The Mistake [Norman Reedus] Book One {{COMPLETED}}

Chapter 27

Norman.  

The last thing in my mind.  The last thing I thought about was him.  The weak hug I gave him before leaving him.  Ha, and I thought it would keep me safe.  Look where I was then!  I was bleeding out on the kitchen floor.

"You don't talk about your father that way!  He's in jail, and you are crazy!" My mother shrieked down at me, pointing her bloody finger at me with rage.

I brought my hands up and they clutched my throat, dripping with the warm liquid.  I spit and choked for air, and I tried to protest to my mother that he was, in fact, out of jail, but all that I produced were thick gurgles.  I was in extreme pain, and I could only watch as she picked up her purse and swung out the door, cussing widely when the beer bottle wasn't pressed against her red lips.

Now I was completely alone.  In an empty house.  Choking on my own blood.

I managed to roll to my stomach and crawl across the floor to the phone wire that dangled down from the counter.  I gripped it the best I could with my slippery fingers and gave it a yank as it came clattering to the floor.  

911 

I dialed with shaky hands.

"911, what's your emergency?" A lady answered.

I coughed and sputtered enough for her to finally tell me that help was on the way.  Relieved, but in horrendous pain, I pulled my shirt off and gently pressed it against the deep wounds. 

I was surprised on how much damage her long fingernails could do to me, but then again, she also scratched into my throat deeply.  

I waited there, thinking of Norman while the pain throbbed and the blood seeped until I thankfully heard the loud sirens approaching my house.  Frantic knocks at the door filled the silence, and the people yelled if everything was OK.  I took the phone in my hand, and banged it loudly against the floor, flailing my legs as they kicked against the ground.  I couldn't yell, so I made as much noise as I could: knocking over the chairs with my feet, throwing the phone at the wall, opening and slamming the pantry door and cupboards with my feet, and so on.  I even gurgled painfully until they warned they were coming in.  

The door busted open and I instantly closed my eyes, knowing I would be OK now that they were taking care of me.

I remembered riding in the back of the ambulance with the tubes around me, the head lock encased around my skull, the doctors wiping blood from my hands gently and from my cheek and chest.  They tended the wound with a shot that made my neck feel bigger than my head, and I finally fell under a deep sleep due to some kind of anaesthesia they gave me.

"So the reports from your last visit to the hospital came from Georgia.  Is this correct?" A man asked, flipping the top paper on his clipboard up halfway, and then looking at me.

I sat on a hospital bed, in a regular hospital room, surrounded by regular hospital things.  The heart monitor clip was making my finger cold, and the blankets were so thin, but I ignored my discomforts and nodded to him.

"And I see that you were in for Demoxim.  Is this also correct?" He asked, walking around to the other side of the bed.

My eyes followed him, and I nodded again.

"You do realize that Demoxim has been reported to be spreading rapidly in Georgia, right?" He asked, leaning in a bit.

I shrugged.  

My answers were limited since I couldn't speak.  For a month, the doctor said.  My mother had penetrated some special thing in my throat that affected my speech, so for now I could only nod, shake my head, of shrug.  Difficult.

"Uh, let's see. . ." He began, flipping through the pages.   "Ten deaths so far.  103 severe cases.  Yeah, and they're running out of those syringes to cure it.  You got lucky." The man said, making my jaw drop open.

Ten deaths?!  103 severe cases?!  What have I done?!  I'm a monster! 

I needed to tell Norman.

I made a phone sign next to my ear and the doctor handed me a bag with my clothes in it.  I rummaged through it and pulled out my phone, unlocking it, and finding Norman's messaging number.  I quickly typed: I killed ten people.  103 are at risk of dying.  Demoxim is spreading.

I was happy with that, and then turned it off, looking back up at the doctor.

"Well, it looks like you'll be fine to go home tomorrow.   And remember, no talking.  Good luck with that disease." The doctor said a bit rudely, as he left me in the chilly room to think about my mom.

God knows where she could be by now, and who knows what my Aunt is doing.  Probably freaking out, or driving to the hospital.

Just then, another women busted through the door, breathing heavily.

"Are you Grace?" She asked, glancing back into the hallway.

I nodded wearily.

"There's been an accident,  Your Aunt, Beth, was killed on impact.  There's no more reports on-" Her voice faded as I zoned out.

Your Aunt has been killed.  By a car.   Are the thoughts that spun around widely in my head.  

My eyebrows furrowed and I slipped my feet out of the bed to run to her and ask her more, but when I looked up, she was gone.  The clock said midnight and that's when I realized I had been mourning in bed for four hours.  Thinking about my Aunt; Dead.  About my mom; lost.  About the disease that I spread by mistake.  About my aching throat; Killing me.  About my boyfriend; Norman.  About everything.  About my dad and the XGTs; Taken down.  About Hannah; So innocently murdered.  About how my Aunt could have possibly gotten in an accident; MY MOTHER!

She probably got the call that someone had choked me, and she zoned out as well.  The only person she knew it could be was her sister.

And the thought that got to me most was the though of the message I heard ring on my phone four hours ago.

I swiftly grabbed it in my hands, and unlocked it, eager to see what it was.  And I was happy to see it was from Norman.  But once I read it, I could almost feel my heart stopping.

I know.  Demoxim is uncontrollable.  Grace, they're evacuating Georgia.