A short update. I see this as the place where the tide starts to change…Hopefully, I'll get one up soon.
This chapter is for Tro- Happy Christmas!
Chapter Four
"Jane—Patrick—answer me, dammit!"
She was there again. It seemed like she came every day. His life was measured in stretches of black oblivion and swirls of red and white and a face that held green eyes.
"Jane, please. Just say something. Anything. Show me that you're here."
He couldn't talk to her. Not when he knew it wasn't right. She wasn't here. Just his mind playing tricks on him. He didn't move, stayed staring forward. Eyes blinking. Chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He wanted her to go.
She made him remember.
Red seeping into her clothes, blossoming on the fabric like a morbidly beautiful flower…
He wanted her to stay.
He wanted to trade anything for her. Everythingfor her.
Hewantedtohealher.
Ignoring her—the ghost of her—he laid back on the bed and stared up at the crystal ball…
No.
The light. It was a light.
The brightness still hurt his eyes, but it was so white in here that he had become rather used to it. And what was a little pain in his eyes compared to the pain in his chest? The throbbing in his head…
Was he a coward to want to stay here? To seek oblivion?
"I'llbeback…just…I—I'llbeback."
Not a coward then. He must really belong here. In this locked room. White walls, white ceiling, white floors. White bed. White sink. White toilet. The dim outline of a mirror long removed. The glowing orb on the ceiling—the crystal ball—no, the light fixture.
He now knew the red wasn't there. It wouldn't drip down the walls. It wouldn't pour out of the faucet. It wouldn't fill the sphere on the ceiling.
It was in his mind. It covered everyone he saw there.
It ruined everything.
Every face.
Every memory.
His daughter laughed, turning around as her little legs pedaled the tricycle. "Look, daddy!"
He grinned back at her and she turned again to face forward, her curly blond hair flying out behind her. The ringlets glowed gold in the sunlight.
And suddenly they were red.
She was a broken and mangled body lying among red-stained sheets.
He blinked up at the ceiling.
Shewasn't red. At least not when she appeared and talked to him.
It wasn't normal to see dead people.
Even he knew that.
As long as she came back, he belonged here. He should really want her to stay away so he could leave. It wasn't a place normal—sane—people wanted to be.
He hoped she wouldn't wait too long to come back.