A Bird in Flight | ✔︎

Chapter twenty-nine: Waking up in a new world

Callan

Beep, beep, beep.

Darkness fills up every empty space in my mind and my eyelids feel heavy. Slow, subdued voices, muffled by the soft whirring of machines. The strong scent of disinfectant burning my nostrils and the rough canvass mattress rubbing against my bruised skin.

I open my eyes, the soft glow of the overhead lights chasing away the dark spots distorting my vision. Once my eyes are adjusted and the room has stopped rocking, my gaze flickers around, absorbing my surroundings. A cool breeze blows through the open window and leaves scatter the windowsill. I'm hooked up onto numerous machines, including an IV drip; my hospital bed cocooned between them all. Nurses and doctors stand in groups around the small room, exchanging small talk, their expressions unreadable.

I become aware of the painful thumping in my temples and the rawness in the back of my throat, which is soon followed by deep aches and throbs throughout my entire body. My mind suddenly rewinds, catching up on itself and my body is in freefall, falling back into the memories of what I just endured.

The blinding, sickening pain and the crunching of my bones each time the baton was slammed mercilessly against my body over and over again. The black spots dancing behind my eyelids as I watched Ensley pick up the pistol, fear freezing her body until my eyes rolled into the back of my head. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot and the impact of a body hitting the floor before I fell unconscious.

After that, I can only remember small snippets. The blood of my father coating my hands and dripping off my clothes. His corpse splayed out across the floor, blood covering his face where the bullet met its target. The flashing blue and red lights and the sirens. Ensley's tortured screams as police officers dragged her away from me, her wrists held behind her back with a pair of handcuffs. Medics loading me onto a stretcher and into the ambulance and a wall of bodies watching with their mouths hanging open and eyes huge from behind the tape which closed off the area to civilians.

My breathing quickens causing the heart rate monitor to loose its shit. I feel like I'm drowning. Drowning in the memories and the pain. Drowning in my life.

"Callan! Breathe, just breathe!" The nurses and doctors spring into action the moment the monitor alerts them that I'm awake.

I squeeze my eyes shut but hot tears still manage to leak out from the corners. My fingernails surge upwards, puncturing the skin of my palms. I don't care. The pain feels good.

Weak, I hear my father's cold voice ring in my ears. You're so fucking pathetic. Crying like a baby.

"Tell me what hurts, Callan," the nurse says.

"Everything fucking hurts!" I scream at her, bolting upright despite the excruciating pain it puts my body through. "Where's Ensley? Where the fuck is my girlfriend? What the hell happened?"

I feel a needle being poked into my neck. My tense muscles relax and I fall back onto the bed, my vision blackening around the edges. The last thing I see is my dad's dark, lifeless eyes staring up at me. Piecing through me. Like a shark hunting down its prey.

* * * *

Ensley

Frost bites my skin through my shorts, rising goosebumps against my pale skin. My thumb traces the cracks in the stone bench I've been sitting on for the past three hours in the holding cell to await my sentence.

Despite the officers passing assured me that Callan is alive, I know I will never be able to remove the images from my mind. It will be imprinted there for the rest of my life. The violent attack with the baton, the pistol in my hands and the red blood smeared all across the floor.

My eyes fall down to my wrists, which have been rubbed red raw from my struggle to get myself out of the policemen's clutches. Thankfully, about an hour ago, they removed my handcuffs when I was deemed not a danger to myself or others.

The barred metal door springs open, chains clanging together, and an officer enters the holding cell, swinging a truncheon in his hand.

I stare at the instrument, similar to the one Callan's father used to beat him unconscious with and my throat tightens with fear. "You're not going to hit me with that, are you?"

He looks stunned. "God, no. I'm coming to tell you that for now, you will be released but a court case will be held in a week's notice to see if any charges will be pressed."

"What's happening to Callan?" I demand, rising to my feet and wincing as my muscles crack from the lack of movement.

"He's currently being questioned at the hospital," the officer replies, sidestepping to allow me to pass. "I suggest heading there immediately. From what I have heard, the whole ordeal has traumatised him greatly and he has had to be sedated multiple times. They tell me he keeps on saying your name."

My chest aches for him and I feel tears begin to well in my eyes. "I don't have a car."

"I could drive you if you want," he offers with a small smile, knowing that I will accept. I stare into his eyes and wonder if all he sees is two dumb teenagers playing a game they call love or two broken seventeen-year-olds struggling to rebuild their lives.

I nod and follow him out from the station where I find my three sisters huddled outside the sliding glass doors with Mrs Perkins. I don't know wether to be pissed or upset that my mother is nowhere to be found.

Diana and Tate fling themselves into my arms the moment I pass the threshold and I immediately feel guilty about the pain and stress I must have put them through. Rihanna, however, stays hidden half behind Perkins, her eyes watching me carefully.

"Ri," I breathe, tears jumping to my eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I'll never be able to forget," she whispers, her body quivering ever so slightly. "The blood and you and Callan and the gun..."

"I'm sorry," I repeat, not knowing what else to say. Right now, my words are empty. Time and patience will be what it takes to help s rebuild our relationship.

The officer shoots me a goofy grin as he steps back into the station. "I believe you have your ride now, ma'am."

I smile lightly. "Yes, thank you."

Perkins exhales loudly as the officer disappears into the building. Bags ring her eyes and her cheeks look gaunt. She's exhausted. "Right. Lets head back to the motel. We can clean up and get something to eat."

"Woah," I blink a few times, sure I've gotten her words wrong. "No, we're going to see Callan."

She shakes her head. "We'll visit him tonight," she promises. "He will be very overwhelmed right now with the police questioning him and the attention of the media. It will be safe to catch him when he is alone and give you some space."

As much as I hate the idea, I know she's right.