The Hollows Of Hiraeth (✔️) | 'Hollows' Book I

Chapter Ninety-Three

"I don't want to lose you, so please hold onto me tight and never let go."
—A Human Named Chloe, 'The Hollows Of Hiraeth'
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T h e H o l l o w s   O f
H I R A E    T    H
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Jameson hissed for the twenty-third time as a movement strained his wound. I frowned and grimaced, like I had done the other thirty-two times and turned my head to glance at Jameson.

"Are you sure you want to carry on going?" I asked him and Jameson gave me a two note laugh in response.

"Ask yourself that first." Jameson replied next and pondered his statement before actually giving myself an answer to my own question. If we kept on going we would get Jameson—and my leg—help, and it'd probably be safe in the hospital. I rolled my eyes at Jameson's forever lasting logic.

"Fine, we keep on going." I told him and Jameson gave me a short laugh again.

"I never said I didn't want to." Jameson bounced back with a snarky undertone and I sighed.

"Sometimes you're annoying." I told him before taking a left after Jameson's arm directed me to.

"The times when you're lugging me around?" Jameson asked with a contained laugh.

I thought about that for a few moments, "No," I glanced at him for a few seconds to see his reaction, smiling when I saw a grown and an eyebrow raise. "I kind of like lugging you around, it's a change from you lugging me around." I laughed and Jameson joined in.

"I feel like a boss." I pronounced proudly before guiding Jameson over to the only light we had been able to see this whole time. It was coming from a door about five metres down the tunnel—the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Come on," I encouraged a moaning and groaning Jameson through the last leg of the darkness. "Five more steps." I continued coaching him through the last few shadows of pain and, finally, we reached a very stiff door.

"You know, that wasn't five steps," Jameson began as I assessed our situation from every angle, just as he should be doing.

"It was around six or seven." Jameson continued as I tried to ignore him, still trying to work my way around a very unmovable door. At first, I tried to use the handle, but that, as expected, was long gone.

"Let me." Jameson reached forward but I ignored his aid, telling him that I could do it. I heard Jameson mutter something about me being stubborn and afraid of failure before I took to the door. I placed my readied hands on the handle, kicked upwards with a healthy momentum and struck the door. Yanking at the handle and kicking at the door has its advantages, albeit, there was some pain. The handle came off, and the lock broke, and the door came open, thundering into the other side of the wall. And in front of us was our only success today—reaching the hospital.

Without leaving Jameson behind, I went rushing in, calling for help from every angle and corner of the hospital. Nurses and doctors crowded around us, ripping Jameson out of my arms and rushing him to A&E. I tried to follow him, but he got lost in a swarm of faces I did not know. With desperation coursing through my veins, I attracted the attention of the first nurse that I could see and a rush of words fell from my lips. Instantly, she understood my situation: a special one on the loose with a guardian probably bleeding to death. That works.

But she wanted to take a look at my leg first. I tried to refuse her help, but she was so set on her new task that she was deaf to my complaints. So I ended up getting an X-Ray, and I had to explain what happened to my leg. But when we saw my leg bone, we all gaped.