Demonic Devotion

Chapter Three: Cancel

            "For of all Sad words, of tongue or pen, the saddest are these; 

                                    'It could have been!' "

                                                                                          - John Greenleaf Whittier

          Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The annoying sound of a machine announcing the life in my chest was functioning properly. The white wall ahead of me had captured my attention for the past three days, displaying the same scene over and over again in my head; Melinda being zipped up in a body bag.

Nurses came in often to do hourly vitals, and they tried to engage me in conversation. But I knew if I spoke, I'd burst into tears and it's something I was trying to ignore. I barely ate, not that I could anyways. The doctors didn't want me using too much of my stomach muscles in digestion from the surgery I had. I ended up having uncontrollable internal bleeding of my abdominal muscle tissue, putting me into immediate surgery so they could cauterize the source. I am not supposed to move and because the doctors feared I may over exert myself due to my mental condition of losing Melinda, I am to stay here for two weeks for observation.

The door opened, but I didn't look to see who had entered. I knew it was just a nurse coming in to take my vitals; nothing worth removing my gaze from the walls.

"Hello Kierran. What a lovely name!" The nurse's voice wasn't familiar to me as she came in to untangle the blood pressure cuff. I didn't reply, knowing eventually she would give up trying to have a conversation with me.

"Not much of a talker, are ya?" Her New York accent rung in my ears as she lifted my left arm to velcro the cuff on it. I ignored her, continuing to wonder when I would stop looking at the walls, return home and tell Melinda all about the crazy nightmare I had. However, my gut told me to stop thinking like that; she will never come back.

The cuff came to life with a beep and slowly began squeezing my arm. Once it was at its designated pressure, I could feel my heartbeat in my arm. "Ya know," the nurse began speaking again, "I think we may have ta get the doctah in here." Her voice was alarming and I snapped my head in her direction. However, she began laughing. Laughing? I was confused until she removed the cuff from my arm and hung it back up.

"I'm jus' messin' with ya. That's the first expression I got from ya. Can't wait to tell the other nurses that I got ya ta look at me." She replied, pulling out the temperature box and inserting a cap over the metal tool, before placing it in my mouth. I obeyed by allowing her to do so, but I kept a firm glare on her and her 'joke'. The utensil beeped in my mouth and she pulled it out. Staring at the numbers it presented and smiled in approval. She had vibrant, almost orange, red hair tied in a messy bun with small streaks of grey showing at her temples. Her lips were thin and she had laugh lines on the sides, but other than that, she appeared relatively young.

"I didn't find that funny," I retorted and even though I wanted to sound harsh, my voice cracked at the end and I had to cough. The stress of the cough hurt my stitches and I winced in pain.

"No way! And I got 'em ta talk!" She exclaimed as she wrote in her little notepad. "I must be special if you're willin' ta speak ta me." She wiggled her pen at me and I rolled my eyes, getting my breathing under control from the exertion I endured. "But rest up, sweet cheeks. I'll get your meds for that pain and I'll let yer friends know that you have spoken!" She chuckled, shutting her book and slipping it into the small pocket in her breast.