I have split the chapters up into smaller posts to make them easier to review. Here is the second part of Chapter 1. Please read and review!
Previously: I don't want to die! he thought, desperately wondering if that was what was happening. Now he couldn't breathe. His vision flickered as he fought desperately for breath. He was slowly suffocating with no apparent reason for it. His last thought as everything faded into blackness was: Why am I dying?
Chapter 1.2
“It's bad news I'm afraid,” said Dr. Stone bluntly. He had done this plenty of times and it didn't get any easier.
The elderly couple in front of him looked scared and worried. Their names were Hannah and Mark Cook. It crossed his mind that it was strange that the boys grand parents had come instead of his parents. Maybe the parents were on holiday.
“The chances of him recovering are very small.” he said. The woman, Mrs. Cook, had started crying. “Do you know what happened?” Mr. Cook asked. “Do you know what's wrong?”
Dr. Stone looked out of the window. It was another dreary day with grey clouds covering the sky and rain pelting down.
It matched with his mood.
He sighed and turned back to the couple. “No,” he admitted answering the second question. “We don't. We have very little confidence that James will survive, and even if he does, it is quite possible that he may have suffered brain damage. We believe that his brain somehow got cut-off from it's oxygen supply.”
Mrs. Cook gasped. She had gone as white as a sheet. “Oh my...” she murmured. Dr. Stone was talking about something else but she wasn't listening. Her shock when the hospital had phoned up, asking if they knew anything about a certain James Royale. Of course, she had said. He's my grand child. And so she had rushed off to the hospital where she had met Mr. Stone who had taken care of James.
“What of the other boy?” she asked, recalling that there had been another boy at the scene of the accident. The doctor was thrown for a moment – he had been talking about something else – then nodded.
“I presume you mean Jake Hall? He suffered a broken collar bone and a fractured skull. He has suffered brain damage.” there was a moments pause.
“How did it happen?” it was Mr. Cook this time. The doctor thought for a moment, remembering the facts. “You're boy was found unconscious in an alleyway by the wall. He was in the same state as he is now. Jake was found in a house on the other side of the alleyway.” he paused, swallowing. Next came the unbelievable bit. “It appears he was somehow blasted through the wall into the living room of the house. The owner of the house was in the room at the time. Apparently the boy only stopped moving when you're boy fell unconscious.” Dr. Stone trailed off. He was worn out, and he was in a miserable mood. This business with James was doing his head in.
“Are you suggesting that my grand child has some sort of super natural powers?” Mr. Cook spluttered half rising in his chair.
“Of course not,” Dr. Stone said calmly motioning for the man to sit back down. “That would be stupid. We all know that such things do not exist. I am only telling you what the only witness said.” a phone started ringing, and it took several moments for him to realize it was the one his desk. “Excuse me for a moment please,” he said picking up the phone. The Cooks stood up. They knew it was time for them to leave.
On the way out, they looked in on James. He was lying on the bed without moving. He was pale, and an oxygen mask was fixed to his face to keep him breathing. He looked almost as if he was asleep. What was it the doctor had said? A coma. He might not come out of it. Mrs. Cook was crying again as they walked out of the hospital.
“To think he might die. And we never even told him!” whimpered Hannah several days later. James was still in a coma, and the doctors said that he was needing machines more and more to help keep him alive. Mark put a comforting arm round his wife.
“If... if he survives this. You know we'll have to tell him?” he said.
Hannah nodded. “He won't take it well.” she whispered.
“If he survives.” Mark agreed.
They were sat round the kitchen table in their cosy little house. The curtains were drawn and the lights were turned off in an effort to keep the light out. Only a little light penetrated the house in any of the rooms. There was a pile of unopened letters on the table. Doubtless some would be bills. There would be no family ones – there was no other family alive. Most of them would be people feeling pity for the elderly couple. An untouched meal sat in front of them.
Mark stood up and went to a safe hidden behind the microwave. He tapped in the combination – 170897 – James's birthday – and took out a small passport photo, and a newspaper article. He closed the safe and put the photo down on the table so they could both look at it. He put the article next to it.
The photograph showed a young couple. They couldn't have been much more than twenty. The woman looked Chinese with long black hair, small eyes, and slanted eyebrows. She was laughing, looking with adoring eyes at the man next to her.
He looked very British. He had short blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, and a neat little moustache.
Mark and Hannah both knew, without looking, on the back would be three names and a date.
Yasmin Kae
Harry Royale
= James Royale
17/08/97
They presumed that Yasmin was the woman and Harry was the man. The = indicated that James was their son. The numbers, they guessed, must be his date of birth.
The newspaper article next to it had a picture of the same woman, but younger. Both read it without a word.
WOMAN COMIT SUICIDE?
Yesterday in the morning, a woman was found dead by the Royale Hotel next to a train station. Later searches reveal she was Yasmin Kae, a Chinese woman on vacation. She was holding a knife and is presumed to have committed suicide.
There was no other ID on her, and anyone with information on why this woman may have committed suicide is urged to come forward. Please contact us....
The rest of the article had been cut off. “What of the father?” Hannah asked eventually.
Mark shook his head. “I don't know. We didn't look for relations in case they took him away from us.” there was silence. “I can see if I can find anything about him in the Internet?” he suggested. He didn't want to, this could shatter his world if they found out who this man was, but he knew he had too. He stood up, and walked to the door. “Are you coming?” he asked.
Hannah shook her head. “I think I'll go and watch the news.” she muttered.
Mark had just logged onto James's computer when he heard the scream from the living room. “Hannah?” he called jumping up as fast as he could – which wasn't that fast in his old age. He ran to his wife and found her cowering in the sofa. “Hannah, what is it?” he asked more sharply than he meant. Hannah just pointed to the T.V.
Marks eyes widened and he sat down on the sofa without taking his eyes away from the screen. The news was on, and a news reader was talking. It was showing a picture of a man, and underneath were the words. “Harry Royale”
“This man, Harry Royale, is suspected for the murder of Patrick Weed.” the news reader was saying. The image changed to another man. He looked in his early forty's but was bald. He wasn't the smallest of chaps round the middle.
“It is unclear what happened, but the two men were meeting. The result was that Patrick Weed was dead, and Harry Royale went away unharmed. We'll cross over now to Derek who is reporting live-”
The T.V. was abruptly turned off.
“That's him.” Mark said. There was no doubt about it. James's father was a murderer.
James blinked and opened his eyes. Its raining again, was his first thought hearing the pitter-patter on the window. He felt the mask on his face, and the tubes coming out from the bed and struggled for a moment, then relaxed. They weren't going to hurt him. He looked around and saw the pristine white beds around him. Nurses and doctors were everywhere. He was in a hospital.
Why am I in a hospital? Then he remembered. The fight. But what had happened then? He just remembered blackness. He felt fine and he could move all of his joints which meant nothing was broken. So why was he in a hospital?
“He's awake!” a woman cried. James could see her in the corner of his vision. A man came rushing in. He had a frown on his face. His ID card said he was Dr. Stone.
“James? Can you hear me?” he said slowly. James nodded. “Can you talk to me?” James nodded again.
“Yes.” it was difficult to talk with – what he guessed must be – an oxygen mask on his face. Dr. Stone stepped back, a surprised expression on his face. “Where's Grandma and Grandpa?” James asked.
The picture showed two men kneeling on the ground. Both had petrified expressions on their face and their body's were rigid. The second mans mouth was open as if he was screaming. A dark mist surrounded both of the men. Their hands were fixed together in a hand shake.
It could have stepped right out of a Doctor Who episode.
But it hadn't. That was what Mark had to keep telling himself as he looked at the photo. It had stepped right out of Picadilly Circus. Mark might have believed it was an edited photo but for one thing. The second man in the picture was Harry Royale. James's dad. Supposedly his child.
Supposedly a murderer.
But looking at that picture, Mark knew that Harry wasn't the murderer. How could he be, when he was the one in obvious pain, when he was screaming? Maybe somebody else had used the mist – or poison gas – to kill Patrick. But how was Harry then able to walk away? It did his head in.
That was when the phone rang.
“Hello?” he answered. He listened for a moment before his face broke into a smile. “Of course, I'm on my way.” he said. He hung up the phone and picked up his coat. “Hannah! James has woken up!” he called radiating with joy.
“How long have I been out?” James asked the nurse next to him. “One week.” she said. “Now I just need to ask you some questions.” James forced himself not to sigh. They had already asked him some questions – around five million of them. But he didn't complain. He hoped that his Grandma and Grandpa would arrive soon.
“Your grandparents filled in the paperwork, but they put their name in the Parent/Guardian slot. We were just wondering where your parents were? And we would also like their names.” the nurse said in a professional but bored and flat tone.
James thought for a moment. He had never met his parents, but he knew their names. He had begged his grandparents until they had told him.
“I don't know where they are but their names are Yasmin and Harry Royale.” he told the nurse. He was confused by her reaction – she suddenly started and looked at James as if for the first time. “Thank you,” she said in the same tone as before, but this time with a hint of curiosity. It somehow made her sound younger. “That is all.” she disappeared for a moment then returned. “You're family is here to see you.” she said briskly before opening the door and walking out again.
The door opened again, and Mr. And Mrs. Cook walked in.
“James!” Hannah cried running forward as fast as she could.
“Grandma,” James smiled. He turned his head. “Grandpa.” he said as Mark came to the bed where James was lying.
“I-I thought that... that you were going to- to...” Hannah wept, struggling to hold back her tears of relief. James held up a hand to stop her saying anymore.
“I'm all right – see?” he said sternly. Then he held out his arms and hugged her. Mark joined in without a word.
“The nurse said my family were here. Does that mean mum and dad are here too?” James asked hopefully once they had stopped hugging. The words sounded strange and foreign in his mouth. He saw Mark and Hannah look at each other, then take a big breath. It was Mark who spoke.
“James, there's something we haven't told you. It's something we think we need to tell you now. It's about your mother and father.” he held up a hand to stop James from talking. Suddenly the air felt tense.
“We never actually told you how you came to be in our care. It's because you were abandoned. We were staying in the Royale Hotel. You've never been there because we've never stayed there since. You were in a cardboard box on the steps and you had no identity but a photo of your mother and father. It had their names, your name, and your date of birth on the back. We've looked after you ever since although we didn't tell the authority's.”
James stared at his grandpa as he thought about what he had just said. “I'm adopted?” he said in a shocked voice.
Mark shifted uncomfortably. Hannah was looking away. “Sort of,” he muttered.
“Why didn't you tell me?” James asked quietly. Hannah and Mark looked each other. James never raised his voice and when he was angry he just spoke quietly. “Why? I had a right to know!” his voice cracked. “You're telling me I've lived my whole life with a bunch of strangers.” he said bitterly. “People who were never even the tiniest bit related to me.” he paused. “Why now? Why are you telling me now?” he asked suddenly. He thought. It was still raining and the annoying pitter-patter was beginning to get on his nerves.
“Something's happened? Something to do with my parents.” he said slowly, working it out. Hannah reached out and held his hand as Mark pulled something out of his pocket. He showed it to James. It was a picture of a woman and man. As soon as he saw the photo, he knew that it was a picture of his parents. He reached out a gently took the picture. This picture was his life, his only identity.
Then he saw that Mark was holding out another piece of paper. His heart warmed as he saw another picture – this time of the woman. He saw it was a newspaper article and his heart chilled again as he read the headline. Woman Commit Suicide? So that was it... his mother was dead. He looked at the date of the article. Thursday, August 17th 1997. His heart leapt.
“There's writing on the back of the photo.” Mark reminded quietly.
James turned the picture over. He read the names and the numbers. 16/08/97.
August 16th 1997. His mother had killed herself the day after he had been born. Why? James had thousands of questions he wanted to ask but Marks lips were moving, and he realized that he was talking.
“We didn't know anything about your father till today. We didn't realize that-” Mark was saying as his throat caught. “We only heard about him today because he was on the news.” he produced a picture and another newspaper article.
James took them, read them, looked at them - still without a word. His eyes widened and he gasped with a sharp intake of breath. “That's impossible,”
