Spoiler! :
Chapter 5
Ugh, shut up! That thing is the most obnoxious alarm I have ever heard in my life. I’ve tried, really I have, to get a new one or something but it has never quite worked out. With some scrambling, I manage to reach the small off switch in the back.
I curl back into the sweet cocoon of a quilt wrapped around me and throw a pillow over my head. My legs slide into my chest and I bring myself into a little ball. I’ll get up in a minute. Matt and Jane can wait just a little bit longer. Besides, if I get up now I will look like some old hag.
***
My fingers drum against the waiting room chair, sending echoes throughout the empty room. They do realize that they were supposed to pick me up, right? The hunchback lady behind the front desk says that she’ll personally drop kick me into the pond out front if she catches me just waiting here again. Where are they! I twist my boot around on the squeaky tiled floor listening to the different noises it makes. They must have forgotten, again. I swear, someone should strap some kind of alarm to their heads just to remind them that their forgotten daughter needs some small attention.
Maybe I should just go look for them. They don’t want me wandering around this place anyway. It would serve as the perfect reminder. I pause to think for a moment. No, I’ll give them fifteen more minutes.
I try looking around the room to pass some time, but it’s the same as ever. The spotless windows face a perfect garden. Twelve cushioned chairs are lined up perfectly in a row and the floor is so shiny it could be a mirror. Even Lord Hermal’s portrait is perfect, although if you ask me, it’s creepy. I grew up looking at the guy, I should be used to seeing his picture everywhere, but his eyes are just empty. They say he came to power five years before I was born and ordered images of himself to be placed in all public places and homes.
I keep looking at him for a moment. His hair is cropped short and he is cleanly shaven, well, except for the side burns. I guess as High Lord he can wear his hair however he likes. Aside from that, and the gray uniform with a couple dozen badges, he looks like a regular guy. All the same, something is off about him. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.
A cool breeze rushes over me and I shiver. Seriously, where are my parents! I’m going after them.
I stand up and stretch my legs out a bit. They better not be far off, because I am not walking all over this forsaken place just to get a ride home. With swift stomping strides, I power down the corridors, not really caring who sees me.
They’ll probably be down somewhere in the ER. They think they’re so good, saving strangers lives. Well, at least I know it’s all just an act. As soon as they actually know a person they become more than happy to neglect them to their hearts content. Well I’m sorry, but I need more than just the occasional phone call. Really though, I would be fine if they actually came home before three am; but they don’t do that, and I’m done putting up with it.
My feet retrace the past I practically memorized as a kid. I fly around corners and down long paths, dodging nurses and patience alike. No one really takes a second glance at me; they’re probably sick of seeing me here too.
I stomp my way up the stairs, purposely making as much noise as possible. With any luck, some nurse will do all the shouting for me and I can just go home. When the stairs end and I reach the second floor I’m forced to conjoin with the usual mob of people milling through the halls.
What idiot put the emergency room on the second floor and this far away from the waiting room? I swear, the person would be dead by the time they came this far.
I turn another corner and make my way into the emergency wing. Really though, why is it called the emergency room? Don’t they need more than one? Or do they just have people waiting in line? Anyway, not the point. My parents’ official office is just up ahead. I still don’t see why they need it in the first place. They’re hardly ever in there.
Their thick medal door is just barely cracked open. Mom always does that, I swear it’s like she just can’t grasp the concept of privacy. I push the door in and let it slam against the wall. Empty. Figures.
It’s a windowless room with two desks and several filing cabinets. Whatever space remains gets covered by an endless mound of papers. It screams disorganization.
Second cabinet to the left, two drawers down; they always keep their schedules locked up, but it can’t hurt to check anyway. My hand latches around the frigid metal handle and starts to tug gently. Nothing.
I pull a bobby pin out from the back of my hair and nudge it gently into the keyhole. I twist it around, just like he taught me, and the tumblers fall into place. The drawer opens with a half-concealed creek.
Their schedule should be in the very back next to all the others. They are so anal about this, they never throw anything away. I pull out a crème colored folder and leaf through its contents. Page after page of preprinted schedules and endless sticky-notes fill the file to bursting. Without really thinking, I grab the paper I want and shove everything back where it was.
A violet colored nail runs it way down the front of the page, searching out the time and place. Room 211. The note gets crumpled and shoved down my boot.
I take one last look around the room before heading out; oh it doesn’t matter. I shut the door all the way behind me and leave the passersby to wonder who the strange girl leaving the office is.
The room isn’t too far off, just down the hall actually. It’s not a real ER, but it’s where my parents work out of. To be honest, I really don’t know what they actually do. I usually just go with ‘they work in the ER;’ that’s what they always told me anyway. How on earth they could have a preprinted schedule for when people almost die is beyond me.
The walls are littered with religiously dusted frames of old wrinkly men in suits. Their eyes creep down my back, urging my legs to go that little bit faster. It’s like they will reach out of their frames and pluck me straight out of the hospital. I find myself picking it up into a quick run.
Nurses with too much to do plow past me and barely even notice I’m here. Patients are rushed through the halls on gurneys, moaning in pain. Occasionally soldiers with machine guns escort a priest to his next room where he will make his death blessing. The hallways part for them, not wanting to get to close.
I skid to a halt next to a wooden door. Just as I reach for the handle, the door opens inwards, revealing an old doctor dressed in blue and white. His face is lined and haggard. I stumble back in shock, nearly falling completely to the floor. He glares at me, as if that is his typical expression.
“What are you doing?” he barks.
“I… I’m looking for my parents, um, Sir,” I stammer.
His wrinkled hand clutches the doorframe with white knuckle strength as he looks at me more closely. His eyes widen slightly under is wide rimmed glasses and he says slowly, “I’m sorry, but your parents aren’t here. Go back to the waiting room.”
No, I know they’re in there, and I am defiantly not going back all the way to some waiting room thank you very much.
His body blocks the door way, concealing the room beyond. Emma, you had better be right about this. With a short burst of speed I dive through the small gap between the man and the wall. My heart sounds a drum beat in my ears and the walls start to blur together. I see my parent off to the left of the room, crowding around an old table with several others.
“So who is going to dispose of the body then?” my father whispers.
***
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