The Attic

Seven

            “…sorry… came early…”

            “Nurse, nurse! He said something!”

            Paul groaned. No…too much noise…

            He felt the icy cold liquid tingle inside his hand, and the warm, blanketing fuzziness overtook him and all was dark again.

*   *   *

            John blinked once.

            Everything was white, and clean. Down to the smallest details, everything. There were white walls white wooden trimmings painted over again in white paint, white tiled floors with white grout in the spaces between the flat, unoriginal squares, white ceilings with industrial, too-bright lights embedded in the ceiling, casting light that wasn’t yellow and warm like it should’ve been, but harshly and unforgivingly bright white.

            Small, ticking, clacking footsteps pierced the heavy silence and a nurse walked past him, shooting him a strange look. John’s bloodshot eyes seemed to say everything. She hesitated after a while, and brought over a clipboard of papers, a pen in hand.

            John looked up, wondering what this was about, dread filing his veins like lead. What did it mean when someone gave you papers to sign?

            “Can—can I have an autograph?” she asked in a trembling voice.

            He didn’t utter a word, just stood up from his solitary chair, a strange fury lighting his eyes.

            “I—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—“ the nurse amended, panicking slightly.

            John was already gone.

*   *   *

            Sean would come by and see his Daddy quickly let go of Paul, glancing towards the door, but Mummy hadn’t seen. Sean didn’t quite understand but he had a feeling that it would be best if he didn’t mention it to Mummy.

            Daddy looked empty, and it would scare Sean. He’d hug him and touch his hair gently, but it was like he wasn’t there at all. Sean would turn big, worried eyes to Mummy, who’d offer to get Sean some chocolate.

            Sean would always turn back to see Daddy slumped on the chair, like a doll that had been dropped and was waiting to be picked up again.

*   *   *

            Then one day there was a groan and a beep and John woke up with a start. He’d been napping, and suddenly the world was awake with a flurry of activity. People were shouting and talking and wheeling in a huge machine that made John’s eyes widen.

            Someone shoved him out of the way, and though John tried to struggle, he vaguely remembered not having eaten in two days, which would probably explain why he saw dancing spots in the air and everything was spinning very quickly.

            He clutched the doorframe for support and tried to look into the room.  He caught the words “heart attack” and John thought he felt his knees crumple underneath him, as he saw them move heavy objects onto the bared chest, and started jolting him, making his whole body flop around and shake the bed.           

            John couldn’t watch, and he turned, covering his mouth, wondering what he was going to do; there didn’t seem to be a single action to react to something this big and terrifying. John slid to the floor, feeling his shirt crumple and ride up slightly behind him as he rested the back of his skull on the hard surface.

            “Stablilized,” someone said, and John took a deep breath. He was no medical expert, but that sounded nice, that sounded wonderful, really, stability.

            John felt his shaky body straighten and he was walking into the room with a dreamlike ease, everyone parting to let him go to his usual spot beside the patient’s bed.

            He’d been sitting in the same spot for two days, and John noticed that the bed had been bumped out of placed and was no longer perpendicular to the wall. The lower half of the bed had been knocked away from John but the upper half was still close to his chair.

            “Oww…” someone muttered, and John looked around the room, before settling with the only logical conclusion, however impossible and crazy, and looked down at Paul’s slightly open, grimacing face.