Free Blood Haze by LR Potter

clapped
against the tiled floor and the sound echoed throughout the space. The room smelled
of rubbing alcohol, disinfectant, and death. Death seemed to surround the area
and gave it an icy feel. A shiver ran up her spine. She saw a man sitting at a
desk, his back to her. As she drew near, he must have heard her shoes, because
he turned to face her.
    “Yes?”
he asked.
    “Are
you Langston?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    I’m
Arabella Marks. I’m here to see my brother, Ian.”
    “Of
course. If you’ll wait here, I’ll prepare him for you. I must warn you… he was
badly beaten up in the wreck,” he said.
    She
couldn’t force any words out of her mouth, instead, she just nodded. She stood,
wringing her hands together and shuffling her feet. Her heart was heavy and
pounded in her chest. A lifetime of memories soared through her mind. Memories
of tire-swings and tree-houses; of trick-or-treating and Christmas joys; of
severe highs and devastating losses. Through all the craziness that
incorporated their lives growing up, it’d always been the three of them. She
and Ian; and then Drew. Now, one of the group was gone. Ian was so young, too
young to die. She brushed a trembling hand against the continuous flowing
tears.
    She
turned at the sound of a throat being cleared. Langston led her over to a
curtained window with a single chair placed in front of it. Slowly, and
soundlessly, he drew the curtain back to reveal her brother lying out on a
stainless-steel table with a white sheet draped artfully over his body to hide
as much damage as possible. She sat down heavily on the metal chair, her hand
raised to her lips.
    Where
Ian’s dark hair had once been worn with such vainful pride, now he’d been
shaved bald and there was nothing to hide the zigzag of cuts and the staples
which now held his scalp in place. His face had cuts and significant bruising.
“Oh, God, Ian!” she whispered raggedly.
    She
staggered to her feet and pressed a palm flat against the glass, her breath
fogging the window directly in front of her mouth. She allowed her hand to
slide down the glass, smearing it with the oils from her fingertips. Stumbling
away from the window, she bumped against the metal chair. The screeching of it
sliding across the tiled floor screamed in the silent room. She turned quickly
and ran out of the room. She wished more than anything she had Drew to run to.
    Exhaustion
weighed down her muscles and with slow, sluggish movements, she made her way to
the hospital entrance. Remembering Lynx was going to come and drive her home,
she sat in one of the hard plastic chairs, waiting. Time seemed to drag slowly
by and after waiting two hours, she hailed one of the taxis which cruised the
hospital.
    She
unlocked the door to her house and immediately began to pull at the clothes
that now seemed to be so constrictive. Once stripped down, she crawled in her
bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, before curling into as tight a ball as was
humanly possible. Images from her day flooded her mind: Drew, with all those
tubes coming out of him, hanging on by a thread; Ian, battered and bruised,
lying motionless on that cold, sterile table – on display for anyone who chose
to look.
    Pain
stabbed at her and she buckled once more under its piercing weight. Sobs ripped
from her. Tomorrow, she promised herself, tomorrow, she’d pull it together and
be strong. But for tonight, she allowed herself to fall apart. Weary and
exhausted, she eventually drifted off into a troubled sleep.

 
    ~X~

 
    At
the time Arabella sat in the hospital lobby’s hard chairs, Lynx Rogan sat in a
dimly-lit bar normally reserved for the town’s seedier sort. He lifted another
drink to his lips and grimaced at the lack of quality. Regardless, the copious
amount he’d consumed had had the desired effect… he was numb. The time he’d sat
with the lovely Arabella had thrown him for a loop. That he’d desired her from
their first meeting was a given. But today…