For Hire (NaNoWriMo13)

VIII: Need To Start Giving My Life a Thought

“I know your father.”

Father…

Father…

I open my eyes. The last vestiges of my dream fading slowly each time I blink, receding into the deep parts of my mind.

I squint around as a dim yellow light shines mutely above my hospital bed, casting dull, hazy shadows across the room.

The digital clock at the wall blinks 5:45 in red, bold numerals.

I turn my head towards the glass wall and catch glimpses of the sun through the wide slivers of the blinds, rising majestically amidst the deep blue sky.

And then I look at my right side and see the bulky form of Velmar Drummond with his right shoulder heavily-bandaged, wrap in blankets and still caught in a deep slumber. His chest rises and falls rhythmically.

I run a hand across my face and feel the bandage wrap around my forehead.

Yesterday, after the harrowing events and our escape, we arrived at Byzantine’s basement like a couple of war victims. Despite that, the Director cannot hide his satisfaction that we managed to evade the authorities, albeit bloody and battered.

I look around the room again and sigh. Saying that I hate hospitals is an understatement; in fact I despise it. Even Byzantine’s hospital that doesn’t look remotely like a hospital, except for the medical apparatuses, does not escape my detestation. The smell is just-somehow wrong; the sharp tang of alcohol permeates my nostrils making me lightheaded, the air around here leaves a metallic taste in my mouth making me gag. And deep inside me, something about hospital rooms scare me.

Suddenly, a white-hot pain erupts in the middle of my skull.

Images flash past my brain.

“You don’t have the right to do this!”

“I have a right to do anything I want, you’re the one who doesn’t have the right to question me!”

“You’ve lost your mind!”

“You are too nearsighted to see what’s at stake here. You have no idea.”

Blood on the walls…Gunshots…Pain…Pain everywhere…

Talia.

 

“Talia!”

I catch myself screaming my head off. A sob escape my mouth, so I bit my lip.

“Rosenberg, what the hell is happening to you?” Drummond asks. I feel his hand hover over my shoulders, trying to pull me up.

I find myself curled on the floor and clutching my head like a lunatic. The sharp tang of alcohol is back in my nose again and the metallic taste of the air is bitter than ever.

I sit up; I touch my face and feel wetness of tear tracks on it. I wipe it discreetly and look up. Beside Drummond is a doctor and he’s looking at me with utmost concern.

“Ms. Rosenberg, is something wrong with your head?” He asks as he touches my arms.

A shiver runs up my arm from the place where his hand makes contact to my skin.

“I’m fine,” I snap as I snatch my arm away from him, “nothing’s wrong, I just-just had an headache.” I say, it’s true though, the pain in my head had already receded as fast as it suddenly came.

I scramble to my feet and go back to my bed, ignoring the weird looks Drummond and the doctor is giving me.

I swallow and sniffle. I can’t even remember what I saw, but I think it’s pretty much the same as my nightmares. They’re starting to haunt me even when I’m awake, I clutch the bed covers in fear.