In the Middle of the Bed (A Saira Collings Story)

January 1, 1995 (Riley's Story)

The girl, Riley, didn't last long.

As soon as she was wheeled into the hospital and X-rays were done on her, they found out that she was bleeding internally. Badly.  She wouldn't live through the night, they said. So, they called in last rites, and we called her family.

Her father rushed in, all a flutter and panic about where his daughter was. Her mother walked up quietly and softly behind him, laying a hand on his arm. He quieted down immediately, or at least enough for the doctor to explain what was wrong.

The pair rushed into Riley's room, leaving us sitting there. Jacob had disappeared some time ago, though I don't know where. Then, the doctor calls for us. We all stand, and move as one into the room.

Machines beep around us. Everything is white, even Riley's pale face and white-blonde hair. Her heart monitor beats a steady red rhythm in the background of our conversation. Well, the parents' conversation; I sat in the chair next to Riley, staring at her.

Then, a ghost appeared next to me, out of thin air. I look over at it, and the woman smiles sadly. She's old, with silver hair and a flowery dress. She holds her finger to her lips, then points to the conversing parents. I nod, and she points to her head to mine. I smile, and she smiles back.

"They can't hear me. So, be careful of your facial expressions. I'm Riley's grandmother, Edith. And you are?" the woman says, to which I reply in my mind, I'm Saira. Why are you here? Unless Riley's gonna die? Edith blinks, surprised, and says,"I am here so that way if she does die, then I can lead her on."

On? So there is a life after this one, I say, and Edith blinks. You blink a lot, I inform her, and she laughs. "Yes, I do. Habit, I guess. Children always astound me, considering I've hardly been around children. My own child was the only one I was allowed to be around. I was insane, you see. Death seems to have cured me of it, though," Edith says, and I nod, my brain processing and memorizing the information.

So can ghosts sense when people are about to die? I ask suddenly, and Edith looks at the ceiling. "Some can," she hedges, and I smile encouragingly at her,"If you hunt or talk to ghosts when you're alive, then you can. If you simply died normally, then you can't. It's rather difficult, being a ghost."

I look over at Riley's still form, and see the clock on the receptionist's desk, which I can see through the window, strike midnight. Suddenly, Riley's heartbeat flatlines, and an alarm sounds. I simply stare at Riley's body as the adults rush around. I watch as they try to revive her three times. I look as they drag Riley's parents out of the room. I take in the information scattered about the room, all the charts and labels and people chatting, while my eyes stay riveted on Riley's form.

A blue-white mist rises from Riley's body. She looks around when she solidifies, and locks eyes with me. I point to her grandma, and she looks over at her. Her grandma nods, then fades into mist. Riley looks back at me, smiles, and then disappears into mist as well.

That night, after we drove home from the hospital, I had the sense that my scars would be numerous before I died. Sure enough, two fresh new scars burn on my back that night, waking me up from a nightmare about a burning house. In the mirror the next morning, I look at the new lines on my back. One, the one from Jacob, runs across my lower back. Riley's scar curls above it, like a small snake ready to strike.

Apparently, a warning and a promise I received that night.