The Ghost's Diary 👻 ✓

60. Always

The metallic seats near the operation theatre shimmer under the scintillating tube lights. Meanwhile, the butted end of a matchstick crumples inside me.

Gran sits a few seats from me-- her silent face looking like it's been stabbed by a blunt knife.

She still brought a fresh set of clothes for me.

I changed into them within the cramped dividers of the hospital toilets. The duffle bag containing my blasted phone and drenched clothes, with a taunt of blood is still at my feet.

I scratch at the bandage at the side of my head-- a twitch also pulling at my hand where a tetanus injection prickled it.

Ethan's pacing in front of me-- his own nose bandage and clothes changed.
While Allison bites at her nails-- also in changed clothes-- just beside Gran. She had a bit of sneezing problem because of her allergy for rainwater. It's better now.

Mr and Mrs Ingram have brought clothes for the cousins. They're sitting at Gran's left-- Mrs Ingram saying something to her-- making her smile momentarily.

Ethan, Al and I Ubered here after the ambulance drove Dylan away. There's been some shouting of a punctured lung by a rib-- from what I've caught.

We've been waiting for almost seven hours now. No news whatsoever from the theatre. Just a drill of instruments resounding from within.

My hands now-- a pale that's been carved into my flesh. The bandage on my left still twitches a bit.

"Your ambition often frightens me, Lindsey."

If it hadn't been for that ambition...

Footsteps clamp onto the marble floor and two familiar figures come forth. Gran's eyes widen-- the most alive expression she's given here.
A sigh comes from me at the irony.

Mary and Uncle Gary stand at some distance. The former's arms across her chest, and the latter's hands keep flexing at his sides. Both of them staring at unfamiliar faces of the Ingrams and Alams.
"How's he? Dylan?" Uncle Gary asks.

Their faces encase the same expression I had on entering the exact hospital where the Rosens are.

Did I really meet them only yesterday?

Mr Ingram glances at Gran-- realising the recognition flashing on her face.

Whispering something to his wife, he stands up and tells them all that he knows. Mr Alam nods at his wife-- Mahira, I think is the name-- before the former gets up to help Mr Ingram with explaining. I don't think I've ever seen the slight tremble in Mr Alam's voice. It's always calm and collected.

Their voices become a whisper in the background.

The door blares open, and a woman comes out of it. She lowers her procedure mask to reveal a thin coat of sweat on her plump cheeks.

"Mum, what's happened?" Allison asks the woman.

... So many coincidences.

Mrs Crimsom sighs, as a male nurse from behind her comes-- holding a tray with a clipboard.
She places her crimsoned gloves on the side-- nodding at the nurse. Even his face looks grim.
Another two surgeons stand beside her-- wearing the same turqoise shirt and cotton trousers.

Mrs Crimsom starts,
"Mr. Knightley's condition is critical, but stable. He's got a fractured femur on his left leg, a shattered kneecap and several joint dislocations, which have already been treated. The damage to his left shoulder was considerably greater, but should heal within a few weeks of rest.
Paramedics tended to the left pneumothorax caused by the fracture of his two ribs.
So far, we have not been able to detect any damage to his spinal cord, which is in fact, surprising. With proper care, rest and medication, Mr. Knightley should be able to walk and function normally, if he wakes up."