Firelight

Chapter 2

We're losing... 10 CCs of.... from compound fracture caused hypovolemic shock... stable, for now. He should come round in a few days... Can you hear me? Connor, can you... I can fly, believe...

Lights, too many bright lights. Everything was white, the walls, the light, everything. Connor squinted, and the hospital slowly came into focus. His head throbbed, the pain building to a crescendo as he tried to make out the world around him.

Then he noticed the sound. The constant beep, in perfect rhythm with his heart. Slowly, he tried to sit up, but waves of agony sent him crashing back into his pillows.

Looking around, he could see a nurse talking with a doctor. The nurse had clearly noticed Connor's efforts, as she kept glancing at him, as if to see if he was still there. After wrapping up her conversation, she headed straight for his bed.

"Hello there, how are you feeling?" She asked, her gentle voice almost hypnotic tone. Connor tried to sit up again, only to be gently, yet firmly, pushed back down. "Don't strain yourself. Can you tell me your name?"

"Co-Connor." Even speaking was an effort, he could feel the strain on his parched throat, his larynx struggling to vocalise his thoughts.

"Well, at least you seem to be doing fairly well, given all that happened." She walked around his bed, picked up a small cylinder with a red button on the end, and handed it to Connor. "Here, if you need anything, just push the button, and we'll get to you as soon as we can. Otherwise, you should rest until the doctor comes to see you"

With a smile, she turned to go, and Connor thought he could see her face darken slightly, as though she felt suicide survivors were unworthy of her time.

But he wasn't a suicide survivor, it wasn't like that at all

"I didn't try to kill myself," Connor said aloud to a now empty room. With nothing but throbbing pain for company, he slowly sunk into a fitful sleep.

The hospital was dark when Connor awoke, the white walls covered in a black mist. Above him, the lights granted an insubstantial light, in a feeble attempt to light the room. Voices came from the shadows, whispering promises of power, of immortality, of anything he could desire.

Rising from his bed, Connor gently walked out of his room, and into the corridor. He felt frozen, covered only by his hospital gown, not to mention a little vulnerable. His bare feet padded along the cool floor, as he searched for signs of life

Is this a dream?

No, it felt too real. It couldn't be just a dream, just a figment of his imagination. But it couldn't be entirely real either. What was going on?

Around him, the voices got louder, whispering became chanting. "Come with us, we can give you everything. Don't you want to be a god?"

Then he saw his brother, gloriously radiant. The voices suddenly seemed so unimportant, as he tentatively stepped towards the light. Connor tried to speak, but no sound came out. Not even air escaped him.

"You don't belong here Connor, not yet. But don't worry, God still has a place for you in his plan. Now go. You have work to do"

Connor found himself looking directly into the eyes of a nurse, her face contorted in a silent shout. He felt a sudden stabbing pain in his stomach, before collapsing; landing in a pool of his own blood.

The hospital ward came slowly into focus, the light dimmed by the shadow of a doctor. His grey hair shone under the harsh florescent lights, and his blue eyes seemed to pierce through Connor.

"You know, you had compound fractures in three places. By the time we got you to a hospital, you had lost an estimated four pints of blood. That we could even save your life was no mean feat, and that you're able to walk around after a week... Well, I suppose what I'm trying to say is I'd rather you didn't." He smiled slightly, before looking at the various monitors Connor was hooked up to.

"I don't get it, that dream. It felt so real." Connor muttered the words to himself, but somehow the doctor heard them.

"Do you often sleepwalk? If so, we could put you in partial restraints at night; it might prevent you wandering off again." The doctor had phrased it as a friendly suggestion, but Connor was sure that it was more of a demand. Silently nodding his consent to the doctor's plan, he let his gaze wander.

"I suppose you seem well enough for visitors now. I imagine your mother would like to see you. Afterwards, I'll have a nurse come and make sure that you're comfortable." With a courteous nod, the doctor walked out the ward. A few minutes later, Connor's mother walked in.

She was dressed for a funeral; her black skirt, black blouse, black shoes, black jacket, even black mascara. The sharp contrast to the bright, clean hospital was emphasised by the fact she clearly hadn't slept. Her eyes were red, and the faint lines in her make up showed she had been crying. Though she wanted to look sombre, she resembled a vulture in a hurricane.

She collapsed into a chair next to Connors bed, before staring right into his eyes. Her unrelenting gaze made Connor uneasy, and he know what she was going to ask before she even opened her mouth.

"Why?"

Connor turned away. He watched rain fall outside his window, as the sun took refuge behind the grey clouds. She was talking as though it was his fault. As though he had done it just to hurt her. Why couldn't she look past her own nose for once?

"Because I had to." Connor kept his tone entirely flat, as though he couldn't be bothered with her. He smiled to himself, knowing that his neutral voice would hurt her more, but he didn't care.

"Tell me what you were thinking. Tell me you won't do it again"

A mixture of revulsion and amusement filled Connor. With effort, he sat up, turning to look at his mother. Staring straight into her eyes, he whispered his response: "I can fly. I can fly like a dragon."

"Dragons. That's all James ever talked about in Portugal. He thought he could fly too."

With tears falling, like diamonds shimmering in the light, she left. Connor fell back into his pillow, regret filling him. She might not be the world's best counsellor, but she did care. Maybe he shouldn't have been so cruel. And what did she mean James had talked about dragons?

With nothing but thedull throbbing pain to console him, he let himself drift into an uneasy sleepfull of dreams of falling.