The Seventh Stone

Chapter Thirteen

I feel... strange.

Empty and hollow, yet still awake.

Lights flash intermittently throughout the darkness in my eyes, until I start to recognize where I am—trailing behind a hospital bed down a long hallway, crowded by a number of figures talking and moving frantically around it.

I'm not moving, though. Not entirely—I'm moving through space, being pulled like the anchor of a ship. My eyes move slowly from one person to the next, from one white coat and gloved hand to the next, until my eyes fall on the subject of panic in the room—a body laying motionlessly on the hospital bed, with the tips of its light, honey-colored locks tinted crimson red.

The noises drown out for a moment as I focus on the face. The pale, lifeless face turning slightly against the pillow with every bump and movement, as the body is hauled around the corner, and into a room.

The pulling ceases as the staff lifts the body onto a larger bed, and begins cutting away at the portions of her—of my—black suit, where the wounds continue bleeding underneath. At the sight of exposed, ribboned skin, I look away.

That can't be me. That's not me.

My eyes pass over everything else in the room—anything to not have to look at my dying body. I know that's what it is deep down, and from the sight of the small, metal tools to the beeping machines, there's little that can distract me from it right now. I feel it—the grief—but it's a distant feeling, too far to acknowledge closely with my heart. There's more peace here—wherever this is—than there is sorrow or loss.

Loss... The loss of my life—I know it's close. I don't need machines to tell me that. I feel myself pulling away.

"I'm not going anywhere," a familiar voice growls behind me.

I turn slowly, peering out an empty doorway as the beeping slows to a continuous hum. Fingers appear at the edge of the doorway first, followed briskly by a tall, slender figure appearing in the threshold, looking straight at me with light, blue eyes.

No, not at me—through me.

I step to the side, turning and following his gaze to the dead body lying in the middle of the room. The bustling continues as I look back at him, watching his hand slide slowly down the doorframe and drop to his side. I follow the black, leather sleeve up to his face—to his slightly parted lips, and brows hanging heavy over his widened eyes, amidst the disbelieving expression on his face.

He strides forward slowly. So slowly. I step toward him, staring at his sculpted profile as he stares down at my body, without so much of a flinch or blink of an eye. His chest rises and falls heavily for a moment, but settles motionlessly as he comes to a stop in the middle of the room, glancing at the humming monitors. I stride in front of him, stopping a foot away—perplexed by the anguish growing slowly in the narrowing corners of his eyes.

With a high-pitched sound, a sudden jolt of electricity pounds through every floating cell of my ethereal form. I stumble—not even knowing I could stumble—and look back up to his blue eyes for a heartbeat, before another jolt throws me backward away from them, and onto the bed.

My ribcage rises from the mattress as my eyes bolt open with a sharp breath. I drop back down, feeling my body sink further into it than it should—further into the soft, beckoning darkness that my mind wandered into what felt like moments before.

***

I feel my breath first. Then, my fingers brushing against the sheets with a subtle flinch. Finally, the rest of my skin becomes perceivable, and my eyes slowly open to a white ceiling above my head. I blink as my vision normalizes, and I part my lips slightly—tasting the cold, stale air in the room as I lower my eyes from the ceiling, looking about as I turn my head against the soft, elevated pillow.