When Hope is Gone

Chapter 2

        Dr. John Sinclair screamed and woke in cold sweat. He found himself curled in the fetal position with his face resting against his legs. The pounding in his injured left thigh echoed the pounding of blood in his head.

           John could feel more than hear his assistant, Wilson, enter the room. He tried to stretch out his limbs but they were locked in place and refused to move more than a few inches at a time.

            Wilson sighed, put down his tray on the bedside table, and sat next to John on the bed.

            “The nightmares again?”

            John nodded.

            “Do you need my help?”

            John growled.

            Wilson chuckled, “I will take that as, ‘Yes, Wilson. Please help me stretch out my wearied limbs.’”

            “Just do it,” John spit out.

            It took a long time, and both men were exhausted after, but John finally had all of his limbs stretched out on the bed and was sitting up against his pillows. Wilson settled into an armchair beside the bed and watched as John poured white powder from a small envelope into a glass of water with shaking hands. He drank the water quickly and settled back into his pillows as the medicine swept through his body.

            “John…” Wilson began.

            John shook his head. “Do not start today, Wilson. When it stops hurting every moment, I will stop taking the powder.”

            “Right. When will that be then? You have been home three months and every morning for three months have been the same. I think you should get up and walk. You need to stretch your muscles or they will only begin to hurt more every morning.”

            “I know you and I apprenticed together but that does not mean you know anything about my suffering. You did not fight.”

        Wilson just stared at him, incredulously.

        “Look at my leg!” John threw back the blankets to reveal his injured left leg. The skin on his thigh was tight in places and puffy in others and mottled with red spots. The whole leg did not lie straightly and was slightly shorter than the right leg.

            Wilson looked down into his hands, “I have seen your leg, John.”

            He covered it again with the blankets and took a deep breath. “I cannot Wilson. I just…cannot do it.”

            “This came for you today,” Wilson handed an official looking envelope to his friend.

            John snapped open the seal and read over the letter quickly.

            “It is an invitation to an official memorial service for the dead at Trafalgar.”

            “Will you go?”

            “It is in a month.”

            “Yes,” Wilson continued, undaunted, “will you go?”

            “I…” John sighed and put down the letter. “I guess I need to walk.”

            Wilson’s smiled brightened up the whole room.