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Angels of Anaheim

Author's note: This was written by a dream I had. THIS IS REVISED!! It's not the same as the original, so...  Show full author's note »
Author's note: This was written by a dream I had. THIS IS REVISED!! It's not the same as the original, so 'Adam's Story' does not apply to this!  « Hide author's note
Chapters:   « Previous 1 ... 3 4 5 6 7 8 ... 19 Next »

Chapter Five

I woke up in a bed. A fricking hospital bed. The last place I wanted to be. My head didn’t hurt, and I wasn’t bleeding (that I knew of). I opened my tired eyes to see Dad sitting in a chair at the end of the bed.
“Hey,” was all I could manage. He instantly looked at me. He shot from his seat to my bedside.
“Maddie? Oh, my gosh, you’re-” I cut him off.
“What happened?” I moaned. He sighed.
“We think someone attacked you. We don’t know why. Whoever it was, he’s run off,” he said. I remembered the sounds of someone being disemboweled.
“He’s dead,” I said.
“The body…they didn’t find one?” I asked.
“But…someone…he…I don’t know,” I said.
“Tell me,” he said.
“I don’t know. I’m tired. My head hurts,” I said. The last part was a lie. I felt pretty good, besides being tired. It was kind of like Two and a Half Men where Charlie makes the needlepoint that says God Bless Vicoden. Dad sighed again.
“Erica’s here. Want to see her?” he asked. I sighed and thought about what she might say. I nodded anyway. Dad left for a moment, and she soon swung around the corner.
“You’re just having problems, aren’t you?” she said, half smiling.
“Screw you,” was all I could say.
“At least you’re feeling better,” she said sarcastically, “You know that was stupid, right? Running away?”
“Yeah. Don’t remind me,” I said. I thought for a moment. I was seeing if I could trust her. “If I tell you something, you promise not to say anything? Or say I’m nuts? That’s the last thing I need,” I asked. She held up her pinky.
“Pinky promise!” she chimed. She came closer to the bed and leaned against the rail. “Speak,” she said.
“Well, when that guy attacked me…” I sighed. I wasn’t for sure I should say anything. “Someone - and I don’t know who - came and, well…killed him,” I said.
She was quiet for a minute. “You know how you said you wanted angels to save you? I think that was your angel,” she said.
“I guess that explains why he knew my name,” I said. She nodded, and then froze.
“Knew your name?” I nodded. She thought. “More evidence.” Just then, something popped into my head.
“How did I get here?” I asked slowly.
“They said you came in the ER and collapsed. They got you and fixed you up. You were alone,” Erica said.
“I don’t remember it,” I said.
“That dude whacked you pretty good. Four stitches. Concussion,” she said. I nodded.
“I shouldn’t fall asleep, should I?” I asked.
I sighed. Where was that guy? Or my ‘angel’? Well, I knew one was dead. That was evident. Your brain, even if it’s been rattled with a lead pipe, doesn’t make up things about people getting their guts stripped out of them.
“I’m tired,” I mumbled, knowing I couldn’t sleep. I lifted a hand to my forehead, and felt the platform of gauze. “How many stitches?” I asked.
“Four,” Erica said. I would have thought a smack with a pipe would shatter bone, not create incisions.
A nurse came around the corner, and said Erica had to leave so I could be questioned by the police. I was like a zombie through questioning. I left out the part about being rescued by a stranger, but I did say that he had orange eyes. I said they were contacts, though. I still thought I was dreaming that part.
I lay there for about ten minutes after questioning, and Dad came back in. He looked nervous.
“Uh, Mom’s still here, getting help for…you know. She heard you were here, and wants to see you. She’s worried about ‘her baby girl’,” he said. I thought for a moment. I didn’t know when we’d see each other again, so I allowed it. “I just want to say that she’s kind of, well…out there. Meth makes you hallucinate, but this takes the cake,” Dad warned, “It’s the withdraw symptoms. You won’t really be talking to her. She’s just here physically.”
After a moment, she hobbled around the corner on a cane, escorted by a nurse. She was sickly gray color with brittle hair. She had become a skeleton. She was thin before, but she looked like she just got out of a concentration camp. She sat in the chair at the end of the bed with the help of the nurse. Mrs. Simpson and Dad stood in the doorway to keep watch over her.
“Maddie!” she said. She pointed to the cotton ball and bandage on her forehead. “You got a boo-boo on your head, too!” she said. I nodded. She was just here physically.
“Yeah,” I said, “That guy hit me with a pipe. I’m sure there’s a big egg there.”
“That guy pushed me pretty hard, too. I had a goose egg! It went down, though. See?” she said as she pulled the bandages off her forehead. I wondered what she meant by ‘that guy’. I looked at Dad. He shook his head and made the coo-coo sign with his finger. Mom was dreaming things. She didn’t know she did it to herself. She thought someone pushed her.
The area on her head was red with two small black stitches. I nodded.
“He did push you hard,” I said, going with it. She started to rock slightly in her chair.
“This sucks without my good stuff,” she said.
“I’ll bet it does,” I said. The same nurse took Mom’s arm.
“It’s time to go, ma’am,” she said.
“Really? Already?” Mom asked. The nurse nodded. “Oh, well. Bye bye Maddie!” she said as she stood.
“Bye bye,” I said as they left. I hated it, but I really missed her. I would never miss the meth.
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