The Lost Soul

Chapter 2

--Faye's POV--

I don't sleep anymore. Another wonderful discovery I've made in the past twelve hours.

My room had the same pale purple walls, closet, band posters, pictures, books, and furniture – a single bed, bookshelf, dresser, and computer desk – that it always had, but it somehow felt different. Not being able to touch anything really made me feel alone and depressed. I couldn't do anything to pass the time.

After 'lying' on my bed – I couldn't actually feel it; hovering would probably be a better word – for hours, I heard the house phone ring, shrill and loud throughout the house.

I drifted downstairs to where the phone was – the living room – and waited until one of my parents came to answer it. My mom sleepily walked into the room seconds later. She picked up the phone without looking at the number, which I didn't recognize.

“Hello?”

Someone spoke on the other end, too low for me to hear.

“No, she isn't. No, I haven't. I have no idea.”

The person on the other end spoke, and my mom covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide.

“Are you sure?” She asked, her voice quivering. “We'll be there soon.” She put the phone back on the receiver and ran back to her room. I followed and stood just outside the bedroom door.

“Simon, get up. That was the hospital. They think Faye was just brought in.” My mom said as she ran into the closet, her voice still shaking.

Without a word, my dad got up and ran to his dresser to get clothes. I turned around and went out to the dimly lit porch, waiting for them to get dressed.

After three minutes, they were running down the hall, grabbing their jackets and keys before racing out through the door.

I followed them, zooming to the hospital as they drove. The hospital was a ten minute drive away, so I got there before them and still had time to try to scope out where my body was.

Even for three in the morning, the hospital felt really deserted. Nobody was to be seen except for a few nurses, overnight patients, and two janitors as I searched for myself. I always found that the hospital had an eerie feeling at night.

After only a few minutes, I found my body in a small room in the emergency section of the hospital. The annoying 'beep...beep...beep' of a heart monitor was the only sound in the room. My body, now wearing an ugly white hospital gown, was laid out on the only bed in the room with tubes and wires going everywhere. I gasped and drifted to stand at my bed side. I reached down to touch my arm, but yet again, I just passed through it. I let out a huff of frustration.

I took a closer examination of myself. My left arm was in a cast – broken, as I had suspected. My head was heavily bandaged, and there were bruises all over my arms and a big one on my cheek.