Writer in the Dark

9 Spring, Year 1

Atexactly six A.M. the next morning—I have my eye on the clock as ithappens—the power in the clinic flashes out to an eerie dimnesswith a low sound humming in the background. Through exhausted eyes, Ilook around at the dim dark surrounding myself, Haley, and Harvey,then reach out quickly to touch Harvey on the shoulder. The startleddoctor jerks up from where he sits next to me, having drifted offsometime around three this morning, and looks around in shock beforerushing to put his glasses back on and get up out of his seat.

"Oh,geez," he says, voice hushed as he bounds over to the light switchon the wall. After a few useless clicks of the switch, he moves toHaley's bedside and peers at the empty screen of her heart monitor,scowling in a way that shows his age throughout his soft cheeks andforehead. He taps the darkened screen, then mumbles something alongthe lines of, "Yeah, yeah, definitely out. The power..."

Itoccurs to me that perhaps our lovely doctor has not fully woken upyet.

"Isthere a generator?" I question in a low rasp, swinging my numb legsover the side of the cot in a shaky attempt at standing up. I'd doneso once before, when Harvey had prompted me to use the lavatory andstretch my legs, and it had taken all the support my friend couldoffer just to stand up. Of course, I have no desire to move aroundwith accompaniment any longer, especially should it involve therestroom, so despite the aches spasming throughout my poor legmuscles, I force myself up and stumble over to Harvey's side.

"No,"he mumbles, glancing across the room, down the hall. "But there isa flashlight. I'll get it." He stands up and glances down at Haley,who seems to be perfectly asleep, her limp hand still in mind. "Canyou handle watching over her for a minute? I'll bring the flashlightback here then go start the generator up." He looks back out towardthe front windows in the waiting room, where light streams throughbut doesn't quite reach us.

Inod and squeeze Haley's hand ever so slightly, murmuring in as gentlea manner as I am able in my nervous state, "Of course, Harvey." Ihesitate, almost inexplicably fearful to break the silence further,before I force myself to add, "See if everyone else is out, whileyou're out there." An unfathomable dread strikes me deep into mycore; something tells me our clinic is the only building withoutpower, and no explanation could counteract the deep-rooted terrorthat notion carries.

Harveynods and hurries to leave the clinic as fast as his feet can carryhim. I watch him go, idly considering the possible causes of theoutage, then turn my tired gaze back to Haley's prone form.

Shelay still before me, eyes stuck shut with all the crust of someonewho has shed tears in their sleep. The very idea sends a sicklyfeeling down to my core and I shake my head, looking around in thedarkness until I can find a swath of gauze and a small container. Ifill the container with water and, with a touch as light as I canmanage, I wipe the filth from around Haley's eyes, murmuring, "That'sbetter, isn't it."

Iam about to draw away so I may empty the container and dispose of thegauze when Haley's hand shoots up from the bed and locks around mywrist. Her grip is far stronger than it has any reason to be; I canfeel the bones of my forearm creaking in a sickly manner, and Iscarce have time to cry out before Haley's suddenly speaking to me.The voice is so unlike her own that I doubt now that it even camefrom her. Her lips, so cracked and pale, barely move as she rasps,"Elliott. Elliott, where am I? Elliott, Elliott, Elliott. What isit, Elliott? Elliott, Elliott."

"Haley,I—let go! Please!" I try to pull from her iron grip but there'sno use. She's holding me with just barely enough mercy to spare mybones from breaking. I have no sense to question where the source ofthis strength lay, not yet, at least. In this moment, I barely haveenough sense to stop pulling, lest I really do cause my arm to break."Haley!" I uselessly repeat, my voice pleading.