Counterfactual

14 | wraith

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

WRAITH

( — an apparition of a living person supposed to portend his or her death. )

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

          THE LIGHTS ARE BLINDING, EVEN WHILE DISTANT. Rowan easily distinguishes the red and blue flashes as they tear through the skin of his eyelids, occasionally fading into white, and the strident buzzing of the sirens hammers against the walls of his skull, pressing against his chest.

          The waves crashing against him are steady, warm instead of gelid like salt water, and hit him in rhythmic motions, with constant intervals and variable strength. The wind whooshes, hissing, and the buzzing in his ears almost sounds like whispering, counting to three along with the pressure right over his heart. No one pays attention to the water scalding his lungs, setting him on fire from the inside out, but the currents have slowed down.

          When a reasonable amount of oxygen returns to his airways, quickening his heart rate, Rowan's eyes shoot open, and, if the lights weren't hurting his eyes enough before, they certainly are now, similarly to blades. He's only breathing thanks to the mask covering his mouth and nose, but, ironically, that same plastic mask is what renders him nearly unable to do so, intensifying the feeling of choking.

          Everything in front of his eyes is still a hazy blur, but, somehow, in the middle of all of it and his soaking wet clothes, there are still some things he distinguishes as the black spots in his vision begin to clear. For starters, the paramedic in front of him is wearing dark-blue clothes and his hands felt like active fires when they touched Rowan's skin.

          "Can you hear me?" the paramedic asks, even though Rowan feels like he's still underwater, with the raging waves clogging his ears and the salt burning every open wound it can find over his body. "Breathe. You're going to be okay. You're in an ambulance."

          Though Rowan wants to obey, doing it would be as dangerous as it was back when he was lost in the ocean, and he's still suffocating as the water burns its way up his throat. He doesn't know how in the world he finds enough strength inside his body to raise a hand and take off the mask, ignoring the paramedic's protests, but he does it. Not only that, he's also powerful enough to lie on his side, with an arm pressed between his body and the stretcher beneath him, and spill out a waterfall to the floor.

           The puddle is disgusting and it upsets his stomach even more, forcing the incessant shivering to return, with its brown swirls losing color in certain areas thanks to all the water he must have swallowed before. The bitter taste lingers in Rowan's throat, scratching the inside of his mouth, and, while he doesn't want to sound dramatic, he can't feel his tongue, so he might as well let it sink into the ocean back at the beach.

          The beach. Taylor.

          If they managed to save him, God knows how, they must have found a way of saving her as well, as she was everyone's main priority, including his. Including Muse's, who must have been the one to call 911, but that doesn't explain how they managed to pull him out of the water so quickly . . . or even at all. He suspects he must have resurfaced enough times to regain oxygen and stay alive, only to be pushed back towards the shore.

          It's awfully ironic how he ended up being the one washing up at the beach. He can only hope they have found Taylor as well and she's alive, on her way to the hospital. With the water being as cold as it was and, with no way of knowing how much time she spent in there, she must be faring a lot worse than Rowan is.