Sativa.

36. Foretold

Fuming, Blaine waits. After the farmer's market fiasco she fled back to the hotel. Travis hadn't come home the night before (nor bothered to contact her about why) then the hospital called, and dealing with it all has reduced her to a bundle of nerves.

"Hello?" She answers brisk with impatience.

"Miss Sativa."

She has to grit her teeth because there's no way the old woman on the other line could know she hates being addressed so formally. Her Mother was Mrs. Sativa. She never will be.

"This is she."

"I'm Dr. Trujillo." The woman sounds too frail to be any sort of Doctor but, again, Blaine keeps her mouth shut. "I'm calling about your brother."

She was about to hang up. Now she sits up alert and rigged with alarm. "What about him?"

"Well, he's sitting in the corner and he won't move until he sees you."

Their call ends then Blaine is on the road to see Clark. No matter how concerned she is about Travis her brother will always come first. She's stared at her phone all day sucked into the screen as she opens Facebook to check if Travis had been active.

The hours since he'd last logged in stack up and a black hole of dread yawns bigger with each one. She'd laid in bed and watched Tv hoping she wouldn't miss his call. Or even a little green chat bubble indicating he was at least online and safe.

At the hospital entrance, orderlies make Blaine sacrifice her phone, her car keys, and even the diamond barrette in her hair. Anything that could be used as a weapon is put into a little plastic tub then set in a cupboard behind the front desk enclosed by glass. Usually she wouldn't mind but now she feels like she's being ripped in half. To help her brother she has to sever contact with someone else she cares and worries for.

Blaine walks to Clark's room. Her hand clenches in and out of a fist as she tries to ignore concern plaguing her as potent as the flu. The place reeks like lemons and overwhelming floral scents wafting from bowls filled with potpourri.

Blaine's path hasn't changed for six years, a maze of halls colored muted tones -- tan for the carpet and grey for the walls. To the left, down to the end of the hall, to the right, quick left, and then the second door down. She supposes it would be fairly easy to get lost among all the zig-zagging corridors but she's so accustomed to finding her way around it's almost like she's a patient herself.

Maybe one day she will be.

Blaine shudders.

Usually coming here is uncomplicated, assuring even, but now she doesn't know what to expect. She pauses at her brother's door uncertain of how to proceed. As frail as a rabbit in crosshairs, she knocks.

"Please don't come in." Clark's whisper is faint but she can still make out the words.

"Clark, it's me." She speaks into the door. When he doesn't answer she continues, "I got a call. Your Doctor said that you wanted to see me."

Even after she isn't granted a response Blaine turns the knob then enters the room. Thankfully he isn't huddled up in the corner anymore. He sits on the floor, leaning against a bed that doesn't have a frame to pick it up off the ground.

He has a kit of beads in his lap and she watches him braid three leather cords together to make one of his bracelets. The weapon rule still stands but the leather isn't long or strong enough for him to hurt himself with it.

Meandering around stacks upon stacks of books scattered about the room Blaine sits on the floor beside him. Her brother is focused on his braiding and hardly gives her a passing glance. She sits on his left side. That part of his face is light white from a pattern of scars inflicted from a fire.

Silence blankets between them so thickly she can hardly breathe and she clears her throat. "You didn't go to the library today?"

He doesn't stop what he's doing but she does notice his fingers falter a little. One of the beads slips off the end before falling back into the kit.

"They said it was because you needed to see me." She persists in the lowest tone she can manage.

Finally he averts his gaze to her. "I had another nightmare."

Somehow her already sick stomach sinks even lower. Clark has always been perceptive. He'd told Tina to be careful making dinner one week when they were still kids. She'd ignored him and she'd been peeling potatoes and nearly chopped her finger off.

"About what, Clark?"

He begins to shake uncontrollably as tears fill his eyes. "I can't lose you, Blaine."

The raw emotion radiating off him feels like a direct punch to her heart. She rests her head on his shoulder and whispers, "I'm not going anywhere."

"But what if they kill you?"

Blaine sits up again, feeling each muscle in her body coil as she tenses considerably. She's hardly spoken of all the bad that's happened with Travis lately.

Trying to regain composure she assures, "I'm not going anywhere, Clark. I promise."

Since she's here anyway, burdened with worry, she decides she needs someone to talk to. "You don't have anything to worry about," she says, leaning against his shoulder again. "Especially not with me. But with Travis, maybe."

"He's a nice guy."

"He is," she agrees with a smile. "But he's stepped into a mess and he just keeps sinking deeper the more he tries walking out of it."

"What kind of mess?"

It's almost eerie. Them both sitting in this empty, sterile room, surrounded by hundreds of his tattered books and speaking in whispers.

The years she's spent with Travis were a whirlpool. It started so peacefully she didn't realize she was in trouble until she was already sucked under. Like a flash-frame she remembers heavy rain, the smack of flesh splitting beneath a clenched fist, and her yelling Travis's name over and over as his legs buckled when he collapsed into the mud like a limp toy.

"With money." It's the easiest response she can give without bringing the bad to Clark's doorstep. "It started off so... innocent... but now I don't even know who we are anymore."

"You'll always be my sister." He strings more yellow beads onto the end of the braids. She watches him for a moment, soothed by his presence.

After awhile she lifts her head off his shoulder again. "I'm sorry but I have to go. I've been waiting for Travis to get home all day."

His whole face slumps low when he frowns. "I just want to make sure you're being safe. I love you."

"I love you too, Clark. I'll be back Thursday like always."

She stands and navigates her way around the books again. Blaine's hand is resting on the door handle, about to leave, when her brother speaks up. "He loves you, you know."

She turns around, brows narrowed in confusion.

Clark confirms, "Travis. He loves you and I know he will try to protect you."

Relieved by his approval she smiles then nods. "I know that, too."

She twists the knob and steps out of the room but not quickly enough. "They're still going to shoot you."

Now she's practically frozen in place, slack-jawed for a second before snapping her mouth back shut. Her brother cannot read the future. His perceptions have only been right twice that she can recall. It doesn't mean anything. It's just his nightmares.

Clearing her throat, trying to hide how much his omen has affected her, Blaine repeats, "I'll see you Thursday."

Before Clark has a chance to say more she shuts the door behind her then walks hastily down the hall. She keeps her head low, staring at her feet, and trying not to notice hairs prickling on the back of her neck. Although she loves him she's always taken what Clark has to say with a grain of salt. It's just a dream. It doesn't have to mean anything.

Does it?