Jonathan: Prince of Dreams by A Corrin

Author:A Corrin [Corrin, A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-02T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen:

Meanwhile, Back in Reality

At St. Paul’s Hospital

Nikki sat at the windowsill, looking at the busy traffic crowding the road eight stories below her, studying the colorful life.

Life. What a word. The hospital seemed so devoid of it.

The room she was in had reddish-brown walls and warm lights that couldn’t be turned on too bright. A small TV was tucked behind a panel on a shelf in the wall. Chairs, a table, and a couch covered with a rumpled bed-sheet were squeezed by the walls.

The adults were out getting dinner. They took turns spending the night there and only rarely remembered to feed themselves.

Lights were just beginning to wink on in the street lamps outside. Restaurants turned on their neon signs. People bundled up cozily for the cold stayed close together on the sidewalk to avoid the water from puddles thrown up by the racing cars.

Nikki swallowed, blinked, and raked a hand through her bangs, trying to stop thinking about the homework load that waited for her at home. It was as if teachers didn’t care that the whole world was collapsing on its knees. Maybe they thought homework would keep everyone from going insane.

“Have you found anything out yet?” a small voice asked from the center of the room.

Nikki jumped and turned around. “Tyson! I didn’t think you were awake!”

Tyson twitched the hand with the IV in it. “Am I?” he teased.

Nikki shook her head in mock exasperation and took the chair by his bedside. Tyson’s girlfriend Lia was in a chair keeled over across the edge of his bed asleep with her arms folded under her head. Lia was usually the most well-kempt of their group. Her bright blonde hair was usually silky, her makeup spot-on, her clothes trendy and flattering. But not today. Today, her hair was thrown into a messy bun and she wore one of Tyson’s grubby old sweatshirts.

“How do you feel?” Nikki asked softly, trying not to wake Lia up.

Tyson had recovered extraordinarily fast from his list of wounds. His mother and father had been released long before and now hardly ever left his side except to eat and give him and his visitors privacy. His eyes had deep shadows, and cuts were scattered on his face like red pen marks. Both arms were heavily bandaged, and his leg was suspended in a sling from the ceiling. Gauze encased his head, torso, and the hand with the reattached fingers. Now it was all painful therapy.

“I—am—fi-nuh,” he enunciated, with the air of having answered this question many times.

Nikki carefully patted the back of the hand nearest her. “I just worry about you. You’ve been through so much. That plane…you were right in the middle of it. The doctors said it was a miracle, and I know those happen, but still—”

While she talked, Tyson slowly slid his head sideways against the pillow. He stared blankly ahead as if dead and parted his lips to emit a long steady, “Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep,” as if his heart rate monitor was reading zero.

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