A squeal of breaks. Sirens. Bright white lights. James. Calm, soft words. Red hair. Golden eyes. James. His leg hurt, and then nothing hurt. He felt nothing. Even emotions didn't make it past a mental barrier. What had happened? Where was James?
He hestitated by the door and slowly tapped the beige walls. Staring down the hall, he focused on the elderly couple walking down the hall with the man pulling an IV pole beside him and took a deep breath. He put his hand on the cool metal handle and closed his eyes. His heart beat against his ribs, and he rested his head on the door.
He imagined that IV pole impaling his chest, the pain that would explode around him. His breath would stream from his shocked lungs, and he could only gasp desperately for more.
What had he done?
A nurse approached cautiously and whispered, "It's best just to go in. Be grateful he's alive and breathing alone."
He smiled sadly and glanced at her. "Is it bad if I'm thinking about how my parents are going to kill me?"
She returned the smile sympathetically and repeated, "Just go in. He needs you." Flipping red hair out of her golden eyes, she turned the handle for him . She caught up to the couple and greeted them happily.
He sighed and followed her directions quickly before he lost his drive again. Closing the door softly, he stared at the pale form that had never looked as fragile as it did now lying on that hospital bed. He walked over haltingly with a slight limp and brushed hair from his forehead. "Oh god, James. What have I done?" He fell to his knees though it sent a bolt of pain up his bandaged leg and groped for his brother's hand. Raising the limp hand to his lips, he let tears fall onto the white sheets and shook softly with unvoiced sobs.
He thought of those sheets tightening around his neck as he jumped from the bed. His hands struggling at the collar before finally going limp. Every breath would hurt, slowly getting smaller and smaller until no oxygen reached his lungs.
Where had that car come from? He could have sworn it hadn't been there when he glanced over that way.
He was reeling from the impact and watched the other vehicle speed away seemingly unharmed. At the moment, while he was still wondering what happened that made since. He heard a weak groan and looked over to see his brother's bloody face.
That sight, his brother's face, twisted in pain, marked with the scarlet of blood haunted him every single time he closed his eyes, every freakin' time he blinked.
"I'm sorry, James. So, so sorry." He buried his face in the sheets and cried. "I didn't mean to, but you've got to pull through. You've just got to," he cried and squeezed James' hand. "Mom is going to slaughter me. Dad... well, I don't know." Laughing bitterly, he lifted his head to smile sardonically at his brother. "He might be more worried about my car." He sniffed and rose off the floor stiffly.
Sirens rang. What had happened to James? Where was James? He struggled against the patient hands attending to the gash on his forehead. He sat up and shook off the EMS. Pushing himself out of the ambulance, he stared at the scene before him.
Everything was loud chaos. A helicopter was taking off, and police officers seemed to mill around without purpose. His car, his small, black car was finished. The passenger side had all but collapsed. James.
His head spun, and he turned away. Oh, God. What had happened? He took deep breaths and stumbled toward the ambulance again where the red haired EMS was standing. "Take me to my brother."
"What did you do to my baby?"
He closed his eyes and groaned. He faced his mother, only to regret it. "Mom," he replied weakly and held onto James' hand as the last anchor to this life.
"He's ten years old! You were supposed to take care of him! Get away! Just get away!" she sobbed and shoved her eldest son away. "Baby, mommy's here now. Mommy's here. Don't worry anymore." She bent over the form and cried over James. "Get out, Peter," she whispered. She shook softly and pet her son.
Peter stared at his mother's back and felt shame wash over him once again.
He visualized her hands beating him and beating him. He didn't fight back, couldn't fight back. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but no sound escaped his lips. Each hit grew less intense. He curled into a ball, and she kept hitting until he could feel no more.
He jerked away from the doctor. "James."
"He's in surgery." The doctor stayed on his side of the room and watched Peter pace nervously in the room. "You need stitches."
"But... James."
"He's in good hands. Let me fix you up, and you can go wait in the waiting room." The doctor approached slowly with his hands up. "Calm down. You're both still alive. Be grateful for what you have."
The door opened, and a redheaded nurse sauntered in. "Let me try, doctor."
The doctor sighed and put up his hands, clearly done with the patient. "Be my guest."
Peter backed into the corner defensively and studied the girl as the doctor fled. "I need to see my brother."
"Baby, he's in surgery. One of the best of our surgeons are working on him. Let me take care of you, and he'll be fine." She smiled and led him to the table again. "Can you sit down for me?"
He stared into calm golden eyes and nodded. "Uh... sure... sure."
Peter retreated into the hall and limped into the waiting room. He leaned against the wall and watched all of the people, unaware of his pain, of his brother dying in the room only feet away.
Why didn't they care? They were all caught up in other things, things that couldn't possibly be important.
"Peter, do you realize where I've come from?"
Peter looked up and closed his eyes. He was tired of people. "Dad."
"How bad is James?"
"The car is fine."
"The car? I don't care about the car. How's James?"
"The tow truck picked it up." He walked on, blind to his father's angry glare and escaped the sucking vaccum of the hospital. All the death. All the life.
Cool air hit his face, and he breathed it in. He sighed and let his head fall back to study the cold stars, experiencing a single moment of freedom, of ignorance as his mind ran blank.
They shone bright and sharp. Any time, any time before now he would have thought them warm and comforting, even understanding, the eyes of God looking down on him, watching out for him. Now they were cold. Now they were mocking him for being a lowly earthly being.
He walked across the parking lot and was hit with sudden, heavy exhaustion. He stood on the sidewalk and stared at the cars speeding home after a long days work. He wondered for a moment what it would feel like to be hit by one of those cars. What would it feel like to just step out in front of one and feel the impact send his body into the air before it landed with a sickening smack onto the pavement.
"Your brother still needs you."
Frowning, Peter turned to see red hair pinned up and large, golden eyes shining up at him. "I almost killed him."
She smiled and began walking across the street. "Yeah." Walking backwards on the busy road, she faced him. "But he's still alive. You didn't kill him." A horn blared, and she faced the oncoming car.
He jumped and started running to meet the girl. "What the hell?" he demanded and jogged over to the sidewalk where she stood unharmed.
She shrugged and sat down where she was. "Come on. We need to talk."
He studied her and pointed out, "I don't know you." He sat down anyway and laid down, resting his head on the soft grass.
"But I know you." She patted his arm in a friendly manner and let a quiet, easy silence fall.
He closed his eyes and saw those small hands tightening on his throat in his mind's eye. He stared into those golden eyes and found malicious intent instead of friendliness. She laughed darkly, and he struggled in futile.
"You have no room for those kind of thoughts," she admonished and made him get up. "James needs you. You can't die."
He ground the heel of his hands into his eyes and asked now that his thoughts were coming to a rest, "Weren't you the nurse?"
"Yeah," she agreed and laughed. "And the EMS and a few other people that you didn't notice like the receptionist." She shrugged again and said, "Call me a jack of all trades."
"...Yeah..." He ran a hand through his hair. "How about I don't ask?"
"That's probably best." She put a hand on his shoulder and whispered, "You need to get it out. Talk to me, Peter."
"I don't know how we got there." He shook his head and tried to remember. "I remember pulling out from the stop sign, and then he came out of nowhere." He looked at her and asked, "Where did he come from?"
"Does that really matter?" She squeezed his hand in comfort and repeated, "James is still alive. You're alive. He's gone."
"Yeah... but... Was it my fault? Did I miss a bright yellow car?" He let her hand stay where it was and groaned. "How am I supposed to live always wondering if I am guilty for ruining my brother's life?"
She froze. "Ah... You didn't," she answered quietly, "It wasn't your fault. None of it." She laughed bitterly. "I would know."
"What... What do you mean?" He felt his throat tighten. "How would you know?"
"... I was in the yellow car."
Shaking his head, he stood and stared at her with large eyes that contained the fear of a deer caught in headlights. "What kind of monster are you?" he hissed. He jerked away when she reached for him and ran across the street.
The girl sat there and shook her head slowly. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes.
"He's still alive."
"I'm taking care of it." She glanced up at the tall, pale man that had appeared beside her and shook her head. "I screwed up. He won't get away next time."
"He's on the dead list, Mary."
"I said I'm doing it! Everyone has one mistake." She stood and faced him angrily. "Peter will be gone. I'm a pro, right?"
"Mary... He needs to be gone. He's on the top of the list. He practically is the list. Don't start getting attached just because you ended up where he was supposed to be tonight."
She scoffed. "Bad luck tonight is all."
He studied her coldly, "Make sure of it."
"God, Grim. Haven't I told you I would be take care of it? Next week. He'll be gone." She turned away from him and disappeared in a cloud of mist.
Okay, I don't know where this is going. I might continue it if you guys want me to, and we'll find out together.
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