SCREAM - THE GHOST OF LONDON

CHAPTER SEVEN

Charlie sat outside the examination rooms, his eyes fixed on the large open door where he could clearly see Lana and Joe being tended to. The sterile environment of the hospital did little to ease his anxiety. The faint smell of antiseptic hung in the air, mixing with the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, glancing around to see if anyone noticed.

Turning his head to the right, he looked further down the hallway. A bed was being transported from one room to another, a body covered by a white sheet lying on it. The sight made him swallow the lump in his throat. His stomach churned, and he tried to shake off the dread creeping into his mind. He gasped when he saw John sitting beside him, having appeared without him noticing. John smiled softly and sat up.

"John, hey," Charlie said softly, managing a weak smile despite the turmoil inside him.

"You okay?" John asked quietly, offering him a cup of coffee.

Charlie hesitated but then accepted it, taking a small sip. The warmth of the coffee was comforting, but his mind was still reeling. "That poor girl," he said, nodding towards the covered body being wheeled down the hallway. John followed his gaze and frowned at the sight.

"It's not your fault what happened to her," John said gently, trying to reassure him.

Charlie looked back at John, his expression conflicted. He wanted so desperately to tell him everything, but he knew the truth would get out eventually and wasn't sure he was ready for that yet.

"You know, Joe could have been killed," Charlie said, his voice trembling slightly.

"But he wasn't," John replied firmly. "He was too busy playing hero." John's attempt to lighten the mood brought a small smile to Charlie's face. He looked in the direction of where Joe was, watching as the police questioned him while a nurse catered to his wound.

"But why did he go back into that house anyway?" John asked, a puzzled look on his face.

Charlie felt a shiver run down his spine as he thought about the night's events. The sounds of the hospital seemed to fade into the background as his thoughts consumed him. He looked away from Joe and stood up, needing to move. He walked across the hallway towards a wall lined with posters, mostly health advice and hospital information. The bright colours and cheerful graphics felt jarring in the context of the night's horror. John remained seated, his eyes following Charlie closely.

Charlie stared at the posters, not really seeing them. His mind was filled with images of Ghostface, the fear and chaos of the attack, and the overwhelming guilt that he couldn't shake off. The police were still talking to Joe, who was bravely recounting what happened, but every now and then, his eyes would dart around nervously, as if expecting the masked killer to appear out of nowhere.

"Nobody in their right mind would run back into that house," he said quietly to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy on his tongue, laden with a mix of confusion and dread. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, that they were all still in danger. "But it couldn't be Joe," he whispered, trying to convince himself even as doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind.

Charlie turned back to John, who watched him with a mix of concern and curiosity. "I don't know, man. This whole thing is messed up," Charlie admitted, his voice trembling.

Lana exited the room, her hand wrapped in a bandage. She approached Charlie, who looked at her with a saddened expression. She reached up with her uninjured arm and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, drawing comfort from the familiar embrace.

"I'm sorry, Lana," he said softly, his voice tinged with guilt.

"It's not your fault, Charlie," she replied firmly, trying to reassure him.