The Counter Born (#Wattys2016)

Chapter Five

A gust of wind alerts a tree branch, which snaps against the window like a whip. I can hear a faint buzz of a tiny fly nearing and growing further away like the wind. Everything is like the wind it seems. Only lasting for a short period of time. Focus on the small things, Landon. Don't think about the larger picture. My eyes drift back and forth, a novelist staring at a blank page. "What is with you? You've been quiet for a while. Not eating, not sleeping, even when the nurses order you to. Frankly, you're scaring me."

An appropriate word for this situation. Scared. Simple yet unexplainable in every instance scared is. Was scared unexplainable to find my parents lifeless? Was scared unexplainable when the ones at fault could drive away with more blood on their hands than me? No, no, don't think.

"I'm fine," I slur with a feigned smile, a smile pretenders use to gain acceptance while inside they don't have it for themselves.

"Stop saying that! You're clearly not. What is going on? You're my best friend, and you wouldn't keep secrets from me, right? Just like you wouldn't keep secrets from Natalie?" Natalie. My grin withers slowly as does the opportunity to keep my thoughts entirely to myself. A fallen leaf crumbles as does its decaying maker.

"I'm just . . . ugh. I can't . . . They're dead, Olly. My parents are dead. Dead!" my voice quivers; an earthquake throwing my brain, fracturing it. He puts his hands together, leaning them back against his pursed lips and his knees at his thighs.

"I know, I know. We'll get through this though, okay?" I nod almost unnoticeably. "Do you think you'll be all right in the wheelchair?"

"I have two arms and two legs. I'll manage. Let's get this funeral over with." I shakily pick myself up, swinging my legs over the bed. I wince at the movement as Oliver hauls me into his arms and sets me back down. I hold one hand out, and he comprehends it like brail. "Show me what you planned for me to wear."

"Why don't you just keep your gown on? I can get a blanket if you want."

"Give it," I order. Oliver growls in a low tone and reluctantly passes a tote filled with a fitted black shirt, trousers, tie, loafs, and some cuffs. "Leave. I'll be out in a minute." His steps look stiff towards the door, as if he's walking on broken glass. Each of my motions are cautious, making the stinging sensation in my legs more bearable. I study my appearance in the nearby mirror; the damaged creation breathing barely. My body is half burned; my soul, half mangled. I nearly laugh at the clothes that are meant to hide what's underneath, but I know must be presentable for family's sake. I rotate to look behind me and see Oliver's hesitant face peeping through the crack.

"You know you're not checked out right? We'll have to sneak our way out?"

"I feel uneasy about this. Olly, you know we're cops," I say with conviction.

"We don't seem like it, do we?"

"I almost forgot we are." Oliver weaves his way into the security cameras' blind spots and checks the hallway for more surveillance and personnel. My wheels squeak like loose hinges as we edge closer to the exit. I hear a nurse shouting in our direction, and I'm suddenly going faster and faster. The wheels clash against the bumpy tile floor, and I laugh delightedly when Oliver almost sprints.

A moderate heatwave hits me like a rolling tide, and the gravel outside is rocky as I make my way along. He checks behind his shoulder before sliding wheelchairs in front of the exit. He makes sure they're secure and pulls me up to his car. He reaches one hand out for the handle, but pauses and retracts. I can hear a clicking sound of his tongue against his teeth.

"There's no room for this in the vehicle, is there?" I ask. Oliver shakes his head.

"Nope."

"Okay. It's not like you'd have a lift or anything." I apply pressure to the armrests with my palms, grimacing as I propel myself forward.