Endless

57 Days Before

57 DAYS BEFORE

"Back again detective," the nurse's voice rings out, cheerful like bells. Her eyes drop to the fragile girl laying on the bed as she checks her vitals, her joyful face falls for only a second before her smile snaps back into place.
"How's she doing?" my voice slightly hopeful, the nurses smile wavers slightly as she mentally gauges what to tell me.
"Her stomach is free of any toxins, her heart is beating fine and other than the fact that the machine is breathing for her, she seems okay. We expect her to wake in the next few days, but that is entirely up to her. Her body is also recieving more food and nutrients currently than she has been providing it, so who knows she may be fine. Although i expect her to not be very impressed with the regular input of food when she wakes." She sighs in anticipation, as she knows the trouble she is going to recieve once this girl wakes up. If she wakes up.
"May I sit with her?"
"Sure detective, but don't stay to long." she says, as she sauntered out of the room to finish her rounds.

I drag a chair closer to her bed, hoping the noise doesn't irritate her. Her long bony arm lays on the bed by her side, i reach out and drag my fingers down her arm feeling every bone covered only by a layer of skin. I watch her chest rise beneath the thin hospital gown and blankets, if i look closely enough i can see her ribs ready to burst from within her small frame. I breathe in deeply and stare at the celling trying to compose myself and stop the tears from falling.

3 days I think. She has been here 3 days and no one seems to have missed her, no one wants to claim this damaged child. My heart breaks as i'm reminded of the miracle that is my boy Noah, how he was unwanted and unloved as well. My gaze falls to my work slacks and the small oatmeal stain that is starting to set into them. Noah thought it would be fun to throw his breakfast at me this morning, opposed to putting it in his mouth. I had tried to be angry with him, but his grin had me laughing in seconds.

I stare at the poor girl, Peyton Isabella Symone, 24 years old, alone, fragile, broken, with a long white tube coming from her mouth connected to the machine that's breathing for her. One arm with an IV for fluids and a feeding tube down her nose providing her with nutrients. At that moment i make a silent vow to myself and to her, if she wakes i will not leave her alone again, i feel an obligation to help her, to try and save her and give her the life she deserves.

A voice behind me asks me to politely leave, as my phone rings from inside my pocket. I stand and retreat from her room, back to the precinct, back to hundreds of victims. How can such a beautiful city be filled with such awful people? I shut my feelings down and blank everything out as i stroll out of the hospital and back to my job, which was beginning to really weigh me down.

* * *

She strolled straight passed me and out the door, she looked older, worn out, a little softer around the edges, her hair is short again and yet she is more breath taking than i remember. I watch her leave, she still walks with such dominance and confidence, although she seems to have a bit more than when I was the one walking next to her.

The years of memories come flooding back , just like that, no warning, and all i can think is.
I miss her.
I've always missed her.