Indigo Shadow - Hemlock

Chapter 16

Hemlock rode in the back of the ambulance, his hand clasped around his brother's limp fingers. An oxygen mask covered Ange's pale mouth and his eyelids were fluttering, as if he were dreaming. Hemlock looked out the back windows towards Ange's red Audi; it was trailing behind them at high speed. He could make out Jacoby from the driver's side and Brigid in the passenger's seat. The EMT pushed Hemlock away, gesturing to the seatbelt. He strapped himself in and jabbed his hand in his pocket, pulling out the picture of Loretta.

So much pain and loss over you, Loretta... thought Hemlock. I need you now... yet he felt angry towards her, for getting him in this mess. If he had never chosen to investigate the ghost town, if he had only ignored the darkness inside of him, this would never have happened. Why had he let himself get so involved in a fantasy world of powers and magic and sickness? That's all this was, a sickness that he needed to take care of. Once they got to the hospital, Hemlock would brace himself for handcuffs and a psych evaluation. If he continued to let this nonsense fill his head, he feared he would end up exactly like his mother. And he wouldn't allow that. He was still in control; at least he hoped.

Hemlock gently squeezed Ange's fingers one more time before he let them drop and stared out the window. The sun was getting higher in the sky; its warmth had melted the snow and it made the ambulance uncomfortable. Sweat dropped down Hemlock's face and dropped into his mouth. It tasted like salt, but when Hemlock saw another trickle of sweat run down his nose, he saw it looked dark crimson. Looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror of the ambulance, he grimaced at himself. He saw a gash in his skull, blood poured from the wound and down his neck. It isn't real. It isn't real. Not real. Hemlock ignored the mirror's image, and shut his eyes tight, knowing it was nothing; nothing but the evil inside of him.

And it was screaming to get out.

<*>

Once at the Pinedale Hospital, they admitted Ange to the ICU, but only after 45 minutes or so, he was then moved to a room to stabilize. It was a relief to see that no one had called the police, and no one knew that Hemlock was the one to blame. Jacoby had been the one to explain to the doctor's what had happened, and Hemlock had kept his distance, waiting by the entrance to the Emergency Room expectantly for someone to grab him and shove him in a cop car. If Ange lived... he could never face him again. Because, how could he? He had done the unspeakable. If Ange died... he could never live with himself, the guilt would be too much. He'd let them lock him away for the rest of his life, maybe even ask for the death penalty. The thought of himself alone with no other family, hovering over Ange's grave, made a sob rise in Hemlock's chest, and he held his face in his hands, letting them become wet with his tears.

He could hear the squeak of Jacoby's Converse pacing in the linoleum hallway outside the waiting room. Brigid's nervous leg shake was making the old plastic chair she was sitting in squeak even like nails on chalkboard. And what was worst of all, thought Hemlock, was the utter silence between them all. Hemlock needed some air, and he abruptly made his way to two sliding doors, which lead to a small fenced in courtyard, next to the waiting room. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and stepped outside.

The flame ignited the cigarette instantly and a cloud of blue smoke was swept away in the afternoon wind. The sound of the sliding doors opening made him jump. Jacoby stood, arms crossed, his green eyes bore into Hemlock's. He half expected Jacoby to start shouting at him but nothing escaped his lips. Jacoby remained silent and walked towards Hemlock, standing quietly beside him. Even though Hemlock could see Jacoby's hands were in red knuckled fists, his face remained an eerie calm.