has to breathe. And, when you breathe--" He glanced at Miaka expectantly.
"Your ribs move," she finished, looking a little sheepish. "What can you do for him, then? He's not gonna have to lay here until they heal, is he??"
Mitsukake shook his head. "No. I'm going to give him something to help with the pain--it's called a rib belt, and it should make it easier to breathe without too much pain." His eyes shifted back to the violet-haired patient. "I'll also give you some painkillers, since it's best that you try to get away from using the rib belt after a few days."
Startled, Nuriko stared at the man. "You mean, I can go home? Soon?"
He nodded. "Yes. I'm going to try to get you out of here as soon as possible." Another thin smile. "It's high school prom season, after all. We're going to need every bed we can spare."
God. Prom... In the blur of all that had been going on, he'd completely forgotten about it--about all normal things. It was hard to remember that he was a high school senior, that he had papers due and finals to study for and a prom in just a few days. Why did he feel so displaced from everything all of a sudden?
"Anyway," Mitsukake continued after a moment's pause, "I'm going to go finish up your chart and write out a prescription. But, first of all, it's very important that you do a few things over the next few days. First of all, wear the rib belt for the first few days constantly, and then taper off after that, wearing it only when you really need to. Second of all, make sure that you take lots of deep breaths, even if it hurts. Coughing, also, is important."
Nuriko frowned. "Why?"
"To prevent pneumonia. Now. If you do everything I've told you--wear the rib belt, take deep breaths, cough--then, you should be just fine. The pain and discomfort will fade off over about two weeks' time, and then we'll schedule a follow-up visit so I can see how you're healing. And, Nuriko." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I know you're...an active person. But, this is very, very important. No strenuous activity at ALL for at least eight weeks."
His eyes went wide. "E-Eight weeks?"
"Yes. And, if the pain gets worse instead of better, or if you have shortness of breath or a fever, then get in touch with me immediately. All right?"
Nuriko nodded.
"Miaka told me earlier that your parents were out of town."
"Hai. They're up visiting Rokou. They won't be back for another few days."
"I would suggest calling them. Under the circumstances, it's best if you're not all alone in a house. It'll be very difficult to get things done, for one thing, and for another, if something goes wrong, there'll be no one to help you."
Miaka sat up straight on the bed, jostling Nuriko a bit painfully. "I'll stay with him!" she exclaimed.
The seventeen-year-old frowned slightly, touching gently at his ribs as if to hold them in place. "What about Tamahome?"
Miaka shook her head. "Don't worry about him. He's staying with Hotohori, now."
"Hotohori?"
"Un. Don't worry, Hotohori's got lots of room in that big house."
"But..." The frown deepened. "Miaka, you have school. You can't just skip a week to take care of me."
Miaka was smiling, but there was something dark in her eyes--something like fear. "Of course, I can!" she protested, and Nuriko noticed that her voice was a little too high, her words a little to quick. "It'll be fun. Like a big sleepover, ne? And, I can keep things clean and answer the phone and bring you things and cook!"
Nuriko made a face. "Ano..." He raised an eyebrow in Mitsukake's direction. "Cooking isn't a strenuous acitivity, is it? O-Onegai?"
Mitsukake smiled. "No. Cooking should be fine. And, off the record, I think Miaka staying with you is a good idea. Of course--" The smile bent a bit. "--officially, skipping out on school for it isn't a good idea, but...I'm sure we can arrange something."
Miaka, suddenly, had circled the bed and leaped at the startled doctor, was hugging him tightly. "Arrigato, Mitsukake!" she cried. "I'll take good care of him!"
"I'm sure you will. But, please, for his safety and yours, let Nuriko do the cooking."
"H...hai."
---