My body jerked and I tripped and fell onto the floor, landing heavily onto my face; I felt something sharp slice into my hand as I smashed onto the tile. I opened my eyes and looked at my stinging hand in the darkness as my head throbbed; it was drenched in a dark liquid that was dripping slowly off and onto the floor. What? What on Earth was going on? Last thing I knew, I was in my section of the bed in our room, dreaming and thinking about Buttercup. I glimpsed some familiar white cabinets in front of me as I shakily got to my feet; what the hell was I doing lying on the kitchen floor, my hand cut up and bleeding all over the place? I held my non-cut hand up and my eyes popped when I saw that it was covered in blood too. What?? That hand wasn't even hurt! My heart leapt when I saw more blood on the floor, shining in eerie dark pools on the white tile floor. I was panicking now; I whipped around, stepping over half of a ceramic plate that was also coated in blood on its broken side. My hammering heart nearly came out of my mouth and I froze in horror.
It was Boomer.
He was lying sprawled on the floor, gallons of blood pouring out of him and covering the floor around him, his limbs bent out in weird angles. His eyes were closed most of the way so that only a white strip of his eyeball was showing, and his face was ghostly pale, contrasting sharply to the dark blood that drenched him from head to toe. As if this sight wasn't unpleasant enough, there was something a zillion times more gut wrenching about it; the huge cut on his stomach. Huge was not an understatement in the very least; it looked like someone had slashed open his belly as if he were a dead frog being dissected in a lab. His pale skin was torn like paper, and blood was oozing out of the gaping wound; my stomach heaved when I swore I saw something light, slimy, and pulsing inside of the gigantic gash, like some kind of revolting organ squishing around. Boomer's body looked completely still and lifeless, blood drenching the whole room and for some reason, broken dishes littering the kitchen floor.
My knees quavered like rubber, and I collapsed onto the bloody ground, retching all over it, the strong, salty scent of blood making me even queasier. Hot tears poured down my face as all of my meals of the day came gushing out of my mouth, tasting like acid and just plain shit. I vomited and vomited until there was nothing left in my stomach; I lay on the floor, trembling like a leaf, covered in blood and my own barf. My brain swam… but…Boomer! Maybe he wasn't dead! Not daring to look up again, I stared at the sea of blood and barf on the floor and gathered up every tiny speck of my feeble strength.
"Help…help…" I tried to shout, but it sounded like somebody yelling in slow motion. I gulped, choking the acidic crap down my throat and taking a deep breath.
"HELP!!!" this cry burst from my mouth, terrified and shrill. "HEEELLP!! SOMEBODY! PLEASE! HELP, HELP, HELP, HELP!!!"
I let out the loudest scream I could manage, and it worked pretty well, considering I put all of my horror into it. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
And then I crumpled onto the blood-spattered floor, my body aching with exhaustion, my skin clammy and sweaty and my empty stomach churning noisily. Somebody come…somebody please come… please…
"HELP!" I bellowed, channeling all of my remaining strength into getting somebody awake. As my head thumped limply onto the red stained tile, I heard a few screams from upstairs, and the frantic scrambling sounds of someone throwing themselves out of bed and charging down the hall; multiple people actually. They crashed down the stairs and skidded to a stop in the kitchen doorway; it was Blossom and Buttercup. They looked disheveled, with their frizzy bedhead and their crooked pajamas, their eyes wide and hysterical in their pale faces.
"What…? What's going on…?" Blossom demanded, her words slurred together in her panic. She scanned the kitchen for a brief second and her jaw dropped, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. Her hands flew up to her face and she shrieked, a bone chilling, shrill shriek that sounded more like Bubbles. Even after the incredibly long cry was over, it still lingered in the heavy, sticky air, echoing through the house like a ghost's whisper. While Blossom was putting on this impressive display, Buttercup was utterly speechless, her face frozen in terror, her chalk-white skin looking sort of green; I couldn't blame her there.
"Omigod, omigod, OMIGOD!!" Blossom screeched, zooming over to Boomer's lifeless form, wringing her hands in distress. She took one good look at him and shrieked again, zipping in horrorstruck circles over his body, so overwhelmed with repulsion and terror that her brain wasn't working right. Buttercup was still silent and staring; I gazed weakly up at her through my half-closed eyelids. My heart leapt into my throat and stopped. It wasn't Boomer she was staring at; it was me. And stare at me she did, her eyes piercing with hate, her expression disbelieving and enraged at the same time, her mouth hanging slightly open. What…? My brain was too groggy to work right…Maybe I was hallucinating.
Blossom's brain, however, finally straightened out a little by now, because she yelled at Buttercup to get the Professor while she grabbed the phone and punched in 911 in a panic. Blossom was screaming at the people on the phone when Professor, Brick, and Bubbles came charging into the room. Exactly how they reacted, I don't know, because my vision faded into an inky haze and the sounds became faint and slowed, as if I was hearing them from ten feet underwater. The next thing I knew, I was jolted back into full consciousness by somebody gripping my arm tightly and shaking it roughly, and it flopped like a rubber toy arm. I half opened my saggy eyelids, and I glimpsed someone shouting frantically at me through my blurred vision, but I could barely make out what they were saying. The kitchen was bathed with white light now, and a whole bunch of people in white uniforms were darting around, carrying stretchers and other medical stuff. I moaned and blinked a few times, my whole body aching with pain and exhaustion. Now I saw that the person shaking my arm was the Professor, looking completely terrified.
"Butch! Butch, son, are you all right? Are you hurt?" he asked in a panic.
"My …hand…" I groaned, holding up my cut up hand, which was still bleeding freely, bright red blood pulsing out of the gash and trickling down my wrist. Moaning, I slumped onto the floor, my head throbbing and my head spinning.
"Should we take him too?" I heard a gravely, rough voice say; one of the medics I guess.
"Yes" Professor replied. "Take him."
Strong arms curled around me and gently lifted me up, setting me down on a white stretcher. The worried gaze of the Professor looking at me was the last thing I saw before I slipped into darkness.
***********************
My eyelids felt as heavy as slabs of steel, and my whole body ached, especially my head. What was going on; where was I? I struggled for a moment, and I was suddenly blinded with hostile white light. Moaning, I shielded my eyes with my hand and squinted at my surroundings. I was in a white bed with white sheets in a white room, bathed in harsh white light from rectangular lights in the white ceiling; it was way too white. I hoped I could find out who the designer of the room was, so I could sue them when I went blind from all of the whiteness. I squinted harder, narrowing my eyes as much as could without losing my vision, and I noticed a few other things in the room; some clunky looking hunks of beeping machinery, a hideous little table beside my bed with a women's fashion magazine on it, a stretcher on wheels in the corner, and a desk across the room with an outdated computer sitting on it and a sleek metal chair beside it. I realized where I was in an instant, my heart sinking in despair; the hospital. I hated hospitals.
I pushed the white blankets partway off of me so I could examine myself, and I looked pretty intact. I was clean, no longer covered with blood and vomit, my injured hand was bandaged, but I was wearing a thin yellow gown with little pink bunnies printed on it, which was only held on by a thin strap in the back, leaving me feeling practically naked; they'd stripped me of my regular pajamas when I was unconscious, even my underwear. And then they'd shoved me into this stupid dress. If you're wondering why I hate hospitals, there's one of the reasons. Scowling deeply, I pulled the blankets back over myself, hoping nobody would make me get out of bed so I'd be displayed to the public in this horrid state. Just then, somebody opened the white door of my room with a squeak and walked in; it was a doctor, maybe in his upper-forties, with a long white coat, short brown hair with a few silver streaks, and thick, black glasses. He took a look at me and his face broke into a smile.
"Oh, good, boy…You're finally awake. We've all been worried…"
Now, just how long had I been asleep? I asked the doctor, who introduced himself as Dr. Reynolds, just that question.
"Just about a day, son." Dr. Reynolds replied, scribbling down something on a clipboard he was holding. "It is the night after the night that we got your call. Are you feeling all right? Anything hurting?"
"My whole rotten body hurts. But I got a really bad headache and I'm kinda dizzy…"
"I'll give you some medication in a bit." Dr. Reynolds stated, sitting down on the edge of my bed. "Now drink this."
He handed me a cold glass of water and I gulped it down thirstily, just now realizing that I was hungry too. What I really needed was a trip to Bravo Burgers.
"I'm hungry." I said, handing the empty glass to Dr. Reynolds.
"I'll get you something to eat after we finish our little talk."
A little talk?
"Am I in trouble?"
"Of course not, boy. " Dr, Reynolds said, chuckling slightly. "We would just like to know what happened the night your brother was injured. I understand that you were the one who called for help?"
"BOOMER!" I nearly screamed. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten him. "Is he alive..?! Is he okay…?! What…?"
"He is certainly alive, but he is in some type of coma. He lost quite a bit of blood, and his organs were damaged. That wound of his is not a minor one, but we think he'll be all right in while. We sewed up his wound the best we could, and we'll just hope for the best."
"Yeah…no transfusion because have our own unique blood type…"
Dr. Reynolds nodded.
"Just tell me what happened that night…Anything you remember about how he got hurt."
I searched my brain for a second, and then I realized that I didn't know how he got hurt. I remembered being asleep in my bed one minute, and then being on the floor in the kitchen with the already injured Boomer. I had no idea how I got there.
"I…I don't know." I said. Dr. Reynolds raised his eyebrows.
"You were there, boy…"
"I'm Butch."
"All right then…You were there, Butch. How can you not know what happened to him?"
"I swear I don't! I was sleeping in my bed, and then when I woke up, I was on the kitchen floor, all bloody, and there was Boomer!"
My stomach began to churn again as I remembered the details of that night.
"How do you think you ended up in the kitchen?" Dr. Reynolds asked calmly.
"I dunno…sleepwalked?" I was starting to get irritated with this questioning session. Dr. Reynolds scribbled some notes down on his clipboard.
"You played no part in the injury of your brother? No part at all?"
"Of COURSE I didn't have a part!!" I nearly screamed with indignant anger. Who did this guy think I was, a murderer, slaying my own brother? "Do ya think I stalked him at night and took a knife to him or something?! He's my brother!"
Unfortunately, my little showdown didn't seem to touch Dr. Reynolds at all; he remained infuriatingly calm.
"Mmm hmm…" he murmured, scrawling something else on his clipboard and looking me right in the eyes after he was done, his dark stare penetrating. "And how did you get that cut on your hand, Butch?"
I stared at my bandaged hand blankly. I had no idea; I'd just woken up and found it bleeding. I had just opened my mouth to tell him that, when he cut across me.
"In the kitchen, we found this."
Dr. Reynolds lifted up a Ziploc bag from his lap that I hadn't noticed before; in it was that half a ceramic plate that I'd stepped over that night in the kitchen.
"It's a stupid plate; so…?" I scoffed.
"We found fragments from this broken plate in the stomach wound of Boomer. And on the plate, we found something very interesting… a hand print; a hand print without any fingers."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"You were the only one in that kitchen that night besides Boomer who had no fingers. And you and I are sure that Boomer didn't cut himself."
Dr. Reynolds' dark, penetrating stare pierced deep into my eyes as he spoke, his eyebrows raised in a suspicious way. My mouth fell open.
"Perhaps he bothered you during the day and you wished to get revenge?"
"What… no…" I sputtered, unable to visualize it. I did not slice up my own brother; that I was sure of. "I d… I didn't do it…I swear…I wouldn't…I'd never…"
"It's not play time, little boy." Dr. Reynolds' sudden serious, hostile tone surprised me. "What you did to your brother was no friendly little punch in a play fight. You nearly killed him, and he just might never come out of that coma. You killed him, little boy…"
"NO I DIDN'T!!" I screeched, unable to hold my fury and disbelief in for a second longer; this guy was calling me a murderer to my face. "I DIDN'T KILL HIM, I DIDN'T SLICE HIM UP; I DIDN'T! I WOULD NEVER SLAUGHTER MY OWN BROTHER; NEVER!!"
Dr. Reynolds stared at me, his glare dark and piercing, his black eyes looking like shadowy tunnels or bottomless pits; but I held on. I fixed my face into the best scowl I could manage, then I narrowed my eyes and glowered right back. For a moment we just glowered at each other, and then Dr. Reynolds swiftly got up and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
"HEY!!" I hollered after him, still burning with fiery waves of indignant anger. "You said you'd get me food and some drugs, you ARSE! I'm gonna sue; you hear me?! SUE!!"
He didn't come back though, and I sat in the white bed scowling at the door, panting and shaking with fury, my emerald eyes bloodshot. That stinking, rotten, cruel, vicious… I was picturing myself slicing Dr. Reynolds up with a knife when the door was flung open so hard that it almost popped off of its hinges. I was suddenly engulfed with arms, hair, the scent of strawberry shampoo, and wet tear drops.
"BUTCH!! Oh, Butch…"
"Omigod, I'm so glad you're ok…"
"Don't do that again; you scared the crap out of me…"
Blossom, Bubbles and Brick ran right up to me, hugging me, patting me on the back, and all talking at once. Buttercup was there too, but she was all the way across the room, leaning against the white wall, watching me out of the corner of her eye. Bubbles sobbed, big, wet tears rolling down her cheeks as she threw her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. I didn't object like I usually did; I just sat there, still trembling and staring at the door in fury. Everyone must've noticed, because they all stopped fawning over me and took a step back, looking worried.
"Hey dude, what's wrong?" Brick asked. "You look pissed."
I closed my eyes, still glaring, scowling and trembling in rage.
"That…That stupid rotten arse…that…th…"
"Wait… What stupid rotten arse?" Brick asked, looking concerned. Blossom glared ferociously at us, undoubtedly for our use of colorful language. But I didn't care.
"That damn Dr. Reynolds bastard…" I hissed viciously through my teeth, my emerald eyes open, narrowed, and flashing dangerously. "He…"
"Dr. Reynolds isn't so bad." Brick interrupted. "We talked to him before; he seemed ok."
"No he's not…" I growled. "He...he… he said that I…murderer…stupid handprint… fucking…damn…arse…"
I was so angry that the jumbled words just tumbled out of my mouth.
"What? What're you..?"
"HE SAID THAT I WAS THE ONE WHO SLICED UP BOOMER!!"
I sat there in my bed, shaking uncontrollably, sweat trickling down my back and soaking my stupid gown; everyone else just stared, in a state of complete shock.
"No… he couldn't…Wow; I guess he really is an arse." Brick shook his head in disbelief as he spoke, sympathizing with me. "But how could…?"
"How could he!?" Bubbles gasped, a few shining tears crawling down her cheeks. "Boomi's your brother! Why would you want to hurt him?!"
"I wouldn't; I SWEAR I wouldn't…"
"I know you wouldn't…" Blossom said, slipping her hand under my chin and gently lifting my head up so she could look into my eyes. We stared at each other, until I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes and I brushed them away, sniffing. I hated those traitor tears.
"It's ok…" Blossom said softly, patting my shoulder as I buried my face in my hands. "That guy is a complete arse."
'Arse' coming from Blossom's mouth?! Had she gone insane?! A moment of silence followed, and everyone, including me, stared at Blossom with wide eyes; she chuckled.
"There's no other word more appropriate to describe him." She explained briefly, shrugging and smiling.
"Totally." Brick beamed at his counterpart, obviously pleased.
"C…can you get me out of this damn place, please?!" I pleaded, looking Blossom right in the eye. "I hate hospitals! I'm not even really hurt and they stripped me and rammed me into this thing!"
I did one of the bravest things I'd ever done; I yanked up my blankets and exposed the paper thin, yellow gown with pink bunnies that I was wearing. Well, if it got me out of the stupid hospital, it would be worth it. Everyone just looked horror-struck for a moment, and they broke into suppressed smiles, struggling to keep straight faces. Rotten, stupid doctors…
"I mean, those doctors stripped me butt-naked while I was still unconscious, and they forced me into a dress! They even took my underwear; wanna see?"
"No, no, we don't need to see; we believe you." Blossom said quickly, shaking her head. "Let's get you out of here."
"Heck, yeah!" said Brick, chucking to himself. I was lifted out of bed by Brick and carried away into the waiting room, Blossom, Buttercup, and Bubbles flying alongside him, my horrid attire publicly exposed for all to see. Oh, God, help me… No one in the waiting room said anything, though. We met up with the Professor, who cried out loud in relief and scooped me up in his arms; I held onto him gratefully. He was definitely the closest thing to a good dad that I'd ever had.
"Oh, son, I'm so glad you're all right!" he cried, holding me tenderly against his chest and stroking my spiky hair in a loving, caressing way.
"I'm ok, daddy-o." I replied, basking in all of this fatherly attention that I'd never experienced before. "But tell those stupid doctors to give me my clothes back! I'm stuck in this rotten dress!"
If anyone could convince those disgusting doctors, it would be my dad.
"Don't worry; I brought some spares with me."
My heart gave such a leap of joy and relief that it nearly shot out of the top of my head. I seized the spare clothes from Professor's hand and ran into the bathroom across the hall, blissfully ripping off the hospital gown and pulling on my underwear, shirt, and pants. I itched my bandaged hand before running out of the bathroom and zipping back into the waiting room, as happy as Boomer with a new stuffed animal. Boomer…
"Professor, is Boomer gonna be ok?"
Professor's happy, relieved smile slid off of his face like syrup and was replaced by an anxious expession.
"Well, is he?"
Professor sighed.
"I'm sorry to say that I truly don't know. The doctors said that they've done all they can do for him. We just have to wait and see if he comes through."
Bubbles let out a choked sob and both her sisters embraced her comfortingly. I sighed and glanced at Brick; he was staring at the ground in a gloomy way, and I swore his eyes were shining with contained tears. There was a moment of silence between all six of us, all of our hearts heavy with grief, despair and hopelessness, wishing with all our might that Boomer would jump out of his coma and start singing that annoying song from a stupid hand clapping game that he'd learned:
Miss Susie had a steamboat, and the steamboat had a bell!
Miss Susie went to heaven; the steamboat went to-
HELLO, operator, please give me number nine!
And if you disconnect me, I'll kick you from-
BEHIND the 'friderator, there was a piece of glass!
Miss Susie fell upon it, and broke her little-
ASK me no more questions; I'll tell you no more lies!
Miss Susie's in the kitchen, making her mud pies!
No matter how much this song annoyed the heck out of everyone, and earned Boomer a few lectures from Professor and Blossom about inappropriate language, ("But I didn't actually say them!" Boomer would retort.) I really missed it right now. All I wanted was for him to be ok…
"Excuse me, Dr. Reynolds." Professor was saying. My head jerked up in surprise at the sound of that familiar, horrid name. "My children and I would like to see Boomer; do you think that would be all right?"
"I suppose…" said Dr. Reynolds quietly, who was standing beside Professor and staring right into my eyes with his dark, piercing gaze. "Please follow me…Just I must order everyone to touch nothing; our equipment is rather expensive."
Equipment?! What about our brother?! Dr. Reynolds continued to shoot dirty looks at me as he led us down the hall with stiff strides, and I shot them right back. He whipped his head around when we reached a white door at the end of the hallway, turned the knob with a squeak, and swung the door open. And there was Boomer. My heart expanded into my throat and nearly choked me with sorrow when I saw him.
Boomer's gaping wounds were bandaged up, the bandages around his torso showing under his thin pink hospital gown. His shaggy blonde hair was tousled and untidy, and his skin was pale and shining with sweat. He was stuck all over with tiny little needles that were hooking him up to a bunch of beeping, flashing machines that surrounded his white hospital bed like the shining Townsville skyscrapers on a starry night. His eyes were completely closed in an almost peaceful way, and his mouth was hanging slightly open as he breathed so faintly that we could hardly tell that he was breathing at all. The only sounds in the room were the drone of the life support machines and the slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor, the glowing yellow lines zipping up and down on the green screen like jagged peaks and rocky valleys.
Bubbles immediately burst into tears which cascaded down her already tearstained cheeks like Niagara Falls after the spring thaw. Blossom put her arms around her blonde sister, a few tears crawling down her cheeks and leaving shining tacks. Buttercup put her hand up to her mouth and stared. Brick did almost the same thing, though he reached out and grabbed hold of Professor's pant leg for reassurance. I swallowed hard and slowly floated over to Boomer's motionless form, not showing my grief, but crying harder than Bubbles on the inside. Just as I approached the bed:
"Get back, boy." Dr. Reynolds' stern voice snapped at me like a whiplash, but I cursed him in my head and ignored him, floating closer still. "I said, get back! Didn't you hear me tell you not to touch anything?! That equipment is worth more than you'll ever earn in your lifetime!"
The nerve of that rotten arse.
"Who said I'm gonna touch the stupid equipment?" I snarled, glowering at Dr. Reynolds and catching hold of Boomer's sweaty, clammy hand. Dr. Reynolds let out a cry of rage but I ignored him, instead gazing helplessly at my lifeless brother, holding his limp hand firmly in mine and pleading the powers that be to make him all right. I wanted more than anything to hear about Miss Susie's steamboat going to hell, those annoying words bursting from the mouth of Boomer, kind spirited, and his eyes glistening like the sea on a sunny day. A hot tear leaked out of my eye before I could stop it and trickled down my cheek. Blossom, in her frenzy to abide by rules, grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me away from Boomer, his clammy hand slipping out of mine and landing limply on the white bedcovers.