The Fallen One

Chapter Two

“Is this girl alright?”

          “I don’t know, but she is bleeding.”

          “Wyatt! Get the phone out of the house! Call nine-one-one!”

          “Will she be okay?”

          Tiffany laid there, listening to the words, but she couldn’t understand them. They meant nothing to her as she tried to open her eyes. Her vision was blurry, but the sun scorched her eyes. She blinked a few times, but she couldn’t see anything, even during the day. She looked around, frowning. She couldn’t move. She tried to move a finger, or a toe. Nothing.

          “Wyatt? Are they coming?”

          “Yes, Mom.”

          Tiffany’s vision began to clear, but she couldn’t see anything still. She could see shapes, but that was about it. Shapes.

          “What do you think happened? Where did she come from?” a female’s voice asked someone else around. But nothing came from the other person.

          Tiffany wanted to see faces. With her might, she twisted around, laying on her back. But that was a mistake. Once she laid down on her back, Tiffany felt like a thousand shards of glass and knives cut deep into her back, making her scream, scaring everyone. Tiffany screamed in so much agony that it drove her back into unconsciousness again.

          Tiffany blinked a few times as she woke up a few hours later. She was in a different area, and it confused her a bit. Her vision was set and she looked around.

          She was lying on a bed in a puke green room that had the smell of rubber gloves and urine. The television was softly playing something on the Boomerang station. There was a soft beeping noise that was next to her, so she looked up, and saw a machine making funny lines.

          From there, she looked at her arms, noticing something shiny coming out of her arms, which was connected to a clear bag above her.

          Slowly, Tiffany reached over, and tried to pull it out.

          “No, honey,” a voice said as a pale hand touched yours. “You want to leave that alone, and let the nurse take care of it.”

          Tiffany looked up at the place the voice came up from. She recognized the voice from earlier that day, or week. Tiffany looked at the woman, and couldn’t help but smile. The woman looked like she was in her forties, her hair was champagne blond while her emerald green eyes stayed locked with Tiffany’s.

          “How are you feeling?” the woman asked, her eyes softening to Tiffany like she was a small child. “Are you in pain?”

          How was she supposed to respond?  She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what the word was for no. All she knew what to do was to nod.

          So, slowly, Tiffany nodded a little, seeing the woman smile bigger.

          “Alright,” she said, getting up. The woman was gripping Tiffany’s hand, and then gently kissed it before leaving the area.

          “Don’t worry about my mom. She does that every time someone gets hurt by our home,” another voice came from in the room, and the door closed with a soft click.

          Tiffany followed the sound of the other voice with her eyes, to someone who was staring out the window that looked over most of the town. He stood there, his forehead pressed up against the glass. His jet black hair surrounded his face as he sat there.

          “My name is Wyatt. Wyatt McCallister,” he continued when Tiffany didn’t say anything. He turned his head towards her, looking her over. Tiffany got this gut feeling that she wasn’t aware of. It was turning, almost in a gentle, weird way.

          “What’s your name?” the boy asked, his sky blue eyes locked with her own. Tiffany shook her head slightly, not knowing what to say.

          “Alright, don’t tell me. You’ll be out of the house by the end of the week anyway,” he said, upset about something.  Tiffany frowned as she looked away from him, and at her own hands.  Wyatt turned back to the window, and didn’t speak a word after that.