Soul of Flames

Chapter 4-Robyn

I sit quietly, wondering what to do now. Matt left over half an hour ago, and no one has passed by my room since. Should I see if I can call a nurse? Or should I just wait until-

‘Hello, Robyn. So good to see you’re awake.’

I start, jumping up from the bed to land on my feet in a crouch, facing the shadowed figure that lurks behind me. All I can tell is that it is a tall, lean man. And he has something clutched in his hands.

I tense and am about to leap for cover behind the metal headboard of the bed, when the shadow speaks.

‘Ah, good to see your reflexes are all in order. Very quick ones too. That is a good sign.’

The voice that emanates towards me is deep and rich; a melodious cadence that immediately calms my shock and relaxes my muscles. It soothes me, almost quietening the thoughts in my head that haven’t stopped for years.

More than anything, I want to give in, to lose myself to his words. Gradually I edge forward, my eyelids falling shut against my will. My bare feet drag along the cold hospital floor, slipping over the small dents and hollows buried in it.

I can sense the man’s presence in front of me. I am so close, nearly able to touch him, and I stretch out one hand in front of me, leaning forward ever so slightly and reaching as far as I can.

Until I slam my big toe into the corner of the metal bed and trip forward. I brace myself for the impact of my face hitting the linoleum, scrunching my eyes. But it never comes.

Slowly I open my eyes and see the dirty grey floor splattered with spots of dirt and grit from who knows where. My close up view of the delightful surface recedes suddenly as I am pulled upright by strong hands.

As I am standing I see a long white coat, much like a lab coat, and a name badge: Dr A. Smith. Well, at least I’ve found the doctor.

Once I’m upright I glance up into the face of Dr Smith who caught me and find myself looking at a man who must be in his late twenties, though I can’t be sure; although his complexion is youthful, his hair is various shades of silver, and his eyes contain a deep wisdom that implies years of experience and knowledge.

And right now those eyes are staring at me with an amused glint, like their owner is trying very hard not to laugh.

I blush and look down at my feet, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Way to go, Robyn, I think. Get a compliment on your reflexes, and then almost fall flat on your face tripping over a bed. I sigh. Irony really has it in for me.

Dr Smith speaks again, ‘Maybe you should climb back into bed. While your reflexes are excellent, your co-ordination still appears to be a little lacking.’

I flinch away upon hearing his voice, expecting to be lured back into a daze. But nothing happens; the pain must have startled me out of his trap. Wanting to test my theory, I try and think of a question to ask.

A whole hoard of questions flood to the front of my mind, many of them stupid and inconsequential; merely my curiosity taking control. However, there is one question that floats up that I suddenly find a need to ask: what are you?

I’m about to voice it, when my common sense kicks in and I realise how rude I would sound. I’ve already given a bad impression, with my strange draw to him and horrendous co-ordination (which, looking back, may have been a gift in that moment), and I don’t want to make it worse.

Quickly, to cover up my blunder, I alter the question and then blurt it out in a hurried half-shout.

‘Who are you?’