"Connor," I sighed with relief. "Where am I?" I glanced around, but my mind couldn't really process anything, and the movement only made me dizzier.
I realized I was on a bed when Connor sat down next to me. He was gripping my hand tightly.
"You're in the hospital." The sentence sounded so overused, something out of a TV show, that it took me a moment to really register it. I peered around, again. It was true, down to the needle in my hand, hooking me up to the IV.
"What happened?" I tried to remember, but I had absolutely no recollection. I did remember having a weird dream, with a huge castle in a swamp, and black animals with yellow eyes, but that seemed irrelevant. But the more I thought about the dream, the more something nagged at the back of my mind, something that happened, just before I woke up.
Connor sounded strained when he answered. "The EMTs said you went off the road. You must have rolled, because your car was lying on its top," he paused. When I looked at him, his face was stricken and his lips were pressed in a tight line. He looked like he was about to cry. I squeezed his hand, and he continued, his voice constricted.
"They found you lying several yards from your car, in a grove of trees. There was blood smeared everywhere, and weird gouges in the ground around you. We still don't know what they're from."
He fell silent, staring down at our hands clasped together.
"How much blood did I lose?" I asked, although I didn't want to upset him any more than he already was.
He frowned, then, his mouth still a thin line. "That's just the thing," he said. "You were thrown from the car, but you barely had a scratch. The blood on you wasn't even yours."
Now, it was my turn to frown. I was starting to remember bits and pieces, now. "I remember," I began, "I mean, I think I hit my head on the window."
Connor shook his head. "There's not a scratch. The only mark you had was this," he said, picking up my other hand. There was a bandage on it, but Connor gently pulled it aside, revealing a very red and swollen palm. At first, I couldn't see anything. Then I noticed a series of thin, red lines etched deeply into my skin. They made a symmetrical pattern, with a mix of spikes and swirls. The spikes almost looked like they made wings.
I glanced back up at Connor, and studied his face. The more I looked at him, the more prominent the dark shadows under his eyes were. He looked terrible. I took my hand away from his and touched his face.
"I'm okay, Con," I murmured. "You can stop worrying."
He took a long, ragged sigh, then stretched out next to me on the bed, twining his fingers with mine.
"Where are my parents?" I asked suddenly. "Wait, does Westley know what happened?" As much as my brother pretended not to, I knew he'd be anxious.
As if on cue, Wes walked in at that moment. He looked calm, but I knew him well enough to see that he was worried. He walked over to the other side of my bed, and looked down at me. His ten year-old face was tight, and his eyebrows were pulled together in a frown.
"Mom and Dad told me what happened," he said quietly. He looked me up and down, then his frown disappeared, replaced by his familiar cool, all-knowing expression. "I told them you were a terrible driver. Looks like I'm right, again." The corner of his mouth went up in a smirk.
I glared at him. "Shove off, brat."
~*~*~*~
© B. J. Robertson
Sorry, guys, I know it's not very much, but I haven't had a lot of time to write lately. Hopefully, I'll get some more soon, but I can't guarantee anything, since I'm trying to get ready for my Senior pictures this Saturday. But, we'll see. Toodle-loo
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