Silence

Chapter 9

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

I woke up in a hospital bed. My arm was connected to an IV drip. A nurse was sitting in a chair beside me, asleep. I tried to ask where I was, and her head shot up. She looked at me, smiled, and ran out of the room. She came back in, ecstatic with a doctor.

"He's awake," the doctor stated, writing something down on her clipboard. She glanced up and looked at me.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"Pretty good," I said, my voice gravelly.

"You've been out for two days. Do you remember what happened?"

"Not really..." I said, reaching up and touching the back of my head. It hurt.

"Well, a shooter broke into the apartment complex you live in and attacked many residents there. Two died, and four are in critical condition. You were able to get out of the building but slipped. The peelers got a call from one of the residents, and they found you hanging from the top of the apartment, still conscious, but you'd hit your head."

I suddenly remembered everything.

"What about the guy with me?"

"Shane O'Malley is currently in a coma from getting shot in the head," she said matter-of-factly.

"Doctor, couldn't you have said that more... I don't know, kinder?" The nurse asked. "He's still in shock."

"C–can I see him, please?" I asked, stuttering.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, darling," the nurse said, stroking my hair.

"Then, what about my Mam?" I was scared to hear the answer. I didn't want to hear the answer, but I had to know if she was alive or not.

The nurse froze up, and the doctor left the room.

"I– I'm sorry for your loss," the nurse whispered.

"H-how? How did she die?" I was crying, but I didn't care. I'd lost my Mam and Shane on the same day.

"The shooter kidnapped her the day before and told her to give him access to your apartment. She wouldn't and he– he shot her. I'm so sorry."

"Who was the shooter?" I asked. The nurse shook her head.

"That's enough questions for today," she said, lifting up my blankets and tucking me in. "Get some rest. You just woke up from a traumatic experience."

I didn't want to sleep, I wanted answers, but my body was exceptionally tired, and I drifted away.

When I woke up again, the nurse was still sitting at my bedside.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said, patting my bed.

"Can I have breakfast?" I asked.

"Sure can, I'll be right back." She had a weird accent. One that I couldn't place fully, and her hair was as red as fire. She had it up in a tight bun, and she was wearing blue nurse slips.

She came back with a bowl of porridge. She pulled out a little tray and set my porridge over my hospital bed. She handed me a spoon.

"Thank you." My voice still sounded off, but after everything that happened, that was okay.