She had always hated hospitals. Ever since she was a kid and got strep throat. The nurse said the swab wouldn’t hurt, that it would only tickle the back of her throat, but she lied. It hadn’t been just a tickle. It felt like she’d been stabbed in the throat. She had retched and thrown up all over the nurse’s scrubs. And Ash hated throwing up.
Please don’t leave me. Please, please, please.
She sat beside her dad and thought those words. Over and over.
Bruce Williams was a big man. But in that room, under those harsh, unforgiving fluorescent lights, he looked small, hollow.
It took all her strength to reach out and take his hand. She half-expected it to be cold. The last—and only—time she’d visited someone in the hospital the person’s hand was frail and chilly. She had been ten, and her dad brought her to Arkham Memorial to say her farewells to a grandma she barely knew. The old lady looked like she was in her hundreds, though she was only 64. Ash couldn’t remember seeing anyone so sick, so frail.
When she finally plucked up the courage to hold his hand, it was warm. There was still strength in it. Little victory that it was, relief flooded her.
On the other side of the bed, Sam’s eyes were equally red and puffy. He hadn’t hesitated to hold her dad’s hand.
She sniffed and cleared her throat. “What happened?”
The doctor, silent up to that point, allowing them to come to terms with the situation in their own time, spoke in a quiet, sure tone. “He was at the Sandersons’ giving an estimate, and he fell off the ladder. Jason said he wasn’t that high up, but…it doesn’t take a big fall.”
“So he has a concussion or something?” Sam asked.
“That’s one concern, and we’re testing for that. He also has lacerations to his right shoulder, elbow, and hip.”
Ash sniffed. “That doesn’t sound too bad, right?”
The doctor looked uncomfortable like she didn’t want to say something. Sam picked up on the same thing. “What is it?”
“I’m not a forensic pathologist, but your dad’s injuries aren’t consistent with someone who’s taken a fall from that height.”
“What do you mean?”
Now that she’d broached it, the doc looked more comfortable continuing. “When you fall, it’s natural to try to stop yourself. You put out your hands, elbows, knees. And there will be corresponding injuries. Based on your father’s injuries, it doesn’t appear that tried to arrest his fall.”
Ash’s face scrunched up. “So, what does that mean?”
It was Sam who answered. “He was already unconscious when he fell.”
The doctor nodded. “That’s a possibility. Or he wasn’t in a state of mind where he realized what was happening.”
Ash didn’t know why, but she started crying again. A moment later, Sam’s arms are around her, and he held her until the tears passed. The doctor held out a small box of tissues that may as well have been sandpaper.
“So what happens next?”
“We continue to monitor and run tests. I’ve ordered an MRI, EKG, and a blood panel. We should have a better idea of what’s going on once we get the results.”
Sam’s voice reverberated in her ear. “How long?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The doctor shifted her feet, looking uncomfortable again. “We can draw the blood and do the EKG, but the only MRI we have access to is in Dunwich. It’s Saturday, so we’re waiting to see if they can call in a radiologist.”
“And if not?”
“Then we have to wait until Monday.” Ash opened her mouth to protest, but the doc held up a hand. “I know it’s frustrating. You want to know what’s going on, and any amount of waiting is too much. We have to send out the blood panel anyway, and the lab is closed on weekends, so the earliest we can get results is Tuesday.”
Ash nodded and turned back to the hospital bed, tears stinging her eyes. Sam and the doctor spoke some more, then she left. The only sounds in the room were the various beeps of the machines and the low hiss of the HVAC unit. Ash shivered. Hospitals were always too cold. A moment later, warmth enveloped her. Sam’s flannel was large and warm and smelled safe. He snugged it tight against her and brushed a loose strand of her hair out of her face that had come loose.
“Do you need anything?” She shook her head. “I asked the doctor to send in some food since you haven’t eaten yet.”
“I thought the food was only for patients.”
Sam shrugged. “I got the feeling she wanted to do something since all they can do is wait at this point.”
“Naturally, you thought of food.”
“Naturally.” They shared a smile. Sam slid his hands into his pant pockets and snugged his arms close to his body. Goosebumps rose along his forearms.
“Do you want your flannel back?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
“You’re not fine. I can see your nips through your shirt!”
Sam wrapped his arm around his chest, a scandalized expression on his face. She laughed, then noticed what he was wearing. “Hey, you’re wearing the outfit I got you!”
They had to be the same clothes he wore yesterday since he hadn’t left any of the new clothes at her place. A periwinkle polo over a pair of slim, tapered jeans. She would have bought skinny jeans if she thought he’d go for it, but there was no way he was ready for that.
The blue shirt really makes the gold in his eyes pop. Sam’s dark blue eyes were flecked with an orange, almost golden color. Not that anyone could see them through that tangle of hair.
Sam plucked at the hem of the polo shirt self-consciously.
“Stop it. It looks fine. Now, turn around and show me the goods.” She needled him until he relented and twirled for her. “See, I told you I knew what I was doing. I’d totally tap that.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but he bit his lip to hold in laughter. He opened his mouth to say something—no doubt something snarky—but her dad chose that moment to let out a loud breath. Their heads jerked to look at him. She knew nothing about the machines hooked up to him, but as near as she could tell, there weren’t any alarms going off. After the loud gasp, Dad continued to breathe, his heart monitor beeping its lively tune. She squeezed her eyes closed, but no more tears would come. She’d cried more in the last 24 hours than she had since her mother left.
“Do you…” Sam looked as uncomfortable as the doctor had when she was delivering bad news. Ash waited for him to continue, but after a second, he shook his head.
“What?”
“It’s nothing.”
“No really, what is it?”
He started and stopped again, then finally spat out whatever he’d been trying not to say. “Do you think—I know this is ridiculous—but…do you think that…the curse…could have something to do with all this?”
Ash’s face scrunched, and she must be looking at him like he was growing a tit out of his forehead because he looked concerned. “What curse?”
“You know, on the Swedish fertility painting…thing.”
Her gaze fell onto her dad’s unconscious form, watching his chest rise and fall. “What the fuck, Sam? I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“It’s just that first, it was Ms. Cornell, then Judy. Now your dad.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sam continued like he didn’t hear her. “It’s a pretty big coincidence that it all started the day after we…um…” Sam’s eyes bulged like he was trying to hack up a furball. “…After you bought the painting. Right?”
“Stop it, Sam!” She glanced at the door, expecting a nurse to barge in and tell them to keep it down. “Now’s not the time for whatever…whatever this is. Got it?”
Sam nodded and wisely didn’t bring it up again. “Hey, how about I go grab us some coffee? It’s gotta be terrible in a place like this, but it’s something, right?”
“Why don’t you just go home?” She probably said it more harshly than she intended, but she couldn’t think about Sam’s feelings at that moment.
Please don’t leave me. Please, please, please. Over and over again.
She didn’t have any other family. She didn’t know where her mom was, so she couldn’t even contact her. Not that she wanted to.
“Um…okay. I’ll see you later?” Ash didn’t reply as Sam walked to the door. “I’ll swing by your house and pick up Barkley. He can stay with me and Mom until…” his voice trailed off. He stood silently for a minute, and when she didn’t respond, he left.