A/N: The hospital Carl is staying at is based off of the one I stayed at when I broke my arm. The difference being I was in the children's ward and Carl – obviously – isn't. I couldn't sleep either, mostly because no one would turn off the stupid TV.
Ch. 5
No rest for the bone-weary, Carl thought, and was probably the only person in the world happy about it. No dreams tonight.
He was lying on his stomach on the hospital bed, his head turned so he could stare at the TV hanging in the corner of the large room. He wasn't alone. Far from it. There were eight beds in all, four on each side, and three others occupied by forms dead-still in sleep. To Carl's left was the TV and a window, to the right a door leading to a bathroom that also contained showers. And around the corner came the low, soft murmurs of the night-shift gathered around a table Carl had seen coming in; either having a midnight snack or playing card games.
A thin wire taped to his chest trailed from beneath his shirt and connected with a small, silent heart monitor at the end of the bed. If Carl freaked, the monitor would alert the on-duty nurse at the desk rather than wake up every single soul in the hospital with its spastic beeps. Carl could have had the wire clipped to his finger, but since the seizures apparently involved him clawing everything to shreds, the doctor thought it wise to forgo it.
Every time Carl took a deep breath, he could feel the wire dig into his skin. Lying on his back would alleviate the discomfort, but Carl was relying on that discomfort to keep him awake.
Agreeing to stay over night, he had soon realized, had been a bad move. Chances were good that if he thrashed around tonight they would strap him down, and if the seizures were dream related and not the product of a tumor or something else, then he was in real trouble. A quick background check, interviews with a few co-workers (some of whom didn't like him) and he would be committed for sure. Then he really would be trapped.
The chill sensation of fear prickled up and down Carl's spine, and he gripped the pillow tight until his hands shook.
I Shouldn't have done this.
Carl inhaled a slow, steady breath, then exhaled. He did it again and again against the small uncomfortable twinge it caused his ribs. The slightest rise in his heart rate and the nurse would be all over him with questions and a needle full of sedative. He focused his thoughts back to the movie flickering on the TV. American Werewolf in London. Each scene change from dark to light made him squint against the lancing pain it caused his eyes. The sound was low, but Carl could still hear it clearly as though it were turned up to half volume.
The movie was supposed to be morbidly funny, but for Carl it made him sad.
The guy's got the ability to become something powerful, and all he can do is kill with it. He has no control.
The things Carl sought out did. He knew they did, like the Ghost Man. They could do something unique, and their choice was to use it for the cause of suffering.
Bastards.
An alert scrolled beneath the bottom of the screen. A woman, aged thirty, had gone missing from her home at seven pm. The family, who was present at the time, had witnessed nothing...
Carl lifted his head at this. The alert went on to describe the woman; dark brown hair -shoulder length – blue eyes, about five-ten and one hundred and thirty pounds. The alert scrolled twice, then vanished. Carl dropped his suddenly heavy head back onto the pillow. He felt tired, drained, as though reading the alert had taken more energy than he possessed.
The Ghost Man took her. There was no denying it. The heat of anger radiated from his chest to warm his neck and face.
Ghost Man needs to go to hell, he thought bitterly, then sighed. His mind began to drift into mundane and pointless thoughts. The TV and the blue-shadowed room around him blurred from loss of focus.
He smelled something strange, yet familiar. Sand. And beneath that, blood... Rage shook him... Rage burned in his brain, his bones...
Carl snapped his eyes open, pushed himself up onto his hands, and gasped, filling his suddenly starved lungs with as much oxygen as he could. Muscles twitched and pulled as though trying to detach from his bones, and his upper spine curved like the arching back of a spitting cat.
" Mr. Kolchak? Mr. Kolchak, I need you to relax..."
He felt one hand grip his shoulder, another on his back between the shoulder blades rubbing up and down in a way that was more agitating to Carl than comforting. He didn't want to be touched, it felt restraining, but his body had gone too rigid for him to pull away from that touch.
He was in pain, but not the terrible agony of the other night, and it was quick to leave him. He dropped back onto the bed in a fit of shakes and pants with the hands still on his back and shoulder. Then the hand moved from his back to take his wrist. Fingers pressed down on his pulse for a minute. Carl turned his head to watch the nurse, and in the blue flickering light on the TV that angled her dark-skinned face, saw her alarm.
" Your heart-rate's very high, Mr. Kolchak. I'm going to need to give you something to help you relax." She lowered his arm back on the bed and turned to go, but was stopped when Carl's hand shot out to grab her arm.
" No!"
The nurse turned in surprise, trying to pull away. So Carl released her, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
" No, don't," he desperately begged. " Please don't. My heart will slow down again, it always does, I swear. But I can't go to sleep. It always happens when I'm asleep, please..."
Carl was shivering, but not from cold, fatigue, or pain. He was frightened, and the nurse saw this. She stared at him, worried, confused, even a little frightened herself, but relented to his pleas with a nod.
" All right. But if this happens again I won't have a choice." She placed her hand back on his shoulder and leaned in a little to study his face. " Are you in any pain? Do you need anything?"
Carl shook his head no then slowly lowered himself back onto his chest. The nurse gave his arm a reassuring pat, then she left. Carl turned his head to look at the TV. The alert was scrolling across the screen again, so he turned away again. He didn't want to see it, couldn't stand it.
He absently fingered the tears in the pillow that had been overlooked in the shadows by the nurse. Carl didn't even try to figure how he had made them.
NSNSNS
Nothing. No tumors, no lesions, infections, or anything.
Kolchek wasn't surprised, but neither was he relieved. With physical ailments ruled out, that left only the possibility of mental instability. And Carl was at the point of agreeing with it.
He just didn't feel right. Not in the way of being ill, tired, hungry, and plagued by various pains – all of which he was – but something more underlying that he couldn't describe even to himself; not in a single, summarizing word at any rate. It could very well be the product of no sleep and no food, since he felt wired and unsteady. But if that were the case, then he wouldn't be as aware and awake as he was in a way that he could never be caught off guard. When morning came, gray and cold, he had known the nurse was coming two minutes before she came, and had pushed himself up in the bed to wait for her.
He was now pacing before that bed, fully dressed in the clothes he had brought from home because he had no intentions of staying another night. Dr. Everett was standing across from him with his arms folded, watching Carl with the controlled patience most doctor's practice when they think a patient is being unreasonable.
" Most doctors would label what happened to you as the product of night terrors," he said. " But I've dealt with patients who suffer from night terrors, and I've yet to meet any who wake up suffocating and with heart rates that exceed the norm. Not to frighten you, Mr. Kolchak, but frankly I'm surprised you're up and walking around. You also said that you hadn't fallen asleep when this new seizure hit...?"
" Not fully, no," Carl said absently. Physically, his body wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and give into the sleep he had denied himself. But his mind, wired and inhumanly aware, wouldn't have let itself shut down so easily. The two side battled relentlessly to leave him feeling so on edge that even the slightest sound – the squeak of a shoe or the cough of another patient – made him flinch.
" That's why I'm ruling out night terrors," Everett continued. " People act out nightmares in a night terror, they don't wake up from them because of pain or seizures. I really think you should stay another night, or at least go to a sleep clinic. If we can determine the cause, we might be able to medicate."
Someone shifted in one of the beds, jarring the rail, and both Carl's heart and shoulders twitched. He looked at Dr. Everett, and the doctor shifted uncomfortably. Carl was agitated, irritated, confused, scared – all congealing into the single emotion of anger. He wasn't mad at the doctor, or even the hospital. It was all just frustration, but escalating beyond a controllable point, and he knew that all he was feeling was being betrayed by his expression, or the doctor would not have become so suddenly uncomfortable – much like Perri had that day at the fair.
" I might also add," the Doctor said undeterred, " that you are sleep deprived, becoming malnourished, and because of it you are anemic. What ever is going on, it's wearing you down. And if it keeps going... could kill you. Definitely if these pains you keep experiencing grow progressively worse. The human body can only stand so much, and yours is taking a literal beating."
Carl looked away to the floor. Of course the doctor was right. But Carl couldn't do it. He couldn't do any of it, stay another night or check into a sleep clinic. He knew, as sure as he knew his own name, that it was all pointless. All that was happening to him was not the product of stress or some hidden condition. Knowing this, but being unable to give a name to what was occurring, was what scared him. Had it a name, then it might have a cure, a solution, since that meant it would be known.
There were no curse for the unusual. The only course Kolchak could take was deeper research into the realm that he knew best, focusing on dreams as he should have done a long time ago.
But what to tell the doctor?
" Mr. Kolchak?"
Kolchak looked up at him, his anger diminished. " I need to think about it."
Everett sighed and shook his head. " I should probably have you committed," he mumbled.
Carl tensed and swallowed nervously.
Everett looked up to meet the reporter's gaze. " I want you to come in tomorrow. Have someone bring you. I'll prescribe you some sleeping pills, but if you don't feel safe taking them then don't. If you end up back in this emergency room, I'm committing you to this hospital for deeper observation. If you know someone you can stay with, then stay with them in case an ambulance should be called. If not, at least alert someone who can check in on you." The doctor shook his head again. " This is a bad idea, Mr. Kolchak, really bad..."
Carl looked away again. " I know."
" Apparently you don't or you wouldn't be doing this."
I don't even know what it is I'm doing, Carl thought.
Acting on some primal, fear-driven instinct is what it felt like. But it sounded ridiculous.
NSNSNS
" You're crazy, Kolchak," Perri said for the fourth time in a row. Carl could only nod again in agreement. Traffic was heavy, so the going was slow, giving Perri enough time for a verbal beating on Kolchak.
" Don't get me wrong, and nothing against you, but I've always kind of pegged you for the type who wouldn't listen to his doctor," she said. " But Carl, geez! At this very moment, you look like the walking dead, and about to keel over for a second time. You're sick, Carl, you need to be in a hospital."
Carl let out a shuddering breath. " I know."
" I should just turn this car around right now and drop your skinny, half-starved carcass back where I picked you up."
" Please don't."
Perri glanced at Carl, and Carl witnessed her visibly soften. She was scared, and so spouting, and Carl cringed with the guilt of it. She was right in every way, but Carl just couldn't do it. He did not want to be at the hospital, or anywhere for that matter. No place was safe anymore.
" Carl?"
Carl looked at her. The anger was gone from her, leaving only the deep-rooted concern that only a true friend would show.
" What's going on?"
Carl blinked tiredly, his eyes dry as though sand had blasted them. " I don't know." He turned to look out the window, squinting against the flash of sunlight off windows and windshields. They were in the city walled, it felt like, by buildings of concrete, steel, and glass that radiated white flames like individual suns. At least, to Carl, that's what it looked like. It was hurting his eyes, burning into his brain so that he had to look away to the dark floor.
" I mean to find out, though," he added.
" Sure you don't want me to stay, keep an eye on you?"
Carl's mind flashed to the images of the rent-up couch, shredded carpet, and gashed pillow. " It might be safer..." he looked at her, and she glanced at him, " if you didn't."
" Well, then expect a call every twenty minutes. I'm not leaving you alone in this. You shouldn't have to be alone in this."
Carl smiled at her, not a smirk or a grin, but a true smile of heart-felt gratitude. He didn't want to be alone, but even more he didn't want to put anyone in danger.
" Thanks."
Perri smiled back.
NSNSNS
" The body of Elise Overton was found within the grounds of the Rolling Hills Country club where she was said to be a member..."
Brown hair, blue eyes, Carl knew the woman from her description the other night, not by her name.
" Elise was discovered by the tennis courts with her heart removed..."
Carl looked down at the floor where he was sitting with knees drawn up and hands folded loosely around them. The couch loomed like a slumbering monster at his back, though hidden by a layer of blankets. He needed to drag it out to the dump since it was obvious he would never sit in it again.
But his wife had picked out that couch.
" In a bizarre twist, Candace Haverton was reported missing late this afternoon, two hours after the discovery of Elise's body. Police have yet to confirm if this new kidnapping has any relation to the Ghost Man..."
Carl looked up at the TV. The woman was young, perhaps late twenties, early thirties, with straight copper-colored hair that went past her shoulders and a heart-shaped face. She looked sweet, kindly, the type of person who made friends easily and liked to make friends with everyone. The reporter said that her husband had reported her missing.
Carl looked back to the floor. Without a glance at the TV, he leaned forward and shut it off.
Bastard.
He just stared at the carpet as though staring would actually will the Ghost Man into Carl's presence, where Carl could cut out his heart and let him know how it felt. The fact that the man was now moving this quickly to snag victims meant that his technique was working better and better, probably advancing with each killing. He was becoming expert at his mental trick, and could kill ten people in a day if he wished. No one would know him, see him, or even hear him. He was, in every sense of the word, immune to the natural senses. There would be no catching him.
Carl despised him for that with the same amount of hatred he harbored for the thing that had taken his wife.
But as with the creature that had killed his wife, there was little Carl could do except research, research, research. It's what a good reporter did after all.
Carl pushed himself up against stiff, protesting bones that popped and creaked. He wavered slightly, and his hand shot to the TV to steady himself. He half-walked, half-staggered toward his study where he could hear the soft hum of his computer. Along the way, he shut off the lights, unable to take the drilling glare anymore.
Candace is going to die, he thought miserably. But, hey, so am I in a few more days. He had begun his research on dreams and the sleeping world as soon as he got home, but kept having to take periodic breaks when the computer screen pounded a headache into his skull.
Sometimes, a dream could be a message, or a portent, or even a form of precognition. The way to interpret dreams was so varied that Carl didn't even know where to start. As a small step, he knew better than to listen to anything Freud had to say on dreams. The guy was way too hung up on sex and gender, and Carl was pretty certain his dreams had absolutely nothing to do with either.
One notion that had caught his attention was the belief born from several cultures that dreams could be used as a form of communication, either for the living, the dead, or even both. Carl liked the idea, but knew better than to put all his focus on it.
Nothing he had researched mentioned anything about waking up in a state of inhuman agony having torn apart everything around him. Demon possession, on the other hand, had numerous accounts of such incidents, which only added to the fear that had formed into a mountain in Carl's heart. Demon possession could explain a lot.
Carl's vision spun, and he faltered, reaching out to catch himself on the wall. He was shaking with hunger, and unable to stand up straight as though his body were being filled with led. He kept his hand on the wall as he went, dragging each dead-weight foot. It was as if everything were finally catching up to him – his lack of sleep, lack of food, and the seizures – all in a single moment. Even the sharp awareness that had been keeping him going all day was wearing thin, and his head felt light and detached, caught in a waking dream. Without even thinking about it, instead of heading to his study, he veered and made his drunken way into his room.
He stopped, shaking his head to try and clear it. Coffee would have helped, if his stomach had been willing to take it.
Initially, he was screwed.
He entered his room, and as he did, slowly sank to the floor until he was crawling, then slowly sank again to his chest. He didn't even have the strength to pull himself along the few inches he had left to the bed. He lay on the floor in the darkness, staring at nothing, and blinking heavy eyelids. He took a deep breath, and let out a shuddering sob.
Please, no, no!
His eyelids slid shut. From far away came the chirping ring of a phone, but it faded until Carl knew nothing.