Discordiae - Jackson's Story

Chapter 7

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Skipperdell General Hospital - June 3rd

Pádraig woke up in bed...

At least, he thought it felt like a bed... Though it clearly wasn't his bed. For one thing, he was sure he didn't have bars on his bed.  As he went to stretch, he found that he wasn't able to move his arms...  And the air smelled too clean. Oddly so... Yes, he thought he smelled sanitizer. He tried to shake off the cobwebs from his dreams only to find that he couldn't see.

"What is this?!" Pádraig screamed in terror as he tried to shake his arms free.

"Alright, boyo?" a voice that could only be his father's, said in his usually jolly tone, though Pádraig knew that voice well enough to hear the concern. "Oina, if ye would get the doctor, please."

"Da?" he said, instantly feeling both better and worse that he was held captive somewhere with his family. "Where am I? What's going on? For Brighid's sake, why can't I see?!" Pádraig bellowed. 

He felt his father put a hand on his head gently and heard as he spoke in a slow, somber tone. "I'm sorry son... but whatever happened to ye has changed ye somewhat. They had to remove yer eyes."

"WHAT?!" Pádraig roared.

Mr. Finnegan burst out laughing.

"Yer just restrained, son. Jackson told us ye passed out at the concert... They didn't know when ye'd awaken. The concert was over so they called for help, but ye growled at the paramedics when they tried to move ye. Startled them right and proper, lad."

"Da, do you really think this is the right time to have a go?"

"When better?" his father replied still grasping at humor to avoid the obvious problems in front of him.

"Are they ok?" Padraig asked. He had a vague recollection that someone might have been hurt and he desperately begged for it not to be his friends.

"I think ye might have given them a good fright as well..."

Pádraig crumbled back into bed, tired from fighting both his chains and his concerns. "So, that explains my arms... and my eyes?"

"A quare thing," Mr. Finnegan responded his tone becoming somewhat quiet and confused. "The area around them appeared blackened and reddish... Like ye had the fires of the forge coming out of ye." His voice paused a moment as he squeezed his son's hand. Pádraig felt that they were lightly moist and thought he could taste a bit of salt on the sterile air. Had his father been crying?

"Glad yer back with us, son..." Mr. Finnegan said softly. "They couldn't tell us what was wrong with ye. Ya've been, well -- The rest of the family has been right worried. Mara wanted to be here, but ye know how she is." he said harrumphing. "Some malarkey about it being safer for everyone if she didn't go. Oh, she made ye something though. Said it might help."

"S'ok. I know she.. eugh.."Padraig started to feel sick. "Oh... look. Spots."

"Not again..." growled a voice. He was starting to feel very confused and everything was becoming splotchy in his mind. Then he started to feel angry; Strongly angry; A primal anger.

"Get me out of here!" He bellowed. The voice was strange to Pádraig and though it seemed far away, he realized the voice was not his own, but erupting from within him.