Clockwork [final]

Eighteen

When he opened his eyes again they immediately ached with the blinding whiteness that pressed in on them. He groaned and squeezed them shut. There were sounds; footsteps, rustling, voices. Every inch of him hurt. Especially his head; it felt like it might split in two.

He hazily tried to remember where he was or what happened, but it just made his head hurt more. He attempted to force his eyes open, squinting in the brightness of the white walls. The smell of disinfectant choked him. It reminded him of a distant memory; he knew that he should recognize this place. But, every time he tried to grasp the recollection, it slipped through his fingers like sand.

“How are you feeling, sir?”

A voice swam through his awareness, blurry, like watching an object move under murky water. It took several moments before the question it was asking processed, and even longer before he located the source.

A rather generous woman with dark, frizzy hair and a meek smile that showed no teeth was watching him. He glanced at her uniform and felt like he should recognize her occupation, but he still couldn’t.

“My head really fucking hurts,” he grumbled, “Where am I?”

“You’re in hospital, sir,” she said, her voice gentle and calm; almost rehearsed. Maybe she had been expecting that question.

Hospital, he thought, the word bouncing around inside his skull. It was a painfully long time before it even made sense. No wonder he hadn’t known where he was; he hadn’t been in a hospital since he was a kid. Suddenly, an alarming thought sprang through the fog in his mind and instantly dispelled the grogginess.

“Why am I here?” he demanded, feeling panic swell in his chest and suffocate him. The memories started to flood back to him in an overwhelming rush. He sat up abruptly, ignoring the protesting screams of pain every inch of his body gave.

“Where’s Adette?”

He looked at the nurse’s face. It had turned grave, the look of someone with bad news. His vision spun as he feared the worst.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” His voice was rising with panic.

“Sir, please relax, you need to stay calm in your condition-“

“Where is Adette?!”

Her eyes were slightly frightened as she quickly blurted, “She’s alive, sir, but I’m afraid I can’t say she’s well. Now please, lie back down, you have a concussion and you need to take it easy.”

Images raced underneath his eyelids. He saw Adette’s frantic green eyes, the flames, the blackness.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet, as if the sudden hush could ward everything away.

“She has second degree burns on her neck, back and arms, a broken rib and a mild to moderate concussion.”

“Where is she?” He tried to clamber out of bed, grimacing at the IV drips stuck in his arms and struggling to rip them out.

“Sir, you cannot do that! You’re too unstable!” the woman fretted, trying to stop him but not succeeding; in his determination he was simply too strong, adrenaline and fear giving him surprising strength.

He stormed down the halls, throwing open doors and screaming out her name. At the last door in the hallway, just as the nurse caught up with him, he found her.

She looked angelic, her hair forming a flaming red halo around her head and the sunlight streaming through the window onto her face. The only thing that disturbed the peaceful scene were the stitches going up a jagged cut on the right side of her face.