Author's To-Do List: 1. Finish Chemistry homework. 2. Get up to date with English class work, including reading Hamlet. 3. Update maths summary notebook, cringe over calculus, and wonder in amazement over why I chose such a difficult maths course. 4. Produce four sustained, developed, and above all artistic artworks. 5. Die a slow, painful, schoolwork-induced death. 6. Scream in pure excitement and delight bordering on insanity that winter holidays are here.

7. WRITE THE REST OF MY STORY.

I promise you, I have not left it alone to die.

Author's disclaimer: Sometimes I like to delude myself into thinking that I own it, when, in fact, I do not. Such is life.

Chapter 7 - Found

Aster James watched her useless fingers as they rested on the piano. Just now, she hated her fingers. She hated her body. It had betrayed her. And she was stuck with it.

She wasn't sitting at the most beautiful piano, but it was a piano nonetheless, and that was what mattered. She felt more at home on the stool of the large instrument then she did in any other chair. She'd been playing since the age of seven, for goodness sake… ten years of music lessons, of critical teachers, critical parents, of learning Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin… ten years filled with music. She'd always been around music, around it and within it. She didn't know what a life without music was like. And now, because her body couldn't handle it, she was forced to abandon the thing that she loved?

A constant stream of hot tears spilled down her face, falling on the lovely black and white keys. She'd never been a loud person. Often, people mistook it for arrogance, or just plain shyness. She didn't care, they weren't the type of people she wanted to be around anyway. The thing was, she just wasn't loud. She was solitary. She never cried in front of other people, not even her mom and dad. Crying was only for extreme times, for the solace of her room, when nobody was there to see. And emotions were for the piano. When her fingers were running up and down the beautiful notes, she ceased to exist… all her worries and her cares were carried by the music. Her parents had never agreed with spending that money on lessons, though. They couldn't see the difference between making music and not making music. They didn't understand. They couldn't make music.

Aster shook a little as she drew a breath, closed her eyes, and pressed a key with her stiff finger. She mouthed the words with quivering lips: "C sharp." She'd always had perfect pitch. She could pick any note, and she'd be right. Opening her eyes, the girl looked at her finger, resting on the black note. It was correct.

Maybe this would be the last time she'd ever play something. She hadn't touched a piano for weeks, and it had almost killed her. She knew that she was most probably going to get worse. She'd seen what arthritis did to old people. Once, she'd played in a nursing home, for a group of lonely grandparents that the world had forgotten… it seemed that way, anyway, as she'd walked between them at the end. They'd clasped her hands between their shaking ones and thanked her over and over for coming to give them music, because nobody else ever did. When she'd gotten back to her room that night, she'd cried. And now, she was like them. She couldn't even bring them music anymore. She didn't need to wait for any test results. She knew it, deep down. She was seventeen years old, and she had arthritis.

Wincing at the pain in her fingers, Aster stretched them as far as she possibly could, and brought them down onto the keys. Before she could think, her fingers started playing. That was the way it had always been. She never had to think when she played, it just came.

The girl swallowed a sob, sniffling as a tear trickled down her chin, and her body took the full force of the emotion. Her shoulders shook, but she kept playing. This was the way she wanted it to be. It was the only thing she needed. Was it really too much to ask? Was it honestly too much for a girl to ask, that she should be able to do just one thing? The bimbos in her grade had never once laid so much as a pinkie on a musical instrument, she was sure of it. Why did they get to have perfect bodies? Her fingers hurt, and she could barely move them, but they flirted and flaunted and painted their nails and waved them from the backseats of convertibles without a second thought. It just wasn't fair.

The song Aster played was a simple one, just chords, over and over again. She twisted her stiff fingers into the next position, sometimes she missed a note or two, sometimes she hit them… but she was playing. And the pain in her chest hurt more than the pain in her fingers. It was her heart, she was sure of it. It hurt more than anything else she could describe, as the notes swirled past her closed eyes and she felt them, so close but so far away.

---

Abby was beginning to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

She'd felt brave, deciding to leave the ER. She'd felt something like her old self again. That's what she would have done, wouldn't she? If she wanted to do something, then she'd get along and do it, no questions asked. She thought that maybe, just maybe if she'd done something with herself, if she'd made an effort to move and walk and talk and come to terms with everything, she'd be on the path to recovery. Of course nothing was instant, but surely – she'd been able to keep herself away from a serious drink for years. Why should this be any different? Why couldn't she just work through the steps? Needless to say, any confidence she'd had was now draining into nervousness and anxiety. There was still the constant pad of her feet, but every now and again there would be the shuffling of shoes and she'd pass a surgeon or nurse in the corridor. They'd glance at her strangely, some of them would even smile. She couldn't decide wether she felt like running away or knocking them to the ground.

She felt sure there were eyes watching her from behind, yet when she turned over her shoulder there was rarely anybody there. She could have sworn there were people between the gaps of vertical blinds, or that the next person to come around the corridor would be a person she recognized. Abby hugged her arms around protectively around herself. Maybe she could get back to elevator right now, slip straight back into exam two and nobody would even know she'd left. They probably hadn't noticed the first time she'd disappeared. Why a second time? Abby stopped, debating silently wether or not to turn herself around.

Then all of a sudden, he appeared around the corner, and he was heading straight in her direction.

She guessed he was a surgeon, judging by the sterile cap and mask. He was tall, middle-aged, and she couldn't place why she didn't recognise him. Perhaps he was visiting. Why he should be visiting County she couldn't imagine, but he strode tall and proud in her direction as if he owned the entire place. Abby felt herself shrink in his presence. He was tall and imposing. She felt small, naked, and vulnerable. She hungered for the floor to swallow her up.

Abby followed him with calculating eyes as she shrank close to the wall, hoping her presence might go unnoticed or that he might decide to turn around and head the other way. Still, he drew nearer. He walked closer and closer. His head turned her way, and it was then that everything seemed to move in slow motion. The surgeon slowly rolled down his mask, and he looked directly at her. Abby pressed herself as far as she could into the wall. His strong, muscular hands looked like something that could overpower her in an instant. They reminded her of the ones that had grabbed her so roughly, that had held the gun to her. He smiled.

Abby's eyes grew wide. He seemed to bear down upon her – something in those eyes seemed so dark and menacing, and she could almost feel his cold hands clasped around her wrists, a gun jabbing her shoulder. She imagined him just reaching out, clapping a hand over her mouth and forcing her into a side door, where no one could even hear her scream for help. Abby felt her breath become hard and drawn, and the cold wall behind her seemed to push her forward, right into his path. The corridor was spinning so quickly, so quickly that she thought she might faint.

Then something in the back of her mind snapped. He was almost in front of her, that smile still upon his lips, and her world suddenly stopped reeling. Something like an instinct kicked in, and she knew she had to protect herself, to fight, and to get away. She knew she had to stop it any way she could. Every way she could. Abby shook herself, scrambled past him, and hurried down the corridor as fast as her aching legs could carry her.

It wasn't until she'd turned numerous corners and collapsed against a wall, her head and chest heavy and her lungs burning for air, that she'd realised she hadn't been followed. It dawned on her that he'd never actually come within five metres of her. Slowly, she slid down the length of the wall, hitting the ground with a distant thump.

Abby coughed, sucking in the air as she dropped her head into her hands. Oh God, she was stupid. How had she ever expected to return to some resemblance of normality? She was a wreck. She was burned, and there was no way she was going to get out of this hole. Not even with Susan's help. Those damn steps. What use were they to anyone? Abby moaned, a little whimper of frustration. Was she ever going to be able to be able to leave herself alone with another man again? Why had she brought Susan into this? What had she done?

Abby stared upwards at the ceiling, her chest heaving. This is it, she thought, I don't think I can get up. Her bottom lip quivered as she stared hard at the ugly, white ceiling, and fought back the tears. This is it. Her limbs felt utterly spent. She just felt like curling up and dying.

Then Abby heard something – something she wasn't used to hearing in a hospital. The sound seemed out of place. It didn't match the sterile, sanitised environment, in fact it seemed so far removed from everything around her that Abby wondered if she was imagining things. It was music, piano music. A little stilted and hesitant, completely out of place and barely audible, but it was still music. Nice, peaceful. Sad.

Abby placed both her shaking hands on the floor and awkwardly lifted herself into a standing position. Her legs shook a little and ached like crazy, but she could stand. At least she could do that. The music became a little louder as she ventured around a corner, and she started to follow the sound, walking curiously but apprehensively towards the end of the hallway.

As Abby rounded the next corner, her mind began to piece together all the different fragments of information. The music was getting louder and louder as she neared the end of a long corridor, where a sign was hanging overhead with an arrow pointing to the right, directing her to the 'Chapel'. Of course. Where else would there have been a piano? She was hearing real music – someone was playing. She wondered who. Abby paused a few moments, debating internally wether or not she really wanted to know. Did she really want to confront another person? After what she'd just done…. In the end, curiosity got the better of her, and Abby decided to peer around the edge of the doorway and just observe.

She was met with a different sort of light to the stark, sanitised, artificial hospital light. True, this light was artificial too, but it seemed a little softer. A lot more tempered, much more easy on the eyes and not nearly as ugly. The chapel was empty. Empty, save for the ornaments up the front, and a lone figure sitting just off to the right at a piano stool, playing.

The first thing that struck Abby about the person was her hair – it seemed to be the same colour as her t-shirt. With hair that colour, like straw or honey, who would have thought you could find a matching shirt? And she couldn't seem tell how old the person was. Twenty something? She had a nice figure. Abby felt a vague notion of jealousy. She also noticed that the woman wasn't wearing a hospital gown. Abby sucked in a cautious breath. Was she patient, or Doctor? Ally or enemy?

Collecting herself, Abby decided it couldn't hurt anyone to go in and listen. She ducked her head self-consciously, and discreetly skirted the edge of the pews. It was slightly ironic, Abby thought, the fact that she never visited the chapel when she was at the hospital for hours on end, yet here she was – completely at random, and the first place she actually decided to stay in for more than ten seconds was the chapel. But there was nobody else in sight, and she felt herself relax a little as she approached the figure. It was kind of peaceful in the chapel, and the music added to the atmosphere. Abby sat a few rows from the front, and let herself listen.

The music was nice, and whoever was playing it didn't seem to mind that Abby was there. Either that, or they didn't seem to notice. Abby liked it better that way, and she slouched her shoulders a little, taking in her surroundings. The chapel, she noticed, didn't seem to belong to any particular sect or denomination. There was a cross up the front, a lectern of some description, a few paintings hanging at irregular intervals along the wall, but apart from that it didn't seem to be distinctly catholic, protestant, or anything much. Very… ecumenical, versatile – Abby mused, her eyes resting on painting hanging on the wall to her right. It was a rather intriguing painting – of a woman, wearing a blue dress and with straight, brown hair falling just below her shoulders. She was sitting in front of a window, but she didn't look out of it – instead, she gazed right out from the painting, her eyes half lively and half sad, and her lips caught somewhere between an expressionless line and a smile. Abby couldn't decide wether she looked like she was about to cry, or about to laugh – but something else was very interesting. It was her hand. It was resting on the window sill, and it had a pink, jagged scar running just above the thumb. Weird. The painting seemed very fitting for a hospital chapel. I wonder who paid for that one? Abby thought, staring up with admiration. She found herself deciding that she liked it.

It was a few moments before Abby suddenly realised that the music had stopped. As she noticed the silence, she felt her body tense immediately – making her realise just how relaxed she'd allowed herself to become. Maybe she shouldn't have come in after all. Maybe she should have just stayed outside, and listened. Abby had the unmistakeable feeling that a pair of eyes was watching her, and sure enough, when she turned her gaze to the figure seated at the piano, two round, frightened blue eyes were gazing straight back. There was nothing Abby could do but hold her gaze with the woman at the piano, only Abby realised it wasn't a woman, it was a girl. She couldn't even have been eighteen. Her figure didn't show it, but her face did. Most noticeably, the girl's eyes were puffy and red. She'd been crying.

Neither spoke for awhile. They sat there, Abby in her wooden pew with her scrub pants and hospital gown, and the tall girl with her blue jeans and honey/straw coloured shirt. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it was calculating. Each felt the other taking in their respective appearance and trying to piece together the situation in their mind. Abby couldn't help but feel guilty that she'd barged in on such a personal moment, because it did seem personal, now that she thought about it. A girl sitting at the piano, her eyes puffy and red, her cheeks glistening… It wasn't right of her to walk in uninvited, not when she didn't want to see anyone herself. Abby quickly stood up to leave.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have- I'm sorry." Abby mumbled hastily, before being cut off by the girl.

"Who are you?"

It was a blunt question. Clean, straight, and to the point. Abby felt it deserved a blunt answer.

"I'm Abby." Abby replied impassively, unmoving. Something was making her stay where she was, and she wasn't sure why. The girl didn't say anything in return, but just sat staring with her puffy eyes, and for barely a flicker in time, Abby thought she saw something familiar in the tear streaked face. Then she brushed the feeling away as quick as it had come. Whatever the case, she didn't feel afraid of the girl. She couldn't, really. Not when the girl seemed so afraid of her. Abby sat down awkwardly.

"That was beautiful playing," she offered to the girl. It had been nice playing, and Abby didn't feel she could intrude without at least offering a compliment.

The girl nodded her head in a barely discernible action, but left her head looking down. She sniffled quietly.

"It wasn't anything special."

But it was, thought Abby, it was. It got me up off that floor. That has to count for something.

"It was nice." Abby mused out loud.

"Thanks." The girl whispered, unsmilingly. Abby watched, and began to wonder why the girl was crying. She most definitely wasn't a doctor, way too young. Who was she, then? Why was she here? Had somebody done something to her?

"What's your name?" Abby questioned, finding with a surprise that she was genuinely interested to know. Sometimes, when working, that question could become a reflex action. Less often for her than for, say, someone like Ray, but nevertheless, she'd asked it a lot. It was nice to know it still had a bit of meaning in the real world.

"Aster." The girl murmured, wiping away a stray tear. Then for one terrible second, Abby noticed the face contort with pain, and the girl gasped as she brought her arm away from her face. Then, as quick as it had appeared the expression was gone, and she rested her hands in her lap and returned to a quiet, wary composure. Abby thought it must have been her imagination, but something made her wonder.

"Are you in pain?" Abby inquired softly, hoping that she didn't sound too much like a Doctor. That was all she needed right now, to start treating everybody around her like a patient. A voice in the back of her head told her that it was none of her business. Maybe she'd even imagined. Imagined a face contorting in such pain? Still, she went against feeling, and waited to see if the girl would respond.

Aster regarded her hesitantly for a moment or two, as if deciding wether or not she was trustworthy. Then, at length, she nodded a slow yes. Abby watched, saddened and guilty as a fresh stream of tears suddenly leaked down Aster's cheeks and the girl slowly twisted herself around to face the piano. Abby felt awful. She'd made the girl cry. It was none of her business, she shouldn't have even asked, and she'd made the girl cry. Abby half expected the music to start again, but it didn't. There was nothing but the silent shaking of Aster's shoulders and the occasional, barely audible sob as she cried to herself. Crying in the chapel. It was painful to hear such quiet sadness.

Abby looked on silently for a few moments. Her mind was ticking, for once, taken away from her own troubles. A girl who cried when she played the piano, who seemed to be in bodily pain, who couldn't so much as lift an hand to wipe her eyes without her face contorting in anguish… there were a few possibilities for such a scenario, none of which were particularly good.

Then Abby found herself getting up, and slowly approaching the piano. Maybe it was stupid of her, but she felt like there was some sort of connection. Like somehow, they might just understand one another a little. She vaguely remembered something Frank had said to her once, about women being too emotional about these sorts of things, about how they always got too emotionally attached to the patient to even contemplate messing around with chest tubes and scalpels. Of course it was outright sexist, but she'd gotten used to those sorts of things coming from Frank. Maybe some of it was true. But at that moment, Abby didn't care. She let herself become emotionally attached. Besides, she wasn't the Doctor anymore. The socks on her feet made her approach silent, and she quietly lowered herself onto the piano stool beside Aster, reaching an instinctive hand to rub the girl's back.

"Shhh…" Abby mumbled quietly, her eyes silently surveying the room about them as she gently rubbed Aster's shoulder. "Shhh… It's okay. It's okay." Aster shook, and the tears fell in small, clear circles in the piano keys but Abby continued. "It's okay. Don't worry."

Abby's eyes were drawn back to the piano as she watched Aster reach stiff, swollen fingers to wipe her tears from the black and white keys. She cares about that instrument more than she does about herself, Abby thought in bewilderment. She was about to reach into her pocket for a packet of tissues, before she suddenly remembered she didn't have her coat on any more. Then Aster whispered, in a voice thick with tears.

"I've got arthritis. I don't think its gonna be okay."

The word dropped like a bomb. Arthritis. No wonder the girl was in pain. Out of all the things in this world that could happen, arthritis? She was just a girl. Abby found herself glaring at the crucifix up the front of the room. Why? Why had she had a gun trained upon her all night, and why was a kid doomed to live out her youth like she was eighty years old? Abby turned again to look at the down-turned, honey coloured head. Then it was as if she'd been struck by lightning. She knew what was so familiar about Aster's face. She could see her own face, there. The puffy eyes, the tear streaked cheeks, and that one, agonizing question.

Why me?

Abby felt hot tears sting the corners of her eyes. Maybe she'd never figure out the answer. Maybe neither of them ever would. Maybe that was just the way things were. She was going to live with the memories of this night for the rest of her life, and Aster was going to live with a debilitating disease the rest of her life. Tracing gentle movements along the crying girl's shoulder blades, Abby swallowed and glanced at the painting of the woman with the scar.

"We're gonna be okay," she mumbled softly, trying to control her voice as best she could. Then more determined as she glanced at the down-turned head, "The both of us. Alright?"

Aster stifled a sob. Quietly she looked up, and Abby watched as she nodded her head slowly.

"Both of us?" Aster whispered, trying to wipe her face on her shirt sleeve.

Abby gazed back with serious brown eyes.

"Both of us."

The silence that followed was comfortable. Abby stared down at the piano, seeing but not seeing – looking beyond what was there. In her mind she saw herself sitting, slumped against that wall, and remembered hearing that music. It had been nice. Somehow, it had gotten her to stand up again.

Abby glanced sideways at Aster, and raised her eyebrows raised with an earnest question.

"Do you think you could play that song again?"

The girl lifted her head, her forehead knotted in confusion for a moment. At length she nodded, whispering, "I think so."

Wordlessly, Aster lowered her swollen fingers onto the keys, and pressed the notes quietly. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain, and once again the sad, peaceful tune filled the chapel. Abby's gaze drifted across the room, back to the woman in the painting. She still couldn't decide wether she was smiling or frowning, happy or sad, laughing or crying. It was distantly aggravating, yet also… intriguing. Regardless of anything, the woman just sat there – waiting endlessly at her windowsill, never looking out. Abby wondered wether or not there was a nice view.

It seemed to strange that only hours ago, Susan had been her, telling her that she was going to be okay. Abby hadn't really believed it, then. She wasn't sure if she believed now, but as her gaze drifted back to Aster's down turned head, and her stiff, swollen fingers gently pressing the keys, she realised it needed to be true. For both of their sakes.

---

The slight heel on Neela's black leather shoes echoed in the corridor as she hurried along. Outwardly, she was an anxious, fidgeting, speeding Intern who had somehow managed to lose a patient. Inwardly, she was flabbergasted that one corridor could contain so many doors – that all looked exactly the same. Some of them were open, and she quickly scanned the rooms with large, dark eyes but those that weren't she brushed past, trying to get wherever she was going as fast as she possibly could.

"Please, please…" the Doctor muttered over and over to herself, contemplating wether or not she should sit down and wait for divine inspiration. She was at a loss for anything else to do. The hospital was a very big place, and she wasn't getting any results.

I should be treating patients. I'm an ER Doctor. What if I miss something? What if a trauma's come in, and I've gone and missed it? Neela fretted anxiously as she glanced through another doorway and shuffled forwards. What if Pratt's told them not to page me? What if they've all gone to see Abby anyhow? What if I never find the girl, and I get sued by her parents? What if they're all downstairs laughing at me? Oh please, please…

Neela skidded to a halt at the end of a corridor. All the corridors bloody looked the same. How was she ever going to find a teenage girl this way? "Think, Neela think…" the Doctor muttered to herself, earning a strange look from a passing nurse. Come on, come one! Some divine inspiration would be really useful, right about now.

Neela didn't know wether it was divine inspiration or not, but that very moment, she saw a sign. Quite literally – it was hanging from the ceiling, painted in yellow with black lettering like it belonged on a roadway. "Chapel…" Neela mouthed the words silently, glancing in the direction of the pointed arrow. Of course. Why hadn't she thought of it before?

Neela picked up her feet and hurried along the hallway. Now, it was all making sense. She could hear music – piano music. It was a mournful song, and it became gradually louder as she closed the distance. She remembered Aster's words. "I stopped playing piano… couldn't move my fingers fast enough." Neela's sharp ear for music picked out some wrong notes, and some tell-tale fumbling. That would be thanks to the swelling in her fingers… there was no doubt about it. She was hearing Aster play.

Neela was prepared already to barge through the door. The beginnings of a sharp reprimand were forming on the back of her tongue already. Why was Aster playing? Surely she knew it wasn't good for her. Didn't she know that she wasn't allowed to be up here? She didn't have permission, and she had a medical condition. Neela she felt that dragon returning to her. She felt dangerous again, like she was going to bite somebody's head off. This time, it was going to be Aster's. Then, as soon as she caught sight of the piano through the open chapel doorway, Neela stopped. Any harsh words evaporated, and she was completely at a loss.

Sitting on the piano stool, beside hunched figure of Aster, was somebody completely unmistakeable. Oh my God, Neela thought, it's Abby… Her eyes wide and her jaw on the verge of hitting the floor, Neela watched the back of her friend through the doorway. What was Abby doing here? She was supposed to be in exam two. What was Aster James doing here? She was supposed to be in exam three. So many things were supposed to be a certain way… but nothing was right. Everything was wrong. What was going on? Neela shrunk backwards, out of sight, before either person could hear or see her.

She wasn't ready for this. In that chapel, were two people she had to face, but didn't know how. How could she confirm Aster's destiny? Her doom? The lab results weighed heavily in her pocket. And how could she even face Abby? She had no idea what her friend had been through. She'd been abducted, for goodness sake. One word was revolving over and over in Neela's mind, she could see it before her eyes as plain as daylight: Failure. You're a failure, Neela Rasgotra. You're a failure. Why become a doctor when you can't even speak to your friend? Failure, failure, failure, FAILURE.

Neela watched on in silence, as the pair sat shoulder to shoulder, and the music floated through the silence of the long, hospital corridors. There was an odd, tight feeling in her throat as she reached slowly into her pocket to grasp Aster's lab results. Neela fingered the paper, watching through the doorway as something registered in the back of her mind. I know that piece, she thought. Chopin. Prelude. I've heard it before. Neela swallowed. Chopin had died young. He'd never reached the age of forty. And he'd composed such beautiful music – so sad, though. It sounded so sad.

And Neela found that she couldn't move. She couldn't decided wether she wanted to tell Aster, or not. Regardless, it seemed certain that Aster already knew. Neela couldn't decide wether she wanted to hug Abby, or cry behind her turned back. But not even a tear came as she folded her arms quietly and watched. Maybe, just maybe, two of her failures could come together and find some sort of comfort in each other.

Neela almost jumped a mile high when her pager went off.

Before she could reach a finger to stop it, the buzzing and beeping cut right through the middle of the piece. Neela fumbled for the infernal thing in her pocket, at last grasping it between her fingers and pressing the button. When she looked up through the doorway, both Abby and Aster were turned to face her, and the music had stopped dead. As always, Aster's eyes were unnervingly staring, but for the first time since Neela had seen Abby being carried in, Abby was looking straight at her.

No one smiled. And it was eerily silent as Neela stepped through the doorway, her arms hugged tightly around her as if she was cold. She smiled weakly. Failure.

"Abby?"