Saudade | CountryHumans RusAme

33 ‎ ‎ ‎ Vertigo, Vertigo

ROMANIA
A shiver ran down her spine like a trickle of cold water, making her teeth chatter and her body tremble. Part out of fear, part out of the chill. 

There didn't seem to be any sign of life here, let alone Vietnam. The NOMC had used to be bustling, but ever since these events, it had seemed to lose its Representative attendance, and sickness or injury was normally treated at home or at Global High. No one tended to get major blows dealt to their bodies, anyway. 

The faint blue reflection of the hospital cots and long-never worn robes lit up her paths, as if telling her, go this way. A faint smell of chemical residue hung in the air, antiseptics and pharmaceuticals that had expired with its neglect. And the occasional spot of mildew, mold, and small, old stains of blood. 

Every small unit held no more trace of Vietnam than the last. She went past the halls of identical patient rooms, glancing into some, checking more carefully in the others when they seemed to have just been abandoned and not cleaned, and he still was nowhere to be found. 

And just as she was about to give up, she spotted one thing — a badminton racket, slotted almost too perfectly in the windowsill space between the curtains. Just so that the outline would be visible against the sunlight coming in from the back. 

She softly parted the fabric and took the racket out with two hands. On the handle, it read Neo Wellness Clin, with the ic completing the word 'Clinic' wearing off. 

This was — Vietnam's, she was sure of it. Yet, could she be so sure that he had placed it here himself, for anyone to find his location? She had read more than a plethora of crime books to know that red herrings were much more common than real clues in some investigations. 

But UN was no murderer. She hoped enough so. 

She clutched the racket and ran by her racing thoughts back to the car. It was all she had these days. 

★

When Neo Wellness Clinic finally grew visible in the distance, night had fallen already, and the car's headlights became a blinding source of illumination. The clinic had not always been popular, always second to the NOMC, so it made sense that if Vietnam was anywhere it would be here. 

She crept out of the car and shut the door softly, inching up to the hospital's double doors. Her eyes flittered to the windows of the dark building — one sole light, at the very top of the lines of so, was turned on. Sadness for his solidarity could wait just two minutes. Was it truly him? 

Blood pounded in her ears as she mustered every bit of energy she could, jabbed at the broken elevator buttons, and bounded up the stairs, all the way to the ninth floor. There was soft rustling from the final room. 

The final steps there were a sort of block-out where every other thought stopped processing other than this is actually happening. She had actually made it. It was a whim when it had first begun. Now, it was bigger than life; it was the present, all of her and all of it. It would only get more and more important. 

The bubble shattered when suddenly someone spoke. 

"Is someone there?" came Vietnam's voice. 

She paused for a second. He had grown older, his voice slightly deeper than what she remembered it as. More than a year had passed since his departure; had he spent his birthday alone as well? 

And at last the sorrow hit. 

"It's me, Vietnam," she said, walking into the room, taking in for the first time the flimsy hospital home of a burdened boy, feeling the sting of tears trickle down her cheeks. "Are you okay?"