#11 Omens.

If Near had a pulse, it would have been beating feverishly in his ears. His foot tapped, his knee bounced, he played with the loose thread on his sleeve; too much was weighing on Emmet’s process in the next two hours. Emily had the pendant in the back pocket of her jeans, he could sense its power every time she paced by him.

He gazed around the room for the fourth time since he arrived just over an hour ago. He noted the pale blue carpet that gave way to marble tiles, the red cushions of the chairs which rested on pine frames, the small timber coffee tables and the royal blue fabric couches. Pine desks sat at either side with identical ceramic white lamps topped off by illuminate shades. The walls were black marble as well as the reception desk; why break the habit of a life time? Floor length windows surrounded the wall facing the parking lot; outside them were rows of potted plants and a long narrow porch leading vertically to the pickup point. The stench of the foyer pleasantly surprised him; he was expecting lots of sickness and death, instead he got bleach, disinfectant and air freshener. It was only when the infected individuals trod in that this was disrupted, but it was only ever for a second, then they would be ushered into the main building or seated far enough away that their stench was hidden.

He crossed his long legs, one over the other and sat forward so that his arms could rest on his thighs. Emily’s pacing had slowed but her heart had not. She was fidgeting with her finger nails, picking at the skin surrounding them and tearing it off with her teeth. Near resumed to play with the loose threads. He glanced briefly up at the clock; the time was 7:55 am.

*************

Dr Kerry watched the pair from the safety of a large glass window. He stood by the flower bed, cigarette in one and the hooked end of an umbrella in the other. The attractive flame haired woman and her patchy companion had been waiting for over an hour. She hadn’t sat down and he hadn’t stood up to comfort her.

Kerry was curious. He hadn’t bothered to ask who they were there for but they must be pretty damned special if they were willing to wait so patiently. From the angle at which he stood he could make out the silence and anxiety they both felt. It was practically stamped onto their foreheads.

As he lifted the remainder of the Mayfair to his pale lips a strong force of wind took it from between his fingers. It blew away across the lot. Kerry swore and swiftly jogged to the shelter of the porch. He shook out the raindrops from his umbrella and stepped inside.

He did not even glance in the direction of the odd couple as he sauntered through to the main part of the building, were he was immediately greeted by one of the nursing staff. The hustle and bustle of the morning rounds had not diminished even slightly and the fresh smell of disinfectant and soap stung Kerry’s nose; it was always particularly strong during the morning. The doctor attempted to smile at his comrades and hurried along to the psychiatric ward were his main concern lay.

Jessica Ferrell met him at the double doors leading to the ward. He was not at all surprised to see her and even felt compassion for the young woman. She had, single headedly, taken it upon herself to see that the Mr O’Malley was comfortable, his statistics were in order and that, if he woke up, he would not hurt himself again. Kerry was thankful for her persistent assistance; Ireland needed more nurses like her.

“Good morning.” She sang trying hard to mask the sleep deprivation in her voice, “Would you like a coffee?”She handed him a cardboard cup from the hospital café before he even had time to answer. It burnt his fingers briefly.

“How are his statistics this morning Miss Ferrell?” Kerry asked.

She strode along beside him, chart held up to her face and coffee held firmly in her free hand. Her brows furrowed.

“He appears to be stabilised.” Her voice was unconvinced.

“Appears? Surely the charts are correct?”

“Yes. Yes. But during the remainder of the night he was in distress.”

“His vitals show no sign of distress.” Doctor Kerry replied as he glanced at the flip chart.

“He tossed and mumbled malarkey in his sleep, each time I checked on him. And when they moved him, his body began shaking.”

“Nightmares perhaps. The shaking could also be linked to unfamiliar surroundings, chill or his body could have been aware of movement or presence of others.” Kerry nodded, pleased with himself, “Yes. Not a worry. It’s simply human nature.”

Jessica, still, was not convinced but she submitted to Kerry’s theories anyway.

Together they strode into Emmet’s room. He was curled into a ball on his side, fluids still being pumped into his arms and thick white bandages wrapped from his elbow to wrist on each arm. His eyes were opened slightly, but they were hazy and absent. He didn’t seem to realize their presence in the room.

Kerry gently edged forward, Jessica followed with the clipboard held firmly to her breast. The older man placed his hand on the pressure point in Emmet’s neck and checked his pulse manually. He took care to avoid the wounds held together by stitching and clips.

“Manually his pulse is stable. So that’s good.” Kerry said, seemingly speaking to himself, “You should give his parents a ring and tell them that he is awake and doing well. Better than we expected actually.”

“He has recovered quickly. The wounds lead me to believe he would be out for some time.” Jessica stated.

“It’s possible that his body simply refused to harbour the drugs and passed them out. Sometimes the medication doesn’t work. In cases like this his mind is too alert to allow his body to remain unconscious.” Kerry looked up at the young nurse as he tried to explain further, “What medical books don’t tell you, you have to find out for yourself. I have taken note that certain parts of the Frontal and Parietal lobe remain awake and resist against the drugs given. It’s rare but it happens.”

Jessica seemed perplexed but she had no reason to not to believe the doctor. He was, after all, highly respected by the staff and had a reputation for being off the mark at times. She took out a small notebook from her royal blue pinafore and scribbled down condensed notes of Kerry’s small speech.

The general surgeon was checking the machines (it appeared to be a ritual of his) and spoke softly to the young man lying on the bed. He got little response but kept addressing him anyway. Kerry was a kind hearted man when he wanted to be; other times, he just came off arrogant.

“He has friends outside. Should I allow them in?” Jessica asked.

Kerry raised an eyebrow and thought back to the man and woman sitting in the foyer.

“How long have they been waiting?” he questioned.

“Quite a while. Should I go ahead and let them in?”

The surgeon hesitated, “I suppose.” He tapped his lips with his pointer finger in a brief moment of thought, “Only this once. If anyone else comes outside visiting hours, they don’t get in. Okay?”

“Yes Doctor. Of course. I will get them right away.” Jessica turned on the heel of her black pumps and excited the room.

Kerry sat in the soft chair by Emmet’s bed and brushed back the boy’s hair from his eyes. He looked at the sickly face; the eyes hazy but large in their sunken sockets and the long gashes across his nose, right eye and on his left cheek. Luckily, the young man hadn’t need any stitches but there would most definitely be scars.

Timidly, Emmet’s gaze fell firmly on the doctor’s face. He attempted a small smile.

“Hello Emmet. How are you feeling?” He asked, realizing that his patient was now slightly aware of his presence, “You will have visitors in a moment. Would you like that?”

Emmet carefully nodded his head.

“Your throat will be quite painful for a while, so, try to speak as little as possible.”

Kerry placed his hand over Emmet’s, only to have the young man grab it weakly. In a sickly, grinding voice the young man managed a feeble ‘thank you’.

Jessica knocked on the door, interrupting the tender moment between patient and doctor. Beside her stood Emily and Near. Kerry pulled gently from Emmet’s grip, stood from his chair and approached the trio. He outstretched a hand to the young woman.

“Doctor Paul Kerry.” He announced confidently.

“Emily Dalton.” Emily replied as she took hold of the doctor’s hand.

Kerry, naturally, moved onto Near and shook his hand also.

“And you are?” He questioned.

A blush swept briefly across Near’s grey skin, “Um…Alexander Worthing.” He murmured.

“A coy one, aren’t you?” Kerry replied playfully.

Near forced a small laugh and moved closer to Emily. Kerry, accompanied by Jessica, briefed them on some safety and regulations which accompany the visiting process. They were not to sit on the bed, nor were they to touch any of the tubing or wiring connected to Emmet. It was also strongly recommended not to distress the patient, especially one in such a fragile state, for fear of heart failure. Finally, they exited the room and left the duo alone with their friend.

***

The web was an endless supply of information. The hard part was finding the truth in the lies. There are so many legends and superstitions that it’s damn near impossible; unless, of course, you knew where to look. John Black knew the truth from the lies, but even he found it hard sometimes.

Some of the best hunters he knew had been contacted with his ‘hypothetical’ question’s revolving around Emmet’s condition, but he had yet to receive any replies that were of any use. Searching textbooks and websites that the hunter knew as reliable had also proven a failure.

John rubbed his eyes and switched off the laptop. The search would have gone a lot faster had he not told his son to go and rest; he may even have been stopped after the first two hours. How was he to know that there was next to nothing helpful both online and in books? Not even any of the most experienced hunters in the country knew of anything. Evidently, they were at a loss.

Being a man of hope, no matter how belittled, John poured a mug of strong coffee and commenced searching through his contact book.

“Still nothing?”

John’s head snapped up to find the source of speech. Joel, whom was still sleeping off his fight with Emmet, strode sluggishly into the kitchen. He pulled out a stool and sat opposite his father.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” John barked.

“It’s ten in the morning.” Joel replied cocking an eyebrow.

John glanced at his watch. He had trolled the internet and textbooks all night; no wonder his head was splitting. He pushed his fingers through his salt and peppered hair.

“Da stop it. You haven’t found anything, accept it.”

John scoffed at his son, “Tell a kettle not to boil, son.” He ignored Joel’s deep sigh and continued, “I haven’t found so much as a word that could help us. I don’t think we have ever been so lost in battle.”

“This isn’t a war we are fighting, this is our mate.”

There was silence as the older man mused over this. Joel slid the contact book 360°so he could glance through it. He wondered how his father ever found anything in this book; it was so disorganised. As if it wasn’t enough to have to decipher the horrible scrawl but the lettered sections could hold names of anything from A to Z. The only thing remotely ordered, though poorly, was the colour code. Every profession was given its own colour; Blue for hunter, Pink for medium, Green for civilian etcetera.

“I should probably ring Emmet’s mother, see if there’s any change.” John stood up and excited to the hall way.

Joel flipped over the frayed pages absentmindedly. He tapped the fingers of his other hand on the table and tried to concentrate on the writing but his mind kept straying to the dream he had had that previous night. He still felt deeply disturbed by it even though he had been awake for well over three hours; it was actually more of a nightmare packed to the brim with omens.

In the dream, he had woken in a river. Around him was tropical vegetation that was so thick he could see nothing but darkness beyond it. For a moment all he could feel was the murky water brushing lightly against his chest, it was luke-warm but he could still feel a slight chill, but something nipped and bit at his ankles then his legs and his midriff. He felt a shock of pain when teeth latched onto him in several places. He lifted an arm from the water to find a fat, black leech hanging from his elbow. Joel began trying to pry the annelids from his body but to no avail. It wasn’t until he heard the water shift that he realised the leeches weren’t his only company. Eight pairs of sallow eyes were visible above the water, oily scales framed them and a long snoot extended in front of them. However, the alligators remained perfectly still despite their prays obvious disadvantage. On the banks surrounding the river more predators stalked Joel the majority of which were auburn and tan leopards. The leeches bit harder as the leopards advanced into the water; only then did the alligators proceed to glide towards him. The distance between them was closing swiftly but Joel found that he couldn’t move. He felt the talons of one of the large felines rip through the flesh of his back, he screamed and desperately tried to shift his feet. Again and again he was attacked, more of the predators joined the ambush and the leeches shamelessly drained the blood still left in his veins. He felt his body become lighter and soon he was above, watching the murderous scene unfold. Then he woke covered in a blanket of cold sweat and tangled uncomfortably in his sheets.