And Then He Fell

Chapter 30

I know it's been "ages," as a few of you pointed out in the comments. It's actually only been about 2 weeks. I don't know whether to be mad at those of you who said it or flattered. Either way, I'm still happy that you like my story. Here's the next chapter. I hope you like it.

Pic is what Em's hospital room looks like.

************************************************************************************************************

DREW

As I followed Mr. Martin down the bleak hospital corridor, I cringed. That sickly, medicinal smell and the constant beeping of life sustaining machinery overwhelmed my already exhausted senses.

"Emily's a fighter," Mr. Martin said. "She always has been."

"I know," I said.

There was nothing else to say as we approached her corner of the IC Unit. It was such a depressing part of the hospital. The other patients were partitioned off from each other, but the transparent walls didn't hide what they and their families were going through.

Emily did not belong in this place. She belonged home, with me. Heck, she even belonged at her house, with her brothers and parents and Elllie. She was too good for this place. It was bleak and miserable. Em was anything but bleak and miserable. She was wonderful, fun and loving.

Mr. Martin was holding her limp hand, talking softly to her. I leaned against the makeshift plexiglass wall and tried not to listen too closely. After all, it was a somewhat private moment between a father and his daughter.

My eyes didn't stray from her pale face, decorated by the tube going into her mouth and down her throat, along with the oxygen mask arranged strategically over her mouth and nose.

How could this happen to someone so kind? Why did she have to be hooked up to all of these machines? My first instinct was to pick her up and run far away with her, but I knew that was impossible.

Mr. Martin must have stopped talking while I was still adjusting to Em's appearance, because he was suddenly closer to me. His hand was brushing lightly across my face.

"You've got a tear there," he said. "I don't want Emily to know we're upset. I want her to focus on recovering."

I hadn't even realized I was crying. This whole nightmare seemed unreal. Mr. Martin placed a hand on each of my shoulders, guiding me toward Emily's bedside.

"Go ahead and talk to her. I'll be waiting right outside," he said, removing his hands from my shoulders and patting me on the back encouragingly before stepping out into the main hall.

I fought back tears as I stood at Em's bedside, staring down at her still form. I picked up her hand, squeezing it in mine. It was surprisingly warm, and that comforted me a little bit. I don't know why I had been expecting that hard, embalmed corpse feeling when I touched her. After all, I knew she was alive.

I had always been told that coma patients could hear what people near them were saying. I wasn't sure I believed that, but I figured it couldn't hurt.

"Hey, Martin," I said, hoping she would sit right up and call me Drewby. She knew I hated that name. When she remained motionless, I continued.

"Em, I really miss you. We're all here pulling for you. Please wake up. You can beat this, I know you can," I said, my voice wavering.

A nurse appeared at the door with Mr. Martin.

"Ms. Martin's mother is requesting to see her. You'll have to come visit another time," the nurse said, his eyes traveling to Em's hand resting in mine.