Connection

Chapter 4

Connor was sitting in his room dinking around with a makeshift paper football and pillow field goal. He was very bored, and after making thirty consecutive makes on his paper football course, he went under the covers of his bed. He was cold, and it was usually hot and stuffy in his room. He tried to sit up, but felt lightheaded almost immediately, and had to slip under his covers once more. His teeth started clattering together, and Connor then realized, he was shivering. He got out of his bed, where his knees gave out on him. He managed to crawl over to his drawers where his clothes were kept. Eyes trained on the handle, he groped out with his hand just long enough for his fingertips to rake the top of the metal pull. He gained another inch, and opened the drawer. He pulled out a pair of thick pants, and opened up the drawer below the one he just opened, and was able to pull out a woolen sweatshirt. On the top drawer were his long sleeve shirts, and he would have to stand up to reach them.

He started slowly by kneeling up gradually as high as he could, then into a position where he was on one knee. He slid the other leg up and around, being hit with an immediate wave of nausea. He shook it off and started standing up. Slowly. He wasn't yet extended to his full height. But he got all of the way up after a minute and a half. He stuck his arms up to his shoulder level, and pulled out the drawer. He pulled out a warm, large long sleeve shirt, and slipped it over his tee shirt. He began shivering more vigorously. Connor predicted that it was the excess amount of movement. He put the nice woolen sweater over his head and on. The pants were going to be quite easy. He would just go back to his bed, sit down on it and put them on. Connor started walking normally until he was blasted with the largest heat wave and nausea he had ever felt. Connor's pupils dilated. His law dropped loose. Then he was falling... Falling... Falling...

* * *

The large thump was what alerted Mr. and Mrs. Holt. But the noise that followed was worse. A hight pitched screaming, and the sound of a liquid splashing against a ground. But when the dresser fell, the Holts' darted up the stairs, and opened the door to Connor's room to see something horrible. Repulsive. Harmful. Puddles of puke were around Connor's twitching unconscious body, and the dresser on top of his made matters worse. Glass was shattered everywhere. Pictures were fallen off walls, and clothes spilled thought the room. Mr. Holts had arrived just minutes before the incident, from a stressful day at work. This did not help his cause whatsoever. This didn't mean that he wouldn't help his child recover from his later discovered symptoms of dehydration, depression, and a high fever recorded at 103.8°F.

Connor first woke up in his bathtub when what he had done was thrust in his face. He felt like he was viewing the scene from a different point of view. Third person, perhaps. His eyes were a blur, and was his mother crying? Connor's father drizzled a small cup of water into his mouth, but Connor's body denied it quickly. He threw up on his naked self again, and blacked out once more.

The second time he was awake was at the Kenosha Memorial Hospital. He had an IV stuck on his left forearm, and another jammed in his leg. He felt more awake, but still drowsy and chilly. This is where he was diagnosed with his symptoms. He stayed over night at the hospital, and his mother stated up all night making sure that her son was alright. She got three hours of sleep, and an arsenal of nightmares.

In the morning, Connor's fever had dropped down to normal temperature, but he was still mildly dehydrated and he looked sad. The welt on his jaw was still a visible lump, but had reduced in size, and in pain. The doctors gave him some ointment for the mound of flesh. Connor drank water from a cup, and had his IV removed. The water had been warm, but Connor accepted it gratefully.

He left the hospital the day after he got sick. He was completely healed, but his mother finally realized that someone, or something was nagging him. Gavin? She thought. No, he was at home with her husband. School? No. But wait, didn't Gavin her something about Connor hurting a kid at school? Yes! That was it! She would bring up later. Today was a Wednesday. She would tell him the next day.

Connor could not stop thinking about what he had done at school on Monday... Couldn't get it out of his head... He stood up, and stepped out of the car. He stepped inside and was nuked with questions from his family.
"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"Give Grams a hug!"

And many other questions, and do this, and do that's.

Connor quietly snuck up to his room. He opened the door, only to find Gavin in it. Crying over something broken. Connor looked up on his trophy shelf where he kept all of his most prized possessions. He saw something was missing. His most prized possession. His token to a better life. His glass urn, containing the only remembrance of his trip to Florida. Some of the most expensive and beautiful seashells of Florida. Cone shells.