The Assassin ✓

Chapter Twelve

"...must know."

"And how do you plan on telling him?! Hey,kid, your mother ran off and she's probably lost it? Huh?"

"Keep quiet for fuck's sake, he'll wake up!"

"You wanted to tell him anyways."

"But not like this!!"

"What do we do with him? We have enough stuff on our hands."

"He's Vanessa's son! Vanessa! All the things she's done for us!"

"I would do anything for Vanessa, but we can't simultaneously care for him and look for her. He needs a psychiatrist, not us."

"Fuck.. It almost seemed he's up. Let's go and continue this elsewhere."

As the steps faded, Tom slowly opened his eyes and tried adjusting them to the bright light above his head. He drew in a breath and turned his head to the right. There was a window and a nightstand, but nothing else. Not even some flowers, like in the movies. He always thought he'd get flowers.

As reality sank in, he realised that what he heard was not a dream. His felt his stomach turning as he recalled the words he just heard. Was it truly his mother they were talking about? Who were those people? And where was his mother? He tried sitting up and his stomach started growling. Though food was the last thing on Tom's mind.

Hey, kid, your mother ran off and she's probably lost it!

The words echoed in his head and he gritted his teeth, as he sat up and felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He lifted up his hospital gown and saw bandages. He traced his fingers over them, getting flashes of memory in his mind, but nothing he could make out. It was all very blurry.

After a short moment he turned his head to the other side of the room and saw a door to the hallway, that was open. He surpressed a moan, as he slowly raised his hand and pressed the little red button on the wall, by the nightstand. Somewhere outside something beeped and after a moment he heard steps, becoming louder and closer, until a woman in a white coat came into the room.

She seemed to be in her 40s, maybe some years older than his mother. She had dark hair, tied up in a bun, a sharp nose and a pair of glasses resting on it. Under the white coat he could make out what was probably a suit - pants and a blouse. She had an overall sharp look about her.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Helena. How are you feeling, Tom?" She asked politely and sat on the armchair by his bed.

"Um.." he hesitated. "Like ... physically..?"

She smiled. "Yes. Are you in pain?" She waited for his answer, though Tom felt like he cannot differentiate his emotional pain from physical. He gulped.

"Um.. No, I don't think so. Well, I feel pain here, when I move, but it's not destroying me.." he mumbled, trying to find the words. "But I think I'm hungry.."

"Of course. I will find you some food." She shut her mouth and then opened her again. "And.. emotionally? Can I do anything for you? You must be very confused."

Tom looked into her eyes, trying to decipher if she was a good person. She seemed kind, but by now he was afraid of anyone that moved.

"Where is my mom?" As he said it out loud, more memories flashed into his mind. Early morning. A car. His mother saying something, but he not hearing. Going upstairs. Someone shot at him. His mother was there. Another flash. His mother, aiming at him. Now she was crying.