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

May 6, 1995 (Chris's Story)

Another hospital. Why does life hate me?

Five years old, and I hate hospitals with a passion. I had seen too many people die there, had seen too much blood, and had dealt too many fatal blows. Though my mom said I would be an amazing doctor.

The day that Chris died, I was visiting my mom in the hospital. She had gotten sick with cancer, and the doctors didn't think she'd make it.

If only she hadn't beaten the sickness. Then she wouldn't have to suffer through any more pain.

I'm sitting in the waiting room, waiting for my dad to finish talking to Mom, when I hear a commotion in another room. I stand, and walk towards the shouts like an idiot.

A bunch of people are crowded around a single bed in the dimly lit room, everyone shouting at the top of their lungs.

I walk towards the person lying in the bed, weaving between legs and skirting large men. Thank God for my small size and thin frame.

I stand by thd person's head, and his eyes roll over to look at me.

A rich hazel-gold color peers out from dark lashes and hooded eyes. The man's skin is so pale and thin it's almost translucent. He nods weakly to me, and I nod back.

"Chris," he says, his dry and crackly voice near a whisler, though I know that he's speaking in his loudest and strongest voice. My mom sounded like that once, when she was very sick, though I forget what from.

"Saira," I say, and he blinks. "You have death at your hands, Saira. I can see the spirits around you. As well as a demon. How so?"

Chris starts coughing fron saying so much, and I hear his lungs shudder for breath, can almost see them, too. No one around us notices, however, as they're all screaming at each other.

"You can see spirits? So there are others?" I ask instead, watching Chris's bright eyes with interest and curiosity.

"Yes. I am known as a psychic medium. I can see, speak to, and sometimes banish, spirits," Chris says.

"How old are you?" I ask, and Chris gives a dry, shaking laugh. "Lots of questions, huh? And not amsering any of mine. Children. I am twenty-one, Saira."

I blink at him, then say,"Oh, okay then. But to answer your question, I have seen numerous deaths. And I have committed one. I have a scar on my back for each of them."

"How many?" Chris asks, not sounding at all surprised by this. Maybe a spirit told him, as spirits are wise in death, as Lucas had said.

"Ten," I answer, and Chris nods.

Suddenly, the beeping that signifies Chris's hearbeat goes up rapidly. Chris looks at me, and I see his beautiful eyes glaze over.

"I'm glad to have met you, Saira Collings," he says, confirming my belief that a spirit spoke to him.

Chris's eyes roll back into his head, and he starts thrashing about as the beeping gets louder and faster. I stand by his bedside, and watch, as everyone else in the room is hustled out by the nurses.

They don't notice me, so I stay, watching the spirit talker's spirit rise from his body.

He nods to me, his spirit, which then fades into smoke. Only then do I walk out of the room, my soul breaking into another blue shard. I meet my dad outside Mom's room, and we leave.

This time, as darkness falls across the road, I get my next scar. A mirror image of Lucas's, Chris's scar laces across my left hip, curling in the front and back. It, like almost all the ones before it, barely hurts.