Blink {Featured}

Chapter Twenty Six

JOHN FINNIE

'Remember me,' Semila whispered into his ear. God, those eyes of hers stirred something in him. It wasn't natural, really, wanting an angel like that, but John couldn't help it. In his dream, he reached for her face and cupped her cheek in his palm. When she smiled, her gold tooth gleamed like it always had. And then, just as she had for the past week, she started to fade into the walls of his soul.

'Sem, wait!' he shouted and reach for her hand, but she faded anyway.

'Save one, save them all,' she said and her voice echoed and drifted as if they were under water. Then she was gone, and John was alone in the box.

#

The sound of whimpering woke him, his own whimpering. Semila was dead; at last he remembered her, remembered that she had saved him from Grimsol, and that it had cost her her life. He'd never considered the idea that angels could die, never realised it was possible. But it was. The tears rolled down his old face, and he didn't stop them. Instead he reached for the bottle of Vicodin on his bedside cabinet and tipped a few onto his palm.

These would numb the pain.

A cramp shot up his leg, and he screamed, scattering the tablets. 'Fuck's sake,' he shouted.

The monitor against the wall above his head started beeping and flashing a red light, summoning Samantha. For some reason he couldn't stand her presence since he'd remembered Semila. It was illogical, but it felt as if she was trying to replace Semila, even though, to be fair, she had no idea who Semila had really been.

The door flew open and in strode Sam, an iPad clutched in one hand. The word sounded strange and futuristic. 'iPad,' he mumbled and turned away, as if he hadn't noticed her there.

'Another cramp?' she asked tenderly and put down the iPad on a counter, rolling up her sleeves. With the ease that comes from repetition, she lifted the sheets and rubbed at the muscles in his right leg. Fuck, it hurt, but he kept his face turned away from her and grit his teeth. The pain wasn't as bad as what he felt inside.

Out of nowhere, another wave of loss hit him. Charlie. Where he gripped the rail, his hand started trembling, and the ache inside his chest overwhelmed him. Tears poured down his face, down his neck, and he searched frantically for the fucking Vicodin. Dammit. Why had they insisted on removing the drip?

'John?' Samantha said, pausing in her circular rubbing. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he pinched his lips together, hiding the tears from her.

'You know I'm here for you, right?'

He couldn't answer. He hated this--his pathetic life, the pain of losing the ones he loved, and the horror of trying to rebuild a life after seventeen years of suffering. 'I need some Vicodin,' he said.

'Oh,' she jumped up from the bed and picked up the tablets and container John had dropped. 'Of course, you must be in a lot of pain.'

He said nothing.

With the container and pills clutched to her chest, Samantha paused and stared at his face, but he avoided meeting her eyes. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she wanted to say something, but she shook her head and dropped the pills back into the container. At the basin, she poured a glass of water for him, then offered him two Vicodin with it.

'This isn't enough,' he said looking at the pills in her palm, but not touching them.

She sighed. 'John, by law I'm not permitted to give you more than two every four hours, and I give you two every hour and a half as it is. I can't give you four. You know that.'