Sunrays from a ceiling window beckon me back to the world of the living.

My throat is parched and my vision blurry. There’s the sound of an electric monitor, each bleep ringing with melancholy. No wonder. This is a chilly room filled with medical equipment. Sunshine in a miserable room like this is a cruel joke.

I rub my swollen eyes with a groan. On the bedside table there’s another light coming from a strange token of my latest adventure. Shit’s bad luck, grabbed it right before getting my ass handed to me, which landed me here in the sickbed.

It glimmers and sparkles like a jewel when held, despite being unpolished and coarse. Attached beneath is a velvety strand of cloth, with some gibberish written in a language I’ve never seen. Real shame, it’s my only lead.

With a rough growl, I hoist myself up with no small degree of trouble. Being out of commission since the incident on the mountain has taken the life out of me, and a few pieces of flesh too. There’s a feeling of weakness soon succeeded by sharp discomfort in my arm. The good one anyway. My left arm’s in a big cast, from my elbow to my hand, and there’s incessant tingling instead of what my fingers ought to be feeling.

I stumble, noticing my balance is way off. My good hand knocks into the table, swatting the stone. Quickly, I try to snag it before it rolls off and lean too far forward. A loud smash follows as the entire table tumbles over, sending medical equipment, silverware, and tin bowls flying in a jarring racket.

“Dammit!” I curse into my sleeve. Only a matter of moments until the medical warden shows up. There’s barely enough time to kneel and snatch the piece off the ground and stash it beneath the loose cloth of my hospital gown.

Suddenly, a forceful sound—reminiscent of winter’s strongest wind—howls from the hall as the door flies open in front of me.

I look up. She’s not even underneath the frame of the door yet, still a few feet in the hallway. Her icy glare though, that’s close as ever.

What exactly am I looking at? Oranges, limes, and a slice of grapefruit? No way—can’t be right. Amber eyes, unusual for her species. Green hair, long enough for her to tie into twintail braids. A shimmering red gem adorns her chest, jutting out from her snug clothes. Hell, she’s wearing a nurse’s outfit. My first thought is this must be a prank. Who’d dress up their ‘mon like that outside a contest?

“Your injuries aren’t going to heal that way,” she says with a jaded frown.

She can speak? The hell is this—a fucking joke? I swallow dryly and feel my heart beating faster than usual. As my back presses against the bedside, I try to say the words, ‘Stay back!’ but my voice is gone.

While my bewilderment does not startle her, it’s clear she’s hesitant to enter the room. For good reason, I’m half-naked from nearly falling out of a robe the size of a sail.

Nevertheless, she carries on, as if nothing is out of the ordinary. “Broken bones and significant loss of blood.” Her head shakes slightly while she places her hands on her waist. “And you’re crawling on the floor like Ekans?”

My upper lip stiffens. This is a fever dream no doubt. That or the meds sent me straight into a coma where her kind can speak.

“I’m very busy,” says the psychic. “Do you need help or not?”

I opt to take the silent route. Maybe she’ll get bored and leave. I stare at the window and exhale a deep sigh.

“Don’t ignore me or I’ll probe your mind,” she says.

Damn, outfoxed and I haven’t even opened my mouth. I let out a groan. My body aches and cold tile doesn’t help, so I scooch back onto the side of the comfortable bed. Adjusting my oversized gown, I wrap it tighter around my body to cover myself then look back at her.

She huffs effeminately, crossing her arms against her heart. “Paine, is it?”

“Nah.” I smirk, still unsure if this is real. “Not since ya hooked me up with that good shit.”

Clearly unamused, she enters the room scowling. Her hand seizes a clipboard from the door almost blown off its old hinges. Though she pretends to read the paper on it, her gold eyes fix on me rather than the medical records.

“Paine, Alvin. Age: twenty-four. Reason for treatment: Blunt trauma to the radial bone, compound fractures sustained. A previous injury to the area created complications during treatment. Surgical implantation of pins and proper reinforcement cast applied, sedatives prescribed to alleviate pain. Medication side effects include acute dizziness, increased risk of falling. Which leads me to my next question.” With an authoritative tap on the wooden board and a cock of her head she scolds, “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Oh.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Itching ta take a piss.”

She’s taken aback, a hint of red embarrassment warms her young face under her bangs. But then she glares taciturnly. “It isn’t protocol for you to be up and about. There are strict rules in place for those recovering.” Her arm gestures down the hall. “Sick patients recuperate faster when others aren’t making a commotion.”

“Ain’t protocol?” I can’t help but laugh, struggling to maintain eye contact with this strange psychic masquerading as a nurse. “Don’t give me that. You’re one of them freaks—whose power just about blew the door through the wall!”

By the way she rears forward like a charging animal, I can tell I hit a nerve. “I thought something happened. It’s my duty to help those at this clinic.” She’s articulating every word in a tone conveying her charged—yet remarkably curbed—feelings, which makes it sound more like a threat than the suggestion of philanthropy.

“Easy, easy.” I raise my hand up in a gesture of sincere intent. “Might not have the finest vernacular—I say what’s on my mind. Speaking of, how’re you able to, y’know…say stuff?”

“My ability is based on a set of vocal cords paired with a large brain.” Her shoulders arch back, but that venomous glare in her eyes doesn’t soften. She seriously looks as though she wants to kill me rather than treat me. Or sate my curiosity for that matter—teaching a monster to speak, that’s an impressive feat.

“C’mon, cut me some slack,” I say, rubbing my tender shoulder. “Can hardly wait to mosey outta here. Been cooped up here, uh—what’s it been—a day or tw—”

“Ninety-seven hours, twenty-five minutes,” she interrupts, eyes narrowing.

Realizing my sense of time is off as much as my balance, I lower my voice. “Uhh—shit—been that long?”

Pressing her lips together to show determination, she chirps, “Yes.”

Wait, she’s not even looking at the clipboard which would have that information. “You, um, got that time logged in my file?” I ask with a point.

She lowers the clipboard, holding its edge against her white uniform’s hip, above her skirt. “I keep a record of all patients. You happen to be the one I was assigned to.”

“Lucky me.” I scoff. “Thought you were just some perverted fool’s loose ‘mon meandering ‘round the floor.”

“I’m a nurse. Your nurse.” She emphasizes the latter with an elevated sense of duty.

“No way.” My jaw goes slack. “You—a nurse? …Really?”

“What? Got a problem with that?” she mouths off, exposing her teeth.

Damn, she’s got some sass. “Geez.” I attempt to cross my arms but wind up only holding one on the limp other. “Leave me to those egg-luggin’, giant pink blobs instead!”

“Sorry, you don’t get a choice, patient.” She shrugs. “It’s too bad, I don’t either.”

Her wit is sharp too. Okay, so she’s got a job in a clinic. That’s news to me. And she can talk. That’s news to anyone. “Hey,” I say, “how do I know you work here if you ain’t got a name?”

She turns her head. There’s a whisper, but I can’t make it out, she said it too soft.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Say what?!” I almost shout.

Her body jumps. She hisses, “—Ette.”

“Ette?” I repeat. “Okay. You told me how, but not why you’re talking. So, why—?”

Nope, she doesn’t reply. Simply tacks a sheet onto the foot of my bed and prances out the door, long hair with twin braids flopping against the back of her outfit.

I’m stupefied for a moment. Surely it must be the drugs. Drowsiness returns. I’ll wake up and realize I’ve been daydreaming about a talking monster dressed up as a nurse. But then it hits me like a freight train: if it’s just a dream, what did she drop at the foot of my bed?

Tucking the stone into my cast to free up my good hand, I pick up the sheet of paper. I’m surprised it feels quite real. Maybe I imagined the real nurse as something else? Anyway, what does this say?

“20,000.00.” Wow, a whole family of unhappy zeroes are staring at me. My eyes squint in disbelief, maybe I’m reading that wrong. I pinch my leg and read the bill again, to no avail—it doesn’t reduce. This time I focus on the words. “Unlicensed trainers are NOT INSURED for medical treatment from monster injury.” It says in bold print letters.

Terror washes over me, pelting my already dampened spirit like icy rain.

“Unlicensed,” I repeat. That part is true, never did get my license. Didn’t see the need for it, considering how easy coming across some thrown-away ball is. Besides, being forced to register with crooked authorities? Pass. It’s none of the League’s damn business! However, what a bind my choices have me in. I curse my luck, the whole reason I got hurt to begin with is because I was trying to make some money.

Cold sweat gathers on my forehead, its awful clamminess drips and infiltrates my brow. My one remaining hand shakes violently as my calloused fingers crimple the edge of the invoice. “Fuck me. I can’t pay this shit.”

After I crumple the bill up, an overwhelming urge to escape takes over. In my gut, it feels awful to want to run away like a vagabond. Thing is, I can’t work as an operator with one arm, and my savings are dry as a bone. This really sucks. That psychic nurse has my name. Even though I got no ID and it probably wasn’t on the medical record, if I get away she’ll tell the authorities. I’ll have to change my name and appearance to complete my mission with the stone. But it’ll all be worth it. The huge payout will make this bill look like nothing. Way I see it, it’s chasing down a winning lotto ticket. So, really, running is the only viable option. Taking a slim chance is better than being certainly screwed with this expense.

Just then a bell starts ringing from down the hall. There’s a great hustle of footsteps heading in that direction. An emergency code. Some sad soul is dying. Suddenly, in my heated delirium, a plan begins to morph. Thanks to the meds, it’s more action first and plan on the way.

I spring from the bed and grasp the IV pole for support. Dizziness sets in fast, but determination offsets it. There’s no window—save for the one in the ceiling—so sneaking by the commotion is my only option.

However, I’m all tied up. That won’t do. Following a tug that nearly sends me falling over, I pry the medical apparatus off the wall. There’s a heavy crash from the screen hitting the floor, but by then I’m a mere two steps from the door. As I cross the threshold, I shed the electrocardiography devices and dangling wires taped to my chest.

The commotion of doctors, nurses, and wailing echoes in the long hall. My sense of guilt for using someone’s dying to get out of paying my bill is significantly dulled by a potent mixture of medication and survival instinct.

My back hugs the bleak white wall and I grasp the IV pole like a walking stick. Progress is slow and cautious, still getting used to using my body again. The alarms and bells of the emergency code provide ample distraction, the main halls are empty.

“Hey!” shouts a man’s voice from one of the branching corridors.

I get whiplash from turning. There’s a guy in scrubs and a surgical mask. Something tells me he’s about to ruin my mission.

His finger accuses me with a point. “What the hell you doing?” he yells, his forehead reddening. “You’re dragging your monitor screen!”

No wonder progress was so slow. But my heart is pounding very fast. Panic overtakes me, my vision shrinks. With my lance in hand, charging like Escavalier, I hurtle towards the chaos. The rush breaks me loose from the busted vitals monitor.

The angry surgeon jumps out of my way, diving into one of the rooms. My path is clear for now, but I can’t deal with the whole clinic staff. Just hope no one else gets in the way.

Sure enough, as soon as I turn the next corner, one of those big pink blobs is waddling from the central workstation to the code. The creature halts, nearly dropping the egg out of her belly pouch as she sees me: the robed lunatic wielding his trident.

That look on her face is as vacant and void as the night sky. Almost as if my presence has broken something behind those beady eyes. Don’t know what her plan is—can’t think like these monsters—I do know one thing: my window of opportunity just shrunk. If she decides to fight, I’m going to be in for a rough time.

Charging forward, I point the tip at her stomach and say the first thing to pop in my head, “Outta the way unless ya wanna make my goddamn omelets!”

She blinks. Confusion from the code plus my proposition are too much. Her stubby legs give way and she cowers to the side of the hall whimpering.

Easier than I thought. Those eggs taste terrible anyway.

I run like hell down the hall, my sling smashing against my chest, my brain feeling every uncomfortable jolt. The hospital is built like a goddamn maze, but at least the corridors intersect at right angles. As I reach the exit, I see the heavenly light of the outdoors through large glass panes.

Just then I’m confronted by the security detail guarding the entrance. A freaking sumo wrestler—Hariyama, at least twice my size—blocks my path to freedom. It eyes me up, glaring crossly at my pike.

I weigh my options. Bubblegum blobs are one thing, but this guy’s built like a huge wall. There’s no way to get past the behemoth without a fight.

A receptionist girl behind the front desk shrieks, “Stop him!”

Suddenly he starts walking toward me. His huge gut jiggles with each earthshaking step. This isn’t a fight to pick. Even if I wasn’t injured it’d be a slaughter.

I dash and make decent distance due to how nimble I am compared to the bouncer. Hoping to find another exit or at least get my pursuer off my tail, I take the first turn at the main intersection.

And there she is again, the same psychic who didn’t belong in the nurse outfit. I don’t have time to stop and run straight into her, cast first.

The impact knocks us both down, but she’s able to avoid being thrown on her back. She’s visibly confused and looks wide-eyed at me. I expect her to scold me or simply wave her willowy arm and wipe my mind like in the movies. But no, she doesn’t react or make a scene like I’d expect. No, she’s not scared of me at all like the bubblegum blobs. Her lips part as she proffers a diminutive, “Oh, you again.”

Hearing the distant guard approach, I don’t mince words. “I’m gettin’ outta here.”

For a second, she gives a cocky smile. “How’d you even get here? Not a moment ago you could barely stand.”

That smirk of hers does a great job unnerving me. Tumbling to the side, I tightly grasp the steel pole once more and direct it straight at her heart. “Might not look it, but I’m on an important mission, so move.”

She stares at me for what feels like an eternity, then defiantly replies, “No.”

“Dammit, get outta my way!”

“You’re afraid of something.” She shakes her head, braids of hair bouncing on her shoulders. “What you’re doing because of fear, it isn’t right.”

My face feels hot from anger. “Look, I need dosh to pay for this—” I tap the cast, which causes the trinket to fall out. “Shit!” I quickly dive to pick it up, but my hand is still holding my makeshift weapon, so she snatches it first with a frighteningly swift telekinesis. “What the—?!” But I can’t even finish my sentence.

Her eyes suddenly illuminate with eerie phosphorescent light. She almost looks radioactive. Her hair billows up as if effected by a huge amount of static electricity. Then, as quickly as the strange aura appeared, it vanishes. She blinks at me; her gold eyes are positively radiating. In her most raw voice yet, she asks, “What—? What was that?”

“I don’t fucking know!” I catch my breath. “I need it to finish a job, so give it back.”

She wags her finger and tucks it in her uniform near her chest. “I don’t think so.”

I’m about to try and take it from her—vulgarity be damned—but Hariyama’s approaching steps force me to huddle close to her. I hug my arm around her, placing her in front of my path like a shield. Her body feels warm, I can feel her heat through her clothes. She isn’t shaking or anything. Meanwhile my fingers are trembling so much I have a death grip on the IV pole.

The bulky bodyguard raises his gigantic hands, halting his advance.

“Change of plans. Play along,” I whisper. With the tip of the pole near her core, it’s not difficult to angle it at her narrow neck. Then I yell at the beast, “She’s my hostage! Let me go or she gets a lobotomy!”

There’s a snicker next to my ear. What the hell’s so funny? I want to ask, but the adrenaline in my veins is making my arm feel like gelatin and I need to focus.

Ette then murmurs, “The word you’re looking for is tracheostomy.” She drums her fingers on the stick and pushes it away effortlessly.

Crud. She’s ruining my plan, making me look like a chump. I’m not actually about to stab her, but if she acts like my intimidation is bogus the guard will trounce me. What am I supposed to do? Can only hold her tighter.

The guard leans forward, looking for an opening. His brow furrows. His king-size hands quiver, hoping to pry her away the moment she leaves my grasp.

Feeling my opportunity slip away, I press close to ask in a muffled voice, “What’s it gonna take to give me that back?”

“Why would I give it back to someone as scared as you?” she taunts.

She makes a good point; every ounce of my energy is going toward keeping myself from shriveling up in fear. This is further complicated since she can read my mind or something, use my inner workings against me. “C’mon,” I grumble, poorly masking my desperation, “ain’t it against protocol to steal from your patients?”

“After you tried to steal the clinic’s services? Look at the trouble you’ve caused. Must be worth something.” Her tone darkens. “I’ll hold on to it.”

“Gonna be worth a helluva lot more once I finish the job.” My embellishments flow naturally, since I’m doing everything to reason with her. “Can’t pay my debt without it. Whaddya expect me to do? How’s a guy like me gonna work with a lame arm, huh? That stone’s the only thing I got left, and you’re about to take that away too. I’m gonna be frickin’ helpless. Got any idea what that’s like?”

Her icy demeanor momentarily thaws. Since she’s so close it’s easy to see how deep her strangely colored eyes are. Finally, she winks. “I’ll hold YOU to it then.”

“Me?” I blurt. “Not-uh, ya got it all wrong. Just give it back and—”

She cuts me off, placing her hand against the side of my head. “This could knock you out, better cover your other ear.”

“Wha—?”

Without warning, she begins to hum an airy and harmonious song.

As soon as it begins, the air becomes heavy, as do my eyelids. Quickly my hand scrambles to muffle her melody.

Like magic, the behemoth in front of us takes a step back. Then another. Soon the junction is clear of its girth. He plops down on the floor with a crash, wearing a tired look on his face.

Ette exhales a weary sigh, her hand wilts from my head, she slumps against my broad shoulder.

“You can sing?” The shock of such an uptight personality having a voice like that leaves me frozen in place.

Her head turns, a large but soft ear poking my jawline. “Now’s as good a time as any,” she replies in a serious manner.

“No frickin’ way.” Clever ruse. She must be luring me into a false sense of security. In disbelief I squeeze her and ask, “Why?”

She shrugs, her lack of eye contact all too telling she’s holding something back from me. “Better not be a wuss and change your mind.”

“You work here,” I say. “Aren’t you gonna get in trouble?”

“I’m clearly in fear for my life—oh, so frightened—by such a terribly violent patient.” Her sarcasm is truly over-the-top. She dances her digits in the air. “…Forget that was your little plan?”

I ponder for a moment. “True, but helping me get away—”

“—So you can pay back your debt,” she finishes the sentence for me.

“Yeah, about that…” I pause, unsure how to break it to her I’m clueless how to go about that.

“Colette!” A man’s gruff and stern voice from down the corridor exclaims, “Your song!”

I deliberately twist the inside of my elbow against her heart. This turns her. While I’m spinning us around, Ette mumbles something softly.

He’s a tall physician, wearing a lab coat and stethoscope around his neck. His round glasses reflect the fluorescent lamps of the hall. He’s physically fit, despite being middle-aged. A team of medical staff follow in the wake of his coat like he’s some sort of army general.

“Your boss?” I ask.

She nods. “M— Doctor Reeves. Head of the clinic.”

Figures, he’s got a no-nonsense atmosphere to him, just like Ette. “Damn, if this isn’t just peachy,” I reply.

To my alarm, Doctor Reeves plucks a gold-plated ball from his belt, and winds up to toss it.

“Oh, shit, Doc’s a trainer!” Whatever’s in that ball sure isn’t going to greet me with a hug.

Ette pinches me. It’s now or never.

My good hand snatches the IV pole leaning against the wall from when Ette began her song. It feels lighter than before. Lining up a ridiculous shot, my lungs hold their air captive.

Just as the doc chucks his ball, I fling my javelin overhead. To my utter amazement, there’s a cracking noise as the two objects sailing through the air manage to connect, the chances of which are beyond remote. I’m speechless, there’s no way my unbalanced shot was that good.

A brilliant flash of light expands from their impact, followed by clanging aluminum echoing on tile. Suddenly all hell breaks loose. Overhead lights flicker then the fire alarm begins to howl. The sprinkler system starts to douse us.

Before I can react, she twirls out of my grasp and faces me. The shower causes her long hair to come undone. She’s got this wry look on her face as the water drenches her skin, hair, and clothes.

“Well.” Ette’s head cocks toward the way out as droplets fall from her large ears down the side of her face. “What’re you waiting for?”

“Oughta thank you, but still not sure what your angle is,” I say, hurrying along.

My feet splash in puddles as I make the final sprint to my freedom. Through the pouring indoor rain, I see the brilliant bright sun awaiting me. My pace quickens, yet the big gown slows me down as it becomes increasingly soaked. I consider tossing it off, however, my arm sling prevents me. Finally, I reach the door. This isn’t over yet. The police will arrive and the fire department too. There’s no going back now. Going to have to run. And I don’t even have shoes.

Slamming into the pane with a shoulder charge, my problems seem for a moment to be behind me. The light of the early afternoon sun sparkles over the vast northern wilderness of Rocaire. In the great distance, lush forests of green sprawl atop grand mountains only the wispy clouds will touch.