Saved by the Phoenix

Chapter Four

Andy's POV

I stared down into my soup. Slightly undercooked lentils floated on the top, interrupted by pieces of chopped celery. Even though the hospital the little girl was staying in had vegan food, I wasn't hungry. Gee, I wonder why.

Patrick, sitting across the table from me, was eating some kind of fried meat, although I knew he wasn't going to eat all of it. His trademark fedora sat slightly crooked on his head- Damn, he wore those everywhere- and his greasy fingerprints lingered on the brim, presumably from food.

We told the nurses to contact us when she got better when she went in for surgery. They were gracious enough to give daily updates, even though we didn't know her at all.

The first day, when she was in for surgery. They checked her lungs, to see if the smoke caused any damage, which, fortunately, was not much. They also took at the mysterious metal staples, but found that she had several bruised ribs; one was broken.

The second day, well enough but not ready for any kind of movement more treatment. She went mute, probably from shock.

The third day, going into a coma.which, frankly, I was kind of grateful for. A little peace and rest after going through whatever kind of hellish abuse had plagued her. Sad, but I couldn't help it.

The fourth day. Today. A call stating she had stirred, and was out of whatever kind of coma sleep they called it. Resisting the tug of brain shut-down, I guess. I don't know. Brain damage. Murder damage?

Pete had to take care of Bronx today, because Ashlee was on a trip, and Joe was doing an interview. We all agreed after dropping the little girl off that we would keep her a secret from the media.

"Patrick?" I asked hesitantly. The cafeteria didn't have many people, but I still wanted to be quieter. Who knows what the people here are going through?"

"Yes?"

I guess I had underestimated him. He had eaten almost the whole thing, and the portions here were quite large, to be honest.

"Hmm... Never mind." I didn't really want to talk about her. Not out here, at least.

I was lost in the depths of my newest tattoo on my wrist, studying the colors, spacing out when a woman in lavender scrubs burst in, running to our table.

"Mr. Stump? Mr. Hurley?"

We both stood up, afraid of what she could say, but the grin on her face said something quite different. "Yeah. Yeah, she's okay."

We followed her out into the lobby, where she waited, looking down at her hands. Different. Scratch that, very different. Her face was clean, along with her limbs. Ebony skin was tinted a more healthy color, even though it was still very pale. The startlingly dark red-orange, giving off an almost faux appearance, was combed flat, although parts and the ends were slightly singed. The hospital gown was replaced with a simple shirt and pants, but made with the same soft, baggy material that all the people working here wore.

She looked up, almost scaring me. Although the look she gave us was not at all hostile, it was just very different from how we had seen her before. Eyes that were not as luminous as the ones burned into my memory, but more of an off mix of blue and grey with the smallest hint of green. I passed the memory as my own adrenaline then, combined with the glare from the fire in her eyes.

A weak smile caught at the edge of her lips before her nurse piped up. "She's technically cleared and we can discharge her now, but the hospital needs a record of what happened to her."

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Patrick's POV

We were ushered into a small room off the side of the lobby. It was small and compact, like an office cubicle, but granting a small window to the atrium outside. The girl looked outside longingly.

The nurse sat behind a smallish desk with a monitor that was faced away from us. Andy went to sit down, and, after seeing how our girl was struggling with the wheelchair behind me, I got up to help before Andy could do anything. I noticed her white knuckles when she clutched the IV that was wheeling right beside her.

After having her before the desk and sitting myself down, the nurse started again.

"I just want to ask a few questions; I wanna know what happened to you. If it's serious enough, I could file a police report." She looked back to the screen, which obviously had the questions. "Okay. What's your first and last name, young lady?"

"Ember. Ember Raine."

"Pretty name," I half said, half whispered. My voice broke in the middle. I was trying to be nice, but I just sounded like an idiot.

"Thanks." She said quietly.

She- Ember- fidgeted again, with the IV, nervous. I couldn't blame her. Despite the fact that the nurse was almost unusually bubbly, I couldn't blame her. Just a few days ago, she looked like she had been hit by a truck.

These sorts of questions went on for a while- age, date of birth, blah, blah, blah. I learned that she was nineteen, only four years younger than me. She seemed younger, by the looks of it, but I look like I'm about thirteen. I couldn't be the judge. Finally, she went on to the question we all wanted answers to. "What exactly happened?"

Ember's hands shook, but just slightly. "I... I was on a camping trip, on my own. Like a meditation thing, I guess." Her eyes looked out the window, fixated on something I couldn't make out. "I'm really very clumsy, and I tripped while going out on a hike an the second day. I didn't know. I was at a campsite, like a real one, fake and basically just an attraction for campers who don't have the survival skills to go real camping. That's what I did, I just got my truck and drove out to what I thought was a nice spot, out of the way. I... I fell on something sharp; a few blades for stripping bark. It got my side, here. See?" She lifted her shirt up, revealing a small incision covered with real stitches.

"I did go back to my camp right after, though, and I looked for the first aid kit. Except... Um, it wasn't there. I think I put it somewhere when I was packing and forgot it. That's the kind of thing I'd do. My little sister must have been messing with my stuff before I left, because she's only three, and I guess that's what three year olds do. It was bleeding really bad, and the only thing I could find..." Her eyes glistened from remembering the pain. "A stapler."

The nurse punched what I supposed was a brief summary into the computer, typing excruciatingly, annoyingly slow.

"And... The fire? Do you know what happened?" The nurse said.

"I don't know. It was so fast, though. Scary fast." Ember bit her lip, looking away again.

After a while more of slow typing and printing and discharging, she was free to go. "I would have you stay until the stitches can come out, but you seem to know what you're doing," another nurse that was discharging her said.

It was decided that she was to go home with Andy and I, saying that she knew us close, which was not true. We finally got out to my car, taking her to my place.

What a sad story she had told. It was really too bad that I didn't believe one bit of it.