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Q and S - Chapter 4 - Part 1

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"When did they find him, doctor?"

"Yesterday morning. Apparently he was first on scene to bear witness to the.. misfortune."

"Poor lad.. has he spoken yet?"

"No.. but that's to be expected. The same goes for his sleeping patterns. He suffered a nasty bout of emotional shock as well as dehydration from the mild hypothermia.. we'll just have to keep his behavior monitored and the IV at a constant drip for now. Has the boy's family been notified of his condition?"

"Yes, I just spoke with Mr. Entwistle and his wife.."

"And?"

"Well.. nothing. Not one praise of thank you, nor a sign of relief that their son was safe and sound in our care. Dead, emotionless expressions.. although you can tell the mother had been crying. Phillip... strictly between you and I of course.. I find it all a bit odd. Why haven't they even been to his room?"

"I haven't the faintest. From what i've heard, the paramedics were summoned at the very last minute and nearly made it too late. No one had thought to even wrap him up while the other body was being examined.. "

"Doctor, I just get the feeling that they blame him for what happened.."

"You can't let yourself become too attached to the personal lives of your patients, Amanda. That's not your function in this hospital."

"I know, but... he's just a very lucky boy to be alive.
And it saddens me that we're the only ones who seem to see it that way for him."

"Sad circumstances."

"Quite."

And that's when the silence fell. Silence, for some, that would have been welcomed with relaxing comfort at the prospect of much needed rest.. but for 10-year-old John Entwistle who lay wide awake and cold upon his steralized cot, the quiet was ominous. Even down-right scary.
Men and women whom he simply thought of as the "white coats" had come and gone from his room many times, poking and prodding at his pale body and constantly readjusting at the tube that dangled from his arm. Water, they had tried kindly to explain to him, so he wouldn't dry up.
John glanced down and thumped at it, wondering vaguely if maybe that's why he felt like crying.. maybe it had filled him up past his eyeballs and he was going to eventually explode out like some unkinked fire hose.
With a sniff, he fell back against the mattress, closing his slate-blue eyes against the unfamiliar bleached ivory of his surroundings now glowing in moonlight that filtered through his only window.
Each time the white coats came, he had pretended to be asleep or refrained from speaking at all. They hadn't seemed to realize that he could hear every word spoken in front of him, and within the past 24 hours all of it had left him confused.
He just.. couldn't.. remember.
One minute he had been standing out in the snow, laughing and playing with those red earmuffs, the next he had been awakened by flashing lights and the awareness of just how cold he had become. So cold that it was nice to not even be able to feel it anymore. So cold that just one nap was all he needed before it wouldn't matter...

A faint buzzing began to fill his ear, echoing like the sound of a fly tickling at his brain.

"Silly head Johnny..."

The buzzing grew louder. And then laughter, that's what it was, someone was laughing..

"... bet he can't catch me!"

The laughter was blood-curdling, it began to squeal and pound against his temples until shaking hands found a firm clasp against his ears, his lips beginning to beg for any form of relief.

"Johnny... p-please... JOHNNY!"

The roar of crashing waves.. the cracking of what surely was his skull.. the blinding truth now staring him dead in the face.

It was as if his mind had been playing some cruel joke on him, those laughs having not been laughs at all but screams, high-pitched and filtering through his sanity until all he could feel was the rough hands now clutching upon his shoulders..

His eyes snapped open and focused in on a form hovering above his bed, discovering in lucid horror that the yelling had been coming in a steady stream from his own mouth, the hose that had been plugged minutes earlier now gushing forth from his eyelids.

"John.. John.."

The nurse known as Amanda had been on her rounds of the west wing, checking routine charts and her watch frequently for perhaps a quick smoke break before her return to the race, when the sound of what appeared to be someone yelling had caught her casual demeanor off balance.
"What on earth..?" she exclaimed in mid-pause, clutching the paperwork firmly to her chest as she set off at a quick trot towards the noise, the more well-to-do patients casting curious peepers out from behind their white cell blocks to perhaps catch a rubbernecker's glance at what all the fuss was about.
Amanda's shoes clacked noisily against the corridor marble, the young woman's crimson curls bouncing as she sprinted along through the catacomb hallways, rounding the last corner to a standstill.
Their was really no need but her eyes focused out of habit on the room number: two-zero-zero. Just as her gut had been telling her.. little John's room.

Twisting the doorknob, her gasp was drowned instantly amidst the hoarse but still very much audible cries now piercing her ear at full decimal. The scene was right out of some late night horror show. Blankets that had once tucked the boy snuggly away had been wrenched off and thrown about the room - the sheets tattered and soiled upon the bed. A vase which had earlier held beautiful lupins upon the bedside table had disappeared, evidence of its whereabouts being found in
shards of glass dangling precariously from the far window, shattered and washing in winter's frigid air. But nothing could have prepared Amanda for the signature feature... John had somehow crawled over and settled himself in the broken glass, arms curled in a tight lock around his bare legs now knicked and shining with droplets of blood. His head was thrown back against the sill, fat tears streaming down his cheeks with eyes as fearful and wide as his mouth was agape.
And he rocked... and rocked.
Back and forth, back and forth.. until it was hard to tell if he was simply resuming his wave of motion or beginning to violently shiver.

"Oh, John..." Amanda had choked, her maternal nature throwing professionalism out of the
already broken window. In the instance it took for her to cross the room, she had stepped carefully through the glass and now was knelt beside John's frail form, visibly unaware of his surroundings but very much so afraid. Skiddish. His head lifted, eyes blinking woozily at the hands now reaching out for him, instincts of cornered panic setting in.

"NO... NO...STOP IT, I GOTTA HELP HIM!!"
John's blood stained hands shot out and blindly swiped at the nurse, his fists clenched and prepared to use every last bit of energy they had to keep his attacker at bay.

" Mr. Entwistle.. Mr. Entwistle.. please, calm down. John, you're going to hurt yourself! Oh God.."

A chair sat opposite the pair, which in a moment of action came as a blessing to the young nurse's prayer. With no other alternative entering her mind and as carefully as possible, she took hold of John and pulled him up off of the glass littered floor, craddling even more tightly at his spastic attempts to push her away. Amanda's arms locked before falling back into the rigid seat,
the boy's strength waining with every ounce of misery that took over. His nickel eyes shut tight, only managing to bury his head firmly into her chest before his words could seep out in a muffled rush.

"I-It's ma fault.. all m-mine. I didn't do anything, just stood t-there and watched. N-now, h-he's
dead! He's dead, he's dead, HE'S DEAD!! All my fault.. all my fau--.."

His voice died away, a ghost's remembrance echoing. Amanda still holding him close, shook her head slowly.. a pained whisper she now desperately urged upon him to hear.

John, listen to me, you couldn't have done anything else, it wasn't your fault, son. It was an accident.. a horrible accident that was out of anyone's hands but God's.. it wasn't your fault, John. It wasn't."

John began to retaliate but only managed a feeble jerk before collapsing completely in her arms,
the shivering slowing with each rock Amanda made.

"It wasn't your fault."
Part 1 of Chapter 4.

Written by :iconrivermist:
© 2009 - 2024 Quads-and-Sods
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