Breath of Divinity

Jon hated hospitals. The sterile air, the overwhelming aroma of antiseptics and floor cleaners, and worst of all the nonstop barrage of moans, grunts, and hisses that emanated from almost every room. Even as young as he had been when his mother had been admitted, everything about his visit stood out vividly in his mind. He made a silent vow to himself that day to never return to another hospital under any circumstance.

Looking back on it now, it had been nothing more than the ramblings of a grieving child. It seemed an almost impossible task, given that accidents could occur at any time, but he had gone thus far while keeping to his promise. And now he had to break it.

When Haley asked for volunteers to accompany her on her visit to the hospital, a small part of him had flared up in protest. He hadn’t voiced those opinions aloud at the time but they were there, loud and undeterred. But still he had agreed. He knew how badly guilt was tearing Haley apart for what she had done, even though everyone in the household assured her they knew it was an accident. That didn’t make it any easier for her though, and from firsthand experience he knew that whatever support she could get meant more than words could express.

He still wasn’t a fan of the idea though.

Jon waited alongside Tim and Oscar in the living room while his father tried to explain the situation to Sytris.

Though the others had voiced their dissent, Mr. Whitmore had insisted that Sytris should be informed of their current plans beforehand, in case things went south. As predicted, he vehemently disagreed. Jon’s father wasn’t a particularly stern or aggressive person, which made it very easy for a lot of people to walk over him. He was pleasantly surprised, therefore, to see Mr. Whitmore actually putting up a fight.

“I understand where you’re coming from — yes of course I do! The safety of the kids is… That’s besides the point… Haley wants to see them now and you’re too far away. We don’t have time to wait… I’m sorry, Sytris, but the purpose of this call wasn’t to ask for your permission, it was to inform of you of our plans. Whether you agree with them or not is not my concern.” And he hung up. He was breathing hard, muttering to himself, then he seemed to remember that other people were in the room.

“Right. So, that’s taken care of. Now we just need — ah, here she is!”

Haley had just descended the stairs, followed by Lauren. The latter had changed out of her bedclothes into jeans and a peach-coloured cardigan, and her hair fell in curly sheets just beyond her shoulders.

“Lauren, are you coming too?” said Mr. Whitmore.

“Yes, if that’s okay.”

“Absolutely.” Mr. Whitmore smiled broadly, bringing his hands together. “The more the merrier.”

“Doesn’t sound like Sytris agrees,” Jon pointed out.

His father’s smile flickered ever so slightly but he hoisted it back into place almost instantly. “He thinks that it’s a bad idea for so many of you to go at once, since, according to him, it could result in a stronger magical signature which is sure to draw more monsters in. But since you’ll all be together under careful supervision, in a crowded place, and on the alert for just that very thing, I don’t see an issue.”

“Thank you so much for agreeing to drive us, Mr. Whitmore,” Haley said. “It means a lot.”

“It wasn’t any trouble. Believe me, if anyone understands how important this is…”

His words trailed off, leaving another bleak silence in their wake.

“Well, shall we go then?” Jonathan asked, standing up.

“Yes, yes, let’s go.”

While the others began to file out towards the vehicle, Mr. Whitmore remained behind just a bit longer to reassure their parents once again that he would ensure their swift departure at the first sign of trouble, then he joined them at the car.

“Gonna be a tight squeeze, I guess,” Oscar said with a sigh.

The ride to the hospital wasn’t that long, but what it lacked in length it made up for in sheer discomfort. “Tight squeeze” was an understatement. Jon spent most of the ride with his face plastered against the window, unable to move while a sharp pain radiated through his neck. It was also swelteringly hot in the car, even with the ac turned on to full blast. At last, after little over half an hour, the car trundled to a halt in a crowded parking lot and they emerged into the blinding sunshine.

White Willow Medical Center was a rather derelict-looking building with pale red walls. There were people all around them, some limping on crutches, being strolled around in wheelchairs, or sporting casts. Seeing these people here with their injuries on full display to the world made him feel a stab of mundanity.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Jon rubbed his stomach, the same spot where less than a week ago a gigantic feline creature had sunk its claws into. The area was completely smooth now, as if it had never happened. Had it not been for the next few days he had spent in the mansion, attending brief training sessions with Sytris in which he turned himself into an inferno of multicoloured light, he might have been able to convince himself that this was just a terrible, disturbingly vivid nightmare. Unfortunately, he knew that was far from the case.

According to Sytris there were very few things capable of killing an Algyrian, but being gruesomely ripped apart wasn’t something he looked forward to, even if his body would put itself back together afterwards.

“You all right man?” Tim asked, eyeing him curiously.

“Yeah. Yeah, fine. Just not a big fan of hospitals,” he muttered.

Through the corner of his eyes he could see his father gazing at him. No doubt he knew exactly how his son felt, but Jon had no desire to discuss what was really bothering him.

“So what rooms are they in?”

“Rooms 246 and 251, in the Surgical Unit,” Mr. Whitmore said, leading the way to the front door.

Jon caught sight of Haley as they walked; she looked hesitant, which was understandable. Part of him felt like he should have tried to comfort her in some way, given that he could relate to her situation — somewhat. But he couldn’t think of anything to say. There wasn’t much chatter as they strode into the reception area, joined the very short line, and checked in. After that he led them up two flights of stairs, during which time Jon caught glimpses of other patients.

Some, he noticed, had visitors. They were laughing, crying or relaying news of events beyond the walls of White Willow. Others were alone. He knew that there was a whole menagerie of reasons why that could have been the case, but he still felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the people confined to their beds with no company.

At last they came up to a room with the numbers 246 positioned above the doorway. Haley’s father was inside, being attended to by a nurse. Mrs. Gibson on the other hand, had ended up in room 251, which was further down the hall.

The nurse looked up to see them watching from the other side of the door. After scribbling something down on a clipboard she strode out to speak with Mr. Whitmore.

“Visiting?” she asked kindly.

“Yes. Both 246 and 251, if that’s okay.”

“Not a problem at all. Are you family?”

“Oh, uh — family friends,” Mr. Whitmore said quickly.

The nurse nodded. “Well, you can see them, but unfortunately only 251 has shown any positive updates. 246 has already been in surgery but he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Is there any indication when he might?”

The nurse sighed. “Unfortunately not. We’ll keep running more tests but for right now, we’re not certain.”

“But Penelope’s okay?”

“Yes, she’s right in that room there.” She pointed a few doors down, at room 251. “You can speak with her, but not too long okay? She needs to rest, and she’s a little… distraught.”

“What do you mean, distraught?” Jon asked.

“Well, according to her and several eyewitnesses, there was a girl in that crash too. Their daughter. The paramedics confirmed they did retrieve a third passenger from the vehicle, but she disappeared before any details could be captured. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

“N-no,” Haley said, after a very awkward pause. Her voice was rather shaky. “Nothing.”

The nurse looked unconvinced but thankfully didn’t pursue the matter. “Well, enjoy your time.” She smiled and walked away. Haley, however, didn’t move. She stood frozen, looking at her father’s supine figure through the door of 246 as the heart monitor beeped steadily beside him.

“If you need a bit more time, it’s fine,” Mr. Whitmore said gently. Haley didn’t move, but her gaze did shift from the door of 246 to 251.

For a moment Jon thought she was about to agree to turn back, but then Lauren placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. Haley tried to return the gesture, then, looking a bit more reassured, she walked into 251. Silence, then they could hear Mrs. Gibson’s shrieks of relief as her daughter appeared before her. Everybody else moved towards the benches lining the wall. Jon, however, found himself staring again at Mr. Gibson, whose body was strung up with tubes. A dull ache was creeping up his chest and he found himself struggling to breathe, as if his lungs were constricted.

“Jonny?” came Mr. Whitmore’s voice, as if from a great distance. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” he said, in a falsely hearty voice most unlike his own. “Fine. I’m just gonna go grab something to drink.”

“Are you sure, you look a little —”

“I’m fine!” he said more insistently. “Really. I just need a minute.” And he walked away, ignoring the curious stares of his siblings and father. He took a shaky breath as he rounded the corner, then the avalanche of thoughts he had been trying to repel the entire trip came storming into his brain.

He shouldn’t have come, he knew it. Images of that dreadful day came floating back into his mind, his ears full of the incessant beeping of the heart monitor as… as… He couldn't bear to revisit that scene, no matter how much time had passed since then.

Jon came to an unsteady halt, slumping onto the wall beside him. He drew in a deep, tremulous breath, forcing himself to regain control. Though it had been an excuse to break away from the rest of the group, he found that he really could use something to drink. In his experience, a warm drink always helped with the nerves.

Thankfully there was a vending machine a bit further down. He forced his legs to move, rummaging around in his pocket for spare change. His hands were shaking wildly but he managed to deposit the coins into the slot and punched the button for coffee. There was a sad little whirring noise and then the machine fell still. Just great.

“Come on,” he pleaded, pressing the button more insistently. “Come on, come on.” He jammed his index finger against it over and over, but still no response. “Come on, come on, come on…”

It was no use. The machine wasn’t responding, but the memories were flooding in, like a great tsunami exploding over an unsuspecting shore. His eyes prickled and he knew what was coming next, but he was determined not to cry in a hallway full of strangers. He wouldn’t do it, he wouldn’t…

He slammed his fist against the machine. There was a yelp of surprise somewhere close at hand, but he ignored it. His throat had tightened along with his lungs; he couldn’t breathe.

Jon was taking sharp gulps of air, but it was no use, the air simply refused to flow any further. Something hot was rolling down his cheek now. He couldn’t stop the tears as they finally burst their banks, having been repressed for several years.

“Are you okay?”

He heard the voice, but he did not respond for several moments. Jon simply stood there, forehead pressed against the cool metal as he slowly, steadily, tried to calm down. His lungs finally seemed to remember how to function. Air passed in smoothly, and he felt himself regaining control. He wiped his face on his sleeve and turned around, looking up. Then he looked down. The speaker stood no higher than his waist: a young boy with wavy blond hair and eager brown eyes. He couldn’t have been more than 11 or 12, and he was smiling up at Jon with that kind of out of place happiness only children could muster.

“I’m — I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’re still breathing pretty hard.”

He took another deep breath, feeling more of the tension leaving his body, until he was finally able to stand upright again. “Yeah. Fine. It’s just… hospitals, you know.”

“Yes, not a very pleasant place is it?” the boy said thoughtfully.

“I don’t really think they’re supposed to be.”

“True. But they serve their purpose well, don’t they?”

Jon arched an eyebrow. There was something odd about this boy, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was bothering him. Something about his choice of words, his general demeanour.

“I guess.”

“I’ve never been to a hospital before, you know,” he said in a wondering voice, as if he was fascinated by his experience so far.

“Count yourself lucky then. Are you visiting?”

“In a sense. Not a patient, but I do have a friend who works here. I was in the area and decided to stop by. You?”

“No. Accompanying a visitor, more like.”

“You don’t seem to like it here very much.”

“Is it that obvious?” Jonathan chuckled. “I haven’t had the best experiences in these kinds of places.” Jon hesitated for a moment, then said, “Where are your parents? Shouldn’t you be with them?”

“No, my parents passed away a long time ago,” the boy said sadly.

Jon felt another unbidden pang of sadness. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he genuinely meant it.

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I’ve adapted.”

Jon’s brows drew together. There it was again.

“I do have siblings though,” the boy continued casually. “Younger than me, but you would never know based on how they act. Younger ones always seem to think they know better.” He looked like he was restraining himself from rolling his eyes to the heavens with great effort, and for the first time Jon thought he picked up a trace of genuine irritation.

Jon tried to keep the conversation flowing, to find out more about his mysterious interlocutor. “Where are your siblings now?” He didn’t need to try to sound interested, because he genuinely was.

“Oh my sister is here somewhere. My brother, on the other hand, declined to make an appearance. (Another flicker of annoyance). But you can always count on him to make an entrance when things get interesting.”

“What do you mean by ‘interesting’?”

At that the boy smiled again, but this smile was more disconcerting than any other expression he had made so far, as if something much deeper was being hidden behind the smile.

“Just a figure of speech. I really did enjoy our conversation today, Jonathan. Thank you for indulging me. Your coffee?” He pointed at the vending machine behind them.

Jon tore his eyes from the stranger with the greatest reluctance and turned around, and there was his coffee, steaming on the small platform. He looked around again, but the boy had vanished. Thoroughly perturbed, Jonathan turned his back on the warm drink and began to make his way back down the hallway, his eyes flickering over the corridor for any sign of the boy. But he did not reappear.

He had been so disconcerted by the experience that it took him several minutes before he realized that he had never told the boy his name.

Unfortunately, while trying to find his way back to the others he came to another unsettling realization: due to his minor panic attack he hadn’t been paying much attention to the path he had taken to get here and was now well and truly lost.

He was about to ask someone for directions, but then heard something that sounded distinctly out of place in a hospital. It was a kind of faint hiss, like a snake. He stopped in place, listening hard. Perhaps he had imagined it… But there it was again, louder this time. A strange tingling sensation ran through his left arm. He looked down and his eyes fell upon his ring, which seemed to be pulsing once more with its usual cool blue light. From his experience it only ever did that when his siblings were near. Perhaps it was guiding him back to them?

Though something felt different this time. The further he walked in this direction the more intense the ring’s light became.

Down the path he walked, taking a right, then a left, then another right. He didn’t know why he was going this way, only that something seemed to be drawing him in this direction. The further he walked the less people there were on this section of the building, until he seemed to reach an entirely deserted floor. This definitely wasn’t the path to his family, but he couldn’t deny that he was curious to see what he would find at the end of his path.

Then, without any form of warning, he turned a corner and came upon a truly awful scene. In the room just beyond, he saw a man in a lab coat bending over a patient. From this angle it seemed that the man was merely doing an observation, but then he shifted slightly and Jon saw that his mouth was wide open, and a kind of silvery mist was trailing from the woman’s mouth into his. Her body was convulsing, but she seemed completely unable to move, because she simply lay there, shaking violently. The mist disappeared and the man swallowed with apparent relish, then the heart monitor, which had maintained a steady rhythm so far, started beeping far more aggressively: she was flatlining.

The man made no attempt to resuscitate. Instead he stared at the monitor with the merest trace of interest until the noise turned to a flat, droning beep. He looked at his watch and said nonchalantly, “Time of death, 3:02 PM.”

He froze. He had just turned around and locked eyes with Jonathan, who was watching, transfixed with horror. The doctor looked just as shocked to see him, but his shock wore off much more quickly; he threw down his clipboard and made a beeline straight for the door.

Jon’s senses rushed back into him so sharply it was as if he had received an electric shock. He turned and pelted off down the hallway, his heart pounding a violent tattoo against his chest. The door burst open behind him and out came the doctor, hurtling towards him like a loose rocket. Just as Jon was about to turn the corner, the man launched himself forward and grabbed hold of his legs. He lost balance and tumbled over, crashing down the empty hallway. With strength no ordinary man should have possessed, the doctor restricted him, flipping him over so that they were face to face.

His mouth was a gaping maw of uneven, metallic-looking fangs and his eyes were a searing amber colour. There were no whites to them: his sclera was pitch black, as if the brilliant irises were floating in a pool of darkness.

“What are you doing down here?” the man hissed.

“Get off me!”

The man clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his yells, then with his other hand he struck a heavy blow in Jon’s ribs. His cry of pain was muffled by the man’s hand; the doctor was pummeling him all over, but Jon managed to wiggle free just enough to drive his fist in the other man’s stomach. The doctor keeled over in pain. Jon tried to rise but the man, whatever he was, leapt from the floor again. He grabbed hold of him and threw him bodily into the room just beside them, then began to fumble with the lock.

Temporarily freed, Jon turned to the man with anger rising swiftly inside him. Power surged into his fingertips just as the doctor came at him again and he let loose a fierce blast. The light filled the entire room, blasting the doctor into the opposite wall and scattering tables and equipment all over the floor.

To Jon’s surprise, the doctor didn’t stop moving. He managed to push himself upright and looked up. It was a truly gruesome sight. Half of his face was melted off, the remnants of skin hanging on loosely and leaking dribbles of dark green blood onto the floor.

His left eye was still in tact, widened in absolute terror. “Wh- what are you?” he rasped.

Jon was fighting a powerful urge to vomit. He managed to fight it down, but he was forced to turn away from the appalling sight.

The monster took advantage of his weakness, leaping from the ground so fast that it barreled into him before he could even turn his head. It thrust him into the floor so hard that it actually cracked the vinyl. Jon tasted blood in his mouth; a sharp ache spreading through the right side of his body told him something was broken but his adversary gave him no time to do a proper assessment. He was on him again in an instant, flipping him over once more so that he was forced to look up into the mangled face.

What was left of its mouth was opening wide, its remaining eye glowing amber. Jon felt his own mouth opening against his will, and to his horror saw a sliver of mist emerging from his mouth, just as it had with the woman earlier. Except where hers was silver, this was a bright, searing gold.

He could barely move. It was as if he had been hit by some kind of toxin, slowly paralyzing every muscle in his body, all the while he could feel his strength quite literally being sucked out of him.

Once again Sytris’s words floated into his mind: very few things could kill an Algyrian, but he had a nasty feeling that if he didn’t get away from this man soon, this would be revealed to be one of those things.

“Or…” His voice trailed off, raspy and weak. The man looked surprised to see him even able to talk. He opened his mouth wider and the trail of mist thickened. “Or… Orus!” The word was hardly intelligible even to his own ears, but it seemed it was good enough for the ring. Blue light blazed through the room, temporarily blinding his opponent, who recoiled with another hiss. Jon coughed and sputtered, feeling slightly dizzy, but he managed to push himself to his feet, holding his gleaming blade aloft.

That was when he noticed something extraordinary. The damage his powers had done to the creature seemed to have been mostly repaired. Now only a small bloody gash was left on his face. He was cowering against the other wall, holding a hand out in terror, tears blossoming in his newly regenerated eyes.

“Please, please don’t kill me,” the man pleaded. “I have a family. A wife… a daughter…”

The expression on his face was so feeble, so human, that Jon found himself paralyzed again. This wasn’t a vicious cat creature, or an oversized serpent. This was a human being — or at the very least, it looked like one. He couldn’t — how could he….

But once again the doctor took advantage of his weakness. In his brief moment of hesitation, it pounced, his feeble expression morphing instantly into the face of murderous rage he had worn the entire fight. Jon closed his eyes and surrendered to his instincts. He tightened his grip on the sword and thrust forward with all the strength he could muster. A horrible squelching noise met his ears. He could feel the creature’s hot breath on his face, hear it gurgling and sputtering, but he didn’t dare open his eyes.

“Jonny!”

His eyes flew open at once. The doctor was directly in front of him, his sword buried deep in his chest. His fangs were hidden by the green goo oozing from his mouth, and the amber was slowly fading from his irises. In an instant the brilliant glare had disappeared, leaving them dull and lifeless. The man’s body slid downwards, crashing to the floor in a bloody heap.

Behind him stood Mr. Whitmore and all four of his siblings, looking aghast.

His father rushed over, hesitated for a moment at the sight, then grabbed Jon. “What happened?” he demanded.

“He wasn’t human.” Jon forced the words out, his heart still pounding furiously against his ribcage. “Some kind of monster, he… he killed somebody.”

“All right, we gotta get you out of here. Now. You need to get cleaned up. Tim, check if the coast is clear.”

Tim nodded and sped off, leaving nothing but the quickly-fading flash of blue light behind him.

“What were you even doing around here?” Mr. Whitmore said, looking both bewildered and terrified.

Jon didn’t get the chance to respond. In an instant Tim was back, his face pale and eyes wide. “Security is coming.”

“We have to go. Jonny. Hey — look at me!” Mr. Whitmore said, shaking his son roughly. “Look at me, okay. Not him. We need to go.”

“I killed him,” Jon breathed.

“You had no choice. It was him or you. Here, put this on.” His father pulled off his jacket and thrust it roughly into his arms. “Jonathan!” he shouted, jerking him back to his senses. “We have to go!”

Jon nodded and pulled the jacket on with shaking arms. It was larger than him, which served the purpose of covering the blood-stained sections of his shirt. His father heaved his sword from the body with another nasty squelching noise and handed it to him. Jon whispered “Orus,” once more and it morphed back into his ring, its sapphire glinting innocently as he slid it back onto his finger. They broke into a run, hurrying back down the corridor. Jon, who had no idea where to go, simply followed the others.

“How did you find me?”

“These,” said Haley, indicating her bangle. “They all started glowing again. Had a feeling you needed help.”

“What about the doctor?”

“One problem at a time, Jonny,” said his father distractedly. He took a tentative step forward, saw the hospital’s security team coming up the path they were about to take, then headed down the other direction. It took nearly ten minutes to get outside, during which they drew many curious glances. They hurried back into the vehicle and Mr. Whitmore sent the car hurtling down the road, almost hitting several other cars in his rush to get out of the parking lot.

As they wheeled down the road, Jon took one final glance at the hospital. He didn’t know if he was imagining it or what — maybe he was — but it seemed there was a kind of dark haze surrounding the entire building. He blinked, and it was gone.