These Demons

Chapter Fifty-one

The white ceiling lights painfully blind my eyes, my mouth is sore, my limbs numb and everything seems rather hazy and unreal.
I try to sort my thoughts and memories, but my brain works slower than expected and before I have any results worked out, someone speaks up next to me.

"Mr. Biersack? Can you hear me?"
It sounds so far away.
"Depends," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Am I dead?"
"Do you think you're dead?"
What kind of strange question is that?
"I don't know. I've never been dead before," I mumble and look at the woman speaking to me.
She looks very normal. Very... alive.
"You're a doctor," I state barely above a whisper when I catch a glimpse at her white coat with the name tag before my eyes fall shut again because I lack the strength to keep them open.
"Yes, I am," she confirms friendly.
"So this is a hospital and not death," I conclude quietly and sigh with my eyes closed.
The mattress underneath me is hard and uncomfortable.
"You're right," she points out the obvious. "Would you rather be dead?"
I try to frown, but I don't know if it works because I can barely feel. This doctor has very abnormal questions.
"Depends," I mutter.
"On what?" She never stops annoying me.
"If the bible is right," I reply quietly.
"What does that mean?" Of course she wants to know that.
"I wouldn't want to go to hell," I explain and she continues.
"Do you think you would?"
Who am I? Jesus? "I don't know."
"Do you believe?" As if.
"No. But I don't know."
"I understand," she tells me and I'd roll my eyes if I could.
"Great."
"How do you feel?" she then starts with the stuff normal doctors want to know.
"So many questions," I can't help but complain.
"Do you need a break?" And continue later? Hell no.
"I'm okay."
"Then let's finish this really quickly. Do you feel any pain?"
"A bit," I admit, "but more... numb."
"Okay."
A few seconds pass by and I feel myself slipping away, but try to hold on to consciousness.
"What happened?"
"What do you remember?"
Fragments of memories flash through the back of my mind.
"Stage. Screams... darkness."
"That's an accurate summary. You passed out. An ambulance brought you here."
"I don't remember." If I had the strength to worry, I would. How could I miss all of that?
"That's okay," she tries to calm me down, but I'm way too weak to get upset.
Still, I need to know what's wrong with me. "But... what happened?"
"Let's talk about the medical details later, okay?"
Of course.
"Okay," I reluctantly agree because I can't start a discussion.
"Would you please touch your nose?" the doctor suddenly requests.
"What?"
"Please," she insists, so I reach for my nose and feel panic rising somewhere where I can still feel because there's something in my nose, and it's long, made of plastic, reminds me of a straw and should definitely not be there.
"What is that?" I croak.
"That's your stomach tube," she says, but that doesn't help much.
"What?"
A machine beeps in the distance.
"I wanted you to know about this to make sure you won't freak out when you notice it."
I gather all my energy to open my eyes again. "Take it out!"
"It's okay. You need it at the moment."
I hate her eyes for looking so sympathetic.
"What... what do you mean?"
"The tube feeds you to keep you alive right now."
My eyes give up again.
"You cannot remove it. It's not just that you must not, you really can't. It could cause internal damages when it's not practiced by a medical professional."
That sounds dangerous, but this tube scares me more.
"But I don't want it."
"I know." How great.
"I want you to know about your treatment, so I'm also telling you that you have an infusion needle in your hand."
I hope these two things are the only ones they decided to stick into my body.
"Please... take it out..." The thought of a long needle in my hand transporting who knows what into my blood stream is almost as scary as the thought of calories flowing into my stomach through my nose, but I lack the power to protest.
"I can't. Not now. And neither can you. It provides you with very important fluids you need right now."
"I can drink water," I quietly suggest, but it doesn't surprise me that it doesn't work that way.
"It's not so simple."
A few seconds pass by and I hear her stand up from the side of my bed.
"What... what happens now?"
"You have to get more rest," the medical professional advises and I know she's right, but it doesn't answer any questions.
"And then?"
"Don't worry about that now. Rest. I'll be back in a few hours."
That response is not even close to satisfying, but she already heads for the door.
"My... my band?"
"They'll be here too."

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+44 - When Your Heart Stops Beating