#10 Silence on the front.

His eyes fluttered open. A blur of shapes and colours appeared before him. Lights flashed overhead and distant, urgent voices barked somewhere above him. Emmet was sure he could feel something, a faint sting, a muffled burn, but nothing was prominent.

He felt more relaxed than he had been in a long time. He had reconquered himself, glued the pieces back into place and in the process gained relief from watching the demon bleed out. Yes. The demon was in his blood; get rid of the blood, get rid of the beast. He smiled sinisterly, sure the people above him could see; and why shouldn’t they? They will think him mad anyway when he pulls into full consciousness, they’ll know from the moment he speaks that he belongs in a funny farm rather than out in reality. What’s one little grin to assure them all that, yes, Emmet O’Mally was crazy? That’s what he was after all, a fucking crazy bastard.

Emmet’s head fell to the side as he slipped back into unconsciousness, his eyes rolling in their sockets. There was an immediate panic. The paramedics wheeled him quicker to the emergency room, one gripping each wrist and trying to hold the gabbing wounds closed. It was five thirty two when they finally crashed through the ER doors.
***************

Joel sat in the waiting area, his father beside him. Gavin,Ramses and Fillen had arrived little over fifth-teen minutes ago and they sat opposite the two men. Emmet’s mother cried into Gavin’s shoulder while Fillen kept his head down, staring at his trainers and wincing each time his mother wailed. She had spent a good five minutes enveloped in Johns arms, thanking him for being there, while her husband glared at them both. Gavin eventually pulled her from John’s arms and wrapped her in his own. Doctors and nurses went about their business, not even glancing in the general direction of the weeping woman or her company. Other people waited around them, creating a mixed din of voices and the only thing that brought them all to silence was the intercom.

“We should be at home, researching. I can’t stand doing nothing.” John growled to his son.

Joel stiffened, “Da. Emmet just tried to kill himself, have some respect.”

“You think I don’t? Son, I want to help him somehow and research is all I know right now, “ He sighed, “ Near and Emily are making their way home now, the amulets done but Near has a suspicion that it will be no good.”

“What happens now then?”

Before John could answer a square jawed doctor halted in front of them and cleared his throat. They all gazed up into his rugged and handsome face; his green eyes portrayed no sympathy or compassion. He grasped a steel clipboard under his arm and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his white, medical coat.

“Are you the parents of Emmet Gavin O’Malley?” he asked roughly, Gavin and Ramses nodded, “I’m Doctor Kerry, I’ll be following your sons progress. I’m afraid he’s still being looked over at the present moment, so I’m estimating that it will be late tomorrow before you can see him. The nurses are just finishing the stitches on the wrists and other various wounds and we’ll see where we go from there.”

“How long will he have to be here for?” Gavin replied.

“After he has healed up a bit, we’ll send him for psychiatrist’s evaluation. I’m afraid that’s all we know at this present time. When we get more information about his mental health history…”

“He has none!” Ramses cut in defensively, “He has never had a problem with suicidal thoughts or self harm. “

“Even so, we will need to speak to him personally.” Doctor Kerry turned to John and Joel, “You are Mr Black, who found him?”

“That’s right Doctor. He was staying at my home, with my son.” John briefly lifted his head; he fiddled with a loose thread on the sleeve of his brown jacket.

“Was there any indication at all that he was feeling suicidal?”

“None. He was normal.” John lied, “He was a little pissed off, but it’s never drove him to something like this before.”

The doctor nodded as he spoke. John was nothing if not a good liar. Gavin and Emmet’s mother gazed at him anxiously, Fillen continued to stare bewildered up into Kerry’s face who scribbled notes onto his clipboard and he clicked his tongue as he wrote.

“Okay. Mr and Mrs O’Malley, would you please follow me. I need you to sign a few documents.” Kerry turned on his heel and left, Emmet’s parents quickly followed, Gavin’s arm was wrapped around his wife's shoulders and she leaded against him as if it was the only thing holding her up.

Fillen pulled his knees up to his chin. His shaggy hair fell over his eyes and his head rested on his knee caps. His face expressionless but his eyes portrayed his deep sadness for his brother. Or maybe for something else. His knuckles were bruised and skinned; he had a cut on his lip and a purple 'shiner' below his left eye.

“You’re a bit of a fighter son?” asked John as he watched the youngest O’Malley, “Lot of body art for a kid.”

“Body art?” Fillen raised an eyebrow, curious about the older man’s interesting play on words, “I don’t go looking for trouble, it finds me. Dad says its Emmet’s fault, but it’s not” The boy protested, he stared into John’s eyes.

“Of course not.” John raised his eyebrows.

“I know what you do. Emmet didn’t tell me, he tried to keep it a secret but I’m his little brother, naturally I snoop in his room. He has stuff in a box under his bed, it’s all locked but I can pick a lock.” Fillen spoke swiftly eyes averted to the floor and distant, “What you guys do, it’s amazing. I started researching and stuff, just bits here and there. I can be useful.” Again he looked to John and Joel, “I want to help.”

Joel stared bewildered at the ten year old while John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fillen, son, you’re so young. You don’t want this life.” John insisted, “I know you want to help your brother. It may seem ‘cool’ to you, hunting and fighting all the time. You think we’re heroes. But we aren’t boy, what we do is just a job like everybody else’s. And the pay is shite.”

“But I do want be a hunter.” Fillen put his feet on the floor and gripped the arms of the chair. “I want to help you in any way I can. I want to be useful. Can’t you just teach me?”

“This doesn’t explain the fighting?” Joel spoke before his father could get a word in, “Please say you haven’t been searching for the supernatural.”

“No. There’s this big guy at school is all. Says I’m a prick and that I should get my hair cut because I look like a fag.” The boy lowered his head, “But, I have killed some weird things. I didn’t go looking, I swear, they just turned up one day.”

“You should kick the guy in the balls --” Joel urged.

“That’s the way it happens," John cut in, “Once you know, you become a target. It’s why hunters never keep company, and try to keep people in the dark. Knowing puts you in danger because, to them, it’s more fun. “He sighed “And from the looks of things, you’ve been doing quite well.”

“How did you guess that?”

“Well. You’re not dead. You could probably give that shit at school a run for his money. Show him who’s the fag. ”

There was a moment of silence before they all the funny side of John’s words and began to snicker. The morbid mood was suddenly uplifted from their shoulders.

“Mr Black…”

“John. Call me John.”

“John. I know my brother was,is, a broody basket case but he wouldn’t kill himself. He’s not like that. So tell me, what the hell got into him?”

“It’s a very long story. But it was a suicide attempt. Just, it wasn’t your brother. We don’t think so anyway.” Joel replied, “We promise to explain it all to you someday when Emmet is awake and your parents are somewhere else. Hopefully you’ll understand.”

“I’ve had to understand a lot more; I think I can handle this.”

“We’ll give you the crash course. No cutting corners, no censorship, just right up there in your face, “Joel raised his hands into the air and gestured a banging affect, “Spirit world. Boom!”

“You’re over exsadurating. It’s more of a crash than a boom.”
************

It was more like a slow clearing of his head than waking up. Everything was glazed over and he couldn’t think clearly, but he was alert enough for the words pain, drugs, numb to spring from somewhere. Ache pushed though him; it seemed from every part of his body; rather slow and passive. The haze in his mind won’t lift for him to tell clearly what he should already know and there’s no one around to remind him, or even tell him; was he still the psycho killer he had been a few hours ago?

For a moment, he didn’t even try to remember why he was here, what combination of hatred and blood, claws and ruthlessness had put him here. Instead, he turned his thoughts to his friends, the last people to see him and wondered whether they were all right. Had he attacked them? He couldn’t remember past this morning, when he was still bedridden. He had no recollection of his attack on Joel or his imprisonment in the bathroom.

He jerked his right arm and felt the tugging of a catheter at the crook of his elbow. On his chest were two white electrodes, one on ether peck. There was a dull throbbing all over his body, especially his face and dim light in the room seemed to burn his retinas. His throat tasted of blood and bile, he felt cold and nauseated. The beat of his heart grew faster; the heart monitor beeping an alarm, burning replaced the styptic smell of the hospital. He struggled against wires, desperately trying to remove them from his body but he soon came to release that most of his ligaments were out of commission. The beeping elevated, he arched his head back and screamed as a burning pain ripped through his body.

“Oh God! Make it stop!” He shrieked, trying to grip hold of the bed’s clothing, but his fists wouldn’t close.

Emmet squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Why was no one coming? Where were the nurses, the doctors? His skin throbbed, the smell was that of burning flesh and as he opened his eyes, he discovered it was his own. It smelt oddly like charcoal. Yet he felt only pulsing from his smouldering skin, and could not see nor smell any smoke. The agony was inside, like knives cutting through his organs and sawing at his bones.

Again, he arched back his head, revealing his scarred throat, and cried out for release. His hair was sticking to the sheet of sweat on his forehead and his eyes were squeezed shut. He could feel the starched bed sheets under his skin, the metal of the needle in his flesh, the smell of the burning dominated his nostrils, his heart was sending the monitor into frenzy and all he could see was the spots on light under his eyelids. All his senses had increased tenfold. And yet he didn’t have the energy or concentration to enjoy it.

“Fuck! Someone help me please.” Tears slid down the sides of his head, weaving around the stitches.

The door of his room was thrown open, a nurse and a doctor ran in. They spoke urgently to each other. He opened his eyes to find the nurse leaning over him, her hands pressed firmly on each shoulder to hold him down. Her golden curls, deep blue eyes and small, perfect nose made her look angelic; or maybe it was the fact that she was saving him. She looked up as the doctor said something to her; she nodded and gently tightened her grip on Emmet’s shoulders. The doctor was a tall fellow, with a square jaw and deep jade eyes. He pinched a needle into crook of Emmet’s right arm.

For a moment, nothing happened, he felt the same. Then a haze washed over him, clouding his mind, his vision, diluting his senses and sending him into a relaxed state. His eyes closed gently.

The nurse released her grip and stood back from the bed. As did the doctor. He shoved one hand into his pocket and with the other he brushed his stubble, deep in thought.

“We can’t keep sedating him Doctor Kerry.” She sighed, “If he wakes again we’ll have to move him to the psychiatric ward.”

“The diazepam should hold out for a few hours, three at most, we should make arrangements to have him moved while he is sedated.” Kerry stopped brushing his chin, “Jessica, in the morning I’ll leave it to you to call his family. It’s too early now.” He lifted Emmet’s chart and glanced through the pages, “I told them that it would be late this evening that they would get to see him, but I’m not sure if any visitor rights can be given at this present time.”

“I’ll let them know.” She paused, “Shouldn’t we wait until he comes out of his sedated state and see how he is feeling?”

“Do you think it is possible that he would be willing go to the psychiatric ward?”

Jessica didn’t reply, he continued, “I understand that you are just trying to help, but it would be less distressing to Mr O’Malley if we moved him while he was sleeping. Trust me.”

Jessica watched Emmet for a moment. His head lay to one side, his arms were sprawled out at the sides and tubes and wires connected to him at every joint. Stitches covered most of his body, while the rest was covered with fabric bandages. She couldn’t help but feel sympathetic and she wondered; what possibly could have gone through his head? What would drive a person to such destruction, especially of themselves?

“Jessica?”

She jumped at the sound of Kerry’s voice. He was staring at her with concern, one eyebrow was raised. She straightened herself, smiled and without another word she left the room. Kerry casually sauntered to the door, hands shoved in his pockets, clipboard under his arm and head solemnly hung. He turned in the door way and stared briefly at Emmet’s limp body. His chest rose and fell gently; his skin was pallid and covered in a light sheet of sweat. Sighing, Kerry flicked the switch, pulled the door behind him and retreated down the hallway.

The small room was now silent, apart from the strained breathing and shrill tone of the heart monitor. The soft dripping of the catheters could only be heard faintly through the din. Fluorescent lighting shone above the bed, an eerie glow illuminated the room and casted spidery shadows along the walls. A burgundy blanket hung partly over the bed, the rest trailed the floor. No one had bothered to fix it after Emmet’s sedation. The drip’s in his arms were held firmly in place by white tape which had held strong during his fit, as had the metal thread of stitches covering the majority of his body. His ID cuff was wrapped around his left ankle, like a newborn child. A digital clock blinked on the bedside table; the time read 4:50 am.