I own nothing!
Chapter 18: Hospital
Waking up, I have a headache. It takes me several seconds to remember the previous night, and my…healing. I shudder, fighting off the greasy, slimy disgust. I have a feeling that if I show even a hint, Jazz will pick it up. When she notices something like that, I'll be doomed. Simple. She'll kill me for stealing her brother's body, and I'll never be able to return him. I stumble across the room, pulling on a pair of pants, and grabbing one of my red and white shirts, putting that on as well in the bathroom. I'd been sleeping in just my underwear, because, even though it was the middle of September, it was hot.
I make it downstairs, and shove some scrambled eggs, bacon, and a biscuit onto my plate. I glance at the bacon, and find myself wondering if anybody ever yelled at the manager for giving such thin pieces. Splitting open my biscuit, I add the bacon and eggs, grab some orange juice, and drink that as fast as I can. I nick my hand on a knife, while I'm getting more food, and hiss slightly, starting to wrap a cloth around my hand.
"Alright, kid?" an elderly man asks kindly.
It takes me several seconds to determine that he is addressing me. "Yes, sir. Just a nick." I slowly uncurl my hand, watching the skin heal. For several seconds there is a silence.
"Are you certain? That looked pretty nasty." The man leans in.
"I'm quite certain. I guess this knife's dirty now." I forced a smile onto my face, hoping he doesn't realize how forced it is. The skin has mostly healed by the time he finishes giving me a once-over as I carry the knife to my plate, appetite suddenly gone as I look at my hand again. I turn around, starting to head towards the doors.
Jazz comes bursting through, and asks me where I'm going. I'm pretty sure they still aren't over the fact that I'd disappeared yesterday without anything more than the note. Jazz was the only reason Mom hadn't fully panicked. At least, that's what I think. I reassure her that I have my phone with me, and that I'm just going for a short walk.
"Is something wrong, Danny?" She inquires, and I have to lie.
"No, not really. I guess I'm just a little anxious right now." Fishing for information, I add, "Aren't we going to visit Grandmother at the hospital today?"
"Yeah. I think Mom wishes we had a little more time to recover, but Grandmother could die soon, or so the last call said. Did you eat anything for breakfast?"
I recalled the biscuit, and gave her a brief nod. Even though I am feeling a little sick. "Just let me go outside, Jazz. I don't feel so good." At least I can feel better about myself because I'm not lying again. I hate lying, but it has to be done. She releases my hand, and I feel a rush of relief because I can leave the room now. I hurry outside, breathing in the thick, tainted New York air. It seems like every city has a slightly different scent, and I've never noticed the scent until the accident. The spot is a lot better than our last location, so I force a smile and walk down the road, until I can find a corner to sit down in, nausea rising, but hoping to avoid throwing up.
I double over, losing the battle, glad that the corner is in an abandoned area, and puke. I had thought that leaving the place would get rid of the feeling, but walking only intensified it, so I try to keep my hair out of my face, and when I'm finished, I wipe my mouth with a napkin I'm clutching inside my hand. I shudder, feeling sick, and curl up, a strange sense of detachment hitting me. I can only compare this with the few panicky moments I had in front of the portal, and I stare at the spot on my hand where the cut was. I can't help myself. The need to run takes over, and despite the fact that I've never been much good with athletics, I can go very fast if I absolutely must, and right now it feels as if, if I slow down, what just happened will hit me, and I'll go down, and I won't be able to get back up. My heart is palpitating, right out of my chest it feels like, but I can't stop.
When I give out of energy, I sink to the ground, exhausted legs refusing to bear me even a step further. I stay still, struggling to reign in my emotions, unsuccessfully, and I think that if this is a panic attack, I'll never tease anyone, and I'll finally understand what they go through. Reigning in my emotions really isn't working, and I should know it doesn't work, but I can't think straight. I finally stop panicking, and I get to my feet, somehow retracing my footsteps, how, I don't know. I check the time, and am glad it's only been an hour. I can pass this off as being distracted. It hurts that I'm already trying to think of an excuse, because it makes me wonder if I'm anything but a lie, and a cause of pain to my family and friends. Everything will be better without me, I'm sure.
I make it back, and we get ready for the trip to the hospital. Mom wants to stay there for as long as she can, and I take some work to do. Basic pieces of my machine to put together. The outer shell is complete, so I only have one last mechanism to put together, and then I'll be ready. The airport machine detected them, but to someone who didn't invent them, the separate pieces look like junk. In fact, so will the almost-complete version. When I get home, I'll only have to hook it in, and attach one more piece that the airport wouldn't have allowed onboard.
When we arrive at the hospital, I am amazed to find a place that does bother to look like more than a business room, instead rather homely. Probably so people don't panic while they're here, because, for many people, you go here to see your dying relative/friend, or you are the dying relative/friend. This is exactly what we're doing. I fidget anxiously as we wait to receive directions to the ICU. We finally receive them, and head to the elevator. It is a long walk to the ICU, door number 439, on the fourth floor, so we are glad there's an elevator.
When we reach the door, Mom opens it, and quietly steps inside. There is a red-haired woman, presumably Mom's sister, and she moves over to Mom, pointing to the bed just inside the room. On the bed there is a white-haired woman, wrinkled, and wearing lots of bandages. Her eyes are shut, and she almost looks asleep. I might have thought she was asleep if not for the knowledge that she is in a coma.
"The doctors suggested taking Mama off life-support, Maddie." The woman states, by way of greeting.
Mom looks startled, but still almost as if she were half-expecting the announcement. "What decision have you reached, Alicia?"
"She's our mom, so both of us should decide." A few moments later, Alicia adds, "I don't think she's going to wake up."
Mom leans closer to her mom, watching the body quietly. Grandmother Ellison's breathing is raspy. "I don't honestly want to think about it."
"Yeah. Hard to think that she used to work at the shirt factory to support us when she looks like this." In an effort to move to lighter topics, Alicia adds, "Who're the kids?"
Mom finally looks away from her mom, and says, "These are my children. Remember the pictures I sent you? This one is Jasmine, Jazz for short, and he's Daniel." She gestures to each of us as she introduces us.
"Danny, please. I don't like being called Daniel." I get an annoyed look from Mom for correcting her, but she lets it pass.
"Danny, Jazz, this is my sister, Alicia."
I study her appearance, concluding that she's probably unmarried. Just the way she acts, she doesn't seem like the sort of person who'd marry the way Mom did. From what I've heard, she lives in Arkansas, in the country. I listen to Mom and Alicia talk, choosing to sit on a couch. They actually gossip a little. Mom doesn't usually gossip, but Alicia has the "gift of gab", or so I've heard, though Dad always left the impression that he was terrified of her. Not much terrifies Dad. Maybe talking this way is just something she does around Mom.
Listening to people talk isn't on my top ten ways to spend a day, and I have a project to complete, so I take the pieces of machinery out of my pocket and begin the delicate procedure that is putting them together.
By the time we leave the hospital, hours have passed, and my "spouter" is complete. If you want to know why it's called a spouter, that's because it will spout the electricity I need to power my device. I already confiscated a car battery to power the spouter, and I hope it'll work. We have supper, and Mom and Jazz head straight to bed. I, on the other hand, pull out a book and begin to read. It's a book on inventions, one I've read many times, but it sometimes gives me inspiration if I'm in an inventing mood, but I can't think of something to invent. It also has the amazing ability to calm me down after the awful day I've had.
I still haven't forgotten the skin on my hand. There isn't even a scar. I barely sleep at all.
Another chapter! Read and Review, please! The muse thanks you, and sends cookies your way! Please suggest things. I still have one day left with a need for filling. This would be the one right before the funeral. I am very sure Alicia is out of character, but I hope it's excusable, because she only shows up in one episode for about five minutes.
-MiaulinK
