Chapter Two

I awoke to the glare of artificial light and the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. A tube connected the back of my hand to a drip, the bag half empty of fluid.

A stiff hospital gown had replaced my clothes; worse, my underwear was gone. No doubt, because I was unable to move to the restroom. But despite everything, that was the first thing that bothered me.

Then I felt the warm hand clasping my own and the tears dripping onto my skin.

My mother was sobbing silently, her eyes full of relief. After holding back her sorrow, her delight at seeing me wake up had overwhelmed her, and her heart released her emotions. 

My father was sitting by her side. He was the more stoic type. But I could tell from the redness, half hidden by his glasses, that he hadn’t been without tears himself. Guilt flooded over me, and if I hadn’t been so tired, I would have been crying, too.

“You bloody idiot.” My father spoke first, the reprimand dulled by the happiness he clearly felt. He was holding back a smile. “Don’t ever think you’ll go out on your own again. You’re grounded until you’re thirty.”

“How am I supposed to get a job then?” I slurred, finding it hard to keep my eyes open. It was strange; I’d been unconscious for so long, and yet I was still exhausted. “You’ve always said you won’t have me being a layabout.”

“You can pay your way with hard labour.” My dad had a twinkle in his eyes, indicating he wasn’t that serious. “Then wish you had a job then!”

I chuckled, and then I became serious. My brow furrowed, and I looked at them earnestly.

“Matthew?” 

My parents looked at each other, and I saw my father’s Adam’s apple bob nervously.

“Don’t worry about him now.”

I knew what that meant and felt like a boulder had crushed my heart. As I stated, he had been a good friend for all he was. He’d just found himself on a rocky path that had crumbled beneath him.

He was gone. And I would never see him again. The image of him in his death throes was burned in my mind, and I feared they would be the only ones I would ever retain.

My mother stroked my hand, but I barely felt it. I ached to cry, but my eyes had other ideas, closing slowly to draw me back into sleep. 

The next few days passed in a humdrum fashion. The routine was always the same, except for the faces of nurses and doctors, which differed sometimes.

I saw a couple of strange things while I was there, but I attributed it to the haze of recovery and medication.

The first was after I had been moved from the intensive care unit to an ordinary ward. I was placed in a side room with a view over the car park, and I often sat watching the comings and goings.

One day, an ambulance arrived carrying an elderly patient. At least they looked elderly from my vantage point. From what I could see around the oxygen mask, the face was creased, and the remaining hair was grey.

As they wheeled them inside, another figure stepped from the ambulance—an elderly man who appeared to be the exact image of the one on the bed and seemed to move with unusual ease for someone of his age and stature.

But who knew? The mask had obscured the man’s face; for all I knew, he might have a brother.

Yet my insides contracted with a painful chill as the man looked up. He surely couldn’t see me, but I felt our eyes meet, and a secret unknown passed between us. Then, with a strange smile, he glided away, his feet not seeming to touch the paving stones.

The second was a bit harder to explain. But again, I fobbed it off as poor sleep and anxiety.

The day before I was discharged, my parents informed me that they had found a new house. 

They had been planning and searching for some time, which wasn’t a huge surprise. They’d also told me about getting a viewing. But the fact it had all gone ahead, or started to go ahead, while I was stuck in hospital gave me a painful kick in the stomach.

Dad explained that the offer wasn’t one to be left. The house was a listed building, and while it needed quite a lot of work, it was perfect. We would have a proper garden and more rooms than we currently have, and he gave him a warm smile. The subject of a cat or dog could be reconsidered.

‘Had we left it, someone else would have snapped it up,’ mom soothed me, stroking my hair even though it desperately needed a wash. ‘We didn’t do this happily, but we also think you’ll love it. If we hadn’t thought that, we’d never have put an offer down.’

I understood, and I suppose I trusted their judgment, but still…

I blinked at the tears that burned my eyes like caustic acid and nodded, thinking of the offer of an animal friend. I could never see them as pets; they were like equals to me and still are. Maybe I could play my cards right and persuade them to get a cat and a dog. 

I was lying in bed that night, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, kept awake by the lights outside my door and the soft tread of shoes passing every so often. I could hear beeps from machines and the rattle of medications on the trolley, and with the anticipation of leaving the next day, it was hard to settle.

As I lay there, thinking about what my parents told me about the new house and my own bed, I heard a knock inside the toilet. It sounded like someone moving around and searching.

I looked over, unable to see much in the gloom. The shadows spanned wide, and the brightness outside the room did little to combat it. 

The door was closed, and nothing but blackness could be seen under it, but the sound was undoubtedly coming from within.

That in itself was off. Because the light wasn’t on and as soon as the door opened and movement was detected, the bright bulb burst into life.

Tentatively, I eased myself up and shuffled down the bed in a rather ungainly fashion, taking the blankets with me. 

I gave a light cough, hoping it would elicit a response.

The sound ceased for a moment, maybe a few seconds, before resuming, a muttering joining it.

‘It was here…where is it? I put it there…did they move it?’

I cleared my throat, gathering my courage, but my voice sounded squeaky when it finally came out.

“Hey, I think you’ve got the wrong room…”

I sensed that whoever was there paused. I could imagine them blinking, perhaps tilting their head in the darkness and looking my way.

“Uhm…hello?” I leaned forward and strained my ears, but I could hear nothing but the usual sounds on the ward.

With trepidation, I slid off the bed and inched over to the door. My hand trembled, and my fingers felt stiff as I gripped the handle, easing it open. 

The sudden light was blinding, and it took me a few moments to adjust my eyes and head.

Nothing. There were shadows there and nothing more. No one was there, and nothing seemed to have moved—at least not visibly. 

I backed away and crawled back into bed. I stiffened as the light clicked off, expecting to hear the noises start again.

But there was only silence. 

It doesn’t need to be said, but I didn’t sleep too well.

I could have passed it off as excitement for going home when the nurse brought breakfast the following day. (Seven in the morning, I mean, seriously! Who isn’t half-asleep!) But I answered honestly when she asked if I had a decent night, adding that I looked tired, probably thinking it was excitement herself.

“I guess it might be because I’m going home; maybe my imagination is running wild. But I thought I heard someone in the bathroom,” I said, feeling my face redden. It sounded so childish now I said it aloud. “I thought I heard someone looking for something.”

The nurse smiled, her eyes kind and bright against her sun-kissed skin. She was one of my favourites, regaling me with stories about her native Africa as she worked. 

“I’m sure it was just a dream, but it’s odd. Our last patient here was always losing things in the bathroom—or thinking she had. It was normally her wedding ring; she’d look highly indignant when we pointed out she was still wearing it, and we often got blamed for sneaking it back on!”

I chuckled and was about to ask where she went, but something stopped me. A tiny voice chirruped like a small bird, telling me I might not want to know. That ignorance was bliss in some cases.

I was obviously shell-shocked since I chose porridge that morning—and I hate porridge. I forced it down anyway; it wasn’t too bad, at least it wasn’t lumpy. My dad had a knack for making it like wet cement at home.

And my stomach was heavy enough already.