Chapter 3: In Which Riley's Life Turns White

White...

It's the most intriguing of all the colours. On a gentle summer's day, one cannot help but look up to the sky and gaze into the rounded wisps of clouds, smudged grey at the edges. White is the colour of purity, a snowdrop newly bloomed in February; a swan gliding across s smooth river; a bride on her wedding day; a ghost of a soul trapped forever in a dismal home.

It was no surprise then, that Riley was faced with a dozen white flashes at once. The ambulance that rescued her from the ground was white as were the medics in uniforms carrying her stretcher, applying her mask. Had they been medics? Or Angels? She could not decide.

The air grew colder for her pale skin, and she felt somewhat clammy. Her mother had squeezed her hand in the back of the ambulance the whole way to the hospital, clutching her palm comforting both herself and her. Her father helping the medics to her wounds.

To Riley, it was no different than sleeping in a hotel room, where everything was clean and pristine. For a minute, she wondered whether to open her eyes or not. No. She let her eyelids stay closed. What would would be the use in opening them when she wouldn't be able to see...

A man and woman sat in a green and white waiting room on large orange chairs which seemed unfittingly bright and almost dirty in such an immaculate setting. It didn't take one long to figure out they were married. The man had his arms wrapped tightly around the woman, who's eyes were red and covered in salty tears. She was weeping softly, whilst those discreet enough to keep their distance looked on. The man offered her another tissue to which she blew her nose with wearily.

"Mr and Mrs Anderson?"

A dark haired doctor in a white cost emerged from the wing.

"That's us," said the husband, his wife to distraught to speak.

"If you would come with me please."

They followed him through a glass corridor, where the daylight from outside almost masked the darkness going on inside of both their hearts. The doctor watched as the woman's husband held her close to him, as she blower her nose on a white tissue. "It'll be alright," he said, "I promise."

The doctor sighed. He himself had seen it all one too many times. The shock after the accident, the trauma a family went through. The fragility of hope. He knew that the victim was a young girl, small and slim. It was never a good sign for someone of her size and stature during a time like this.

"In here," he gestured, opening a dark turquoise door into a large white room, beds at each side, all with children resting soundly in them, having their tubes and bags changed, tended to by nurses in teal gowns, white masks and plastic gloves.

"Where is Number 13?" the doctor whispered to one of them.

"In that bed over there," the nurse said pulling down his mask.

"Any sign of movement so far?"

The nurse shook his head, "Nothing. She's completely out. We tried talking to her but so far it appears the only thing working is her heart beat."

"Right. I see. Thank you Nurse."

With a nod, the nurse collected the rest of his colleagues and left an empathetic look in the direction of the victim's parents.

"Here, she is," said the doctor, leading them to the foot of the bed. "This is her right?"

The woman swallowed tears and took off her glasses to wipe the edges of her eyes. She couldn't help but sob and let more flow, "Yes," she whispered. "That's her. That's my little girl."

"That's her," agreed the man, sighing sadly and placing a paw on his wife's shoulder. As she began to break down again he turned to the doctor who sent sympathetic glances their way. "What's her condition Doctor?"

"She's in a coma," the doctor explained gingerly taking a stethoscope from a drawer and placing it to the girl's chest, "her breathing seems to have regulated for now, but just to be sure we had an oxygen mask put on her. Heart rate is normal thankfully." He put the stethoscope away and turned to a fountain by her bed, protruding a paper cup from the holder and filling it. He handed it to the woman who lay close to her daughter, weeping softly into the blankets. "Drink this." She sipped, the styrofoam object shaking in her grasp as her eyes produced more water.

"How long will she be like this?" her husband asked comforting her.

"We don't know for certain. She has suffered head trauma and bruising and her scalp was bleeding when we first rushed her into the ER. She has had stitches, but as for the proper brain function, it could take her a while to snap out of it."

"How long's a while?" he asked seriously.

"We can't say for certain."

"Tell me!" he commanded, "I'm her father, I want to know if my baby girl is going to be alright!"

"Sir, we're still running some tests. Could be weeks, months, even years. She may never wake up at all."

"Oh Riley!" her mother wailed, throwing her arms around her husband.

"There, there sweetheart."

"No..No..No.." she sobbed into his chest. He gave the doctor a look of pleading to which the he nodded in understanding. "I'll give you some time alone." He walked from the wing into another open plan area, pulling the blue curtain closed.

The two grief stricken parents looked at their daughter's form. She lay still and motionless, but was far from lifeless. Her chest inflated and deflated again slowly, her lips parted as though she were just fast asleep.

She was paler than they had ever seen her, her face as white as the sheets she lay in. A poppy bruise had formed on her forehead, and her on her scalp, the stitches were clearly visible.

"Hey Riley," her mother said trying to force a smile through the tears, "how's my favourite girl?"

"You took a nasty fall monkey," her father added, "we were both very worried about you."

"I'm so proud of you," her mother said, taking her limp hand and squeezing it, "you're such a brave girl. You're our brave girl. Here, we had the doctors bring these in for you," she took out a plastic bag from underneath the bed. "It's your music. We thought you'd like to listen to it. I also brought in an extra pillow-it's the strawberry scented one, your favourite. And we had them dress you in your favourite blue star pyjamas after the surgery so you would be comfy."

"And here's Mr Cuddles the bear," said her Dad laying a small, old teddy bear , it's expression drooping, it's left eye missing, on the bed and ticking it into the sheets beside her, "I know you're not three anymore, but we just-" he began to choke. "W-We-"

"-we thought you might like some company. You'll wake up soon my precious little angel, and we won't leave your side for a second." She stroked the girl's sandy hair, "We will make sure you're never left alone. We'll be here, we will visit every day, I promise, don't you worry."

"We won't miss a single visit," said her Dad stroking her cheek.

The doctor reappeared from the room, "If I could have you both through here, there's some forms that require your signature."

Both looking at each other with sorrow and disappointment, they got up to go. As the man went in first he stopped w hen he noticed his wife staring longingly at the bed. She walked back over to her sleeping child, her Riley, the one she carried inside of her for 9 months, the one she knew growing into a healthy young girl. If Riley left their lives now, who would be there to take care of-

"Mrs Anderson?"

"Coming," she said. Turning back, she planted a soft kiss on Riley's forehead as if trying to heal the red mark, she stroked her hairline before whispering, "See you soon honey," and joining the doctor in the other room and taking one final look at her daughter.

"Oh Riley..."