Page 2 of Stutter

“Whitmore.” I reply.

“Oh, yes! He came in just yesterday. Room 1001. Just down the hall and to the left.”

I thank her and step aside and resume my journey. The thrum starts again, the halls pulsating, narrowing into a stretch as I find his room, and enter, standing beside the bed to unplug the call button in his hand.

It's dark, the only light in the private unit is above him, a dimming fluorescent beacon as I take a seat beside him and place the vase on his bedside table. I take a good look at the older man before me, fifteen years my senior, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, wires everywhere, but most importantly an IV to administer drugs and fluids.

Seven years too old for Maddie.

“Thaddeus.” I say aloud and his eyes flutter open. He tracks his surroundings, the wall, the window and finally, me.

He blinks when I lean closer and I pluck the syringe from between the woven stems, uncapping it. His muddy eyes widen in surprise as I suck nothing but air into the tube and twist it into the port of his IV wire where drugs are administered. I hear the click of a button and smirk, pulling the mask off his face. “Come now, Whitmore. This is twenty-five years in the making.”

“Why are you doing this?” He rasps, breaths shallow, wheezing.

I would feel bad for the old man if this wasn’t for the greater good. One less brother in the Syndicate. What I’m about to do should have me nervous, should have my belly swooping. I took anoath, to save and never harm. I should feel something other than this thrum in my veins that feels more like encouragement than resistance.

“In 1999 you took a trip to Paris. Where you met one Maddeline Celine Bordeaux. A fifteen -almost– sixteen-year-old visiting with her mother and her baby brother. I will say,Whitmore, it was smart, to preach love to a fifteen-year-old girl born with a broken heart.”

“Don’t know… what you’re talking… about.” He denies between wet gasps, but my focus is on the large barrel of the syringe. My weapon of choice. Ironic, maybe.

I’d call it… poetic justice.

“It would be improbable, wouldn’t it? In a perfect world. Those thousands of miles and an entire ocean twenty-five years ago, we were at the same place – me, as a boy enjoying summer vacation with my mother and my big sister. And you – tearing that same family apart. I myself never would have believed it. It was far too coincidental for it to be real… except I saw the ledger for myself.” I grit out between clenched teeth and push the plunger, watching the divine separation of air and fluid in the clear plastic with fascination. A large gap, that slowly travels from the tube down to his hand, and we watch it enter his body.

“Won’t… get away with this.” He rasps.

I shrug. “And you never should have.” I reply, throwing the syringe in the biohazard bin, and walking out, the door closes with a softclick. Like a silent predator I stride past to the nurse’s station and straight to the elevator as a code blue is called, and chaos ensues behind me.

But I don’t even glance back as the steel doors of the large elevator open and only turn forward once they shut behind me.

The pulsating in my mind stops, the blur at the sides of my vision dies down, and for a moment, I’m not alone in the elevator. For a moment, I can see Maddie’s reflection standing beside me. Her head comes up to my chest where once upon a time, I came up to hers – proof of how much time has passed. I watch as her ghostly hand covers mine, cold against my skin and I suppress a gasp and a shiver. Our eyes clash, silver with silver and she gives one solemn nod, and when the elevator whirs, beginning it’s descension, I blink, and I’m alone again.

And for the first time in twenty-five years, I allow myself to grieve what could have been.

Chapter One

Raven.

“I bet you’re fucking faking it. FAKING IT! FUCKING FAKER! SHE’S FAKING IT!”

I blink, keeping my composure as Raelynn gets closer to me. Raelynn, the girl that killed her stepfather, cut off his fingers and ate them. Raelynn, who they had to wait for a bowel movement for evidence. She swings but I block, and that makes it worse. It agitates her more when I defend myself. So she tries harder, windmilling her arms, but these meds I’m on… they make my movements less fluid. So she gets them in.

I’m dragged from where I was sitting in the cafeteria across the blinding white tile floors, trying to find purchase. I’m lifted by strong arms; the scent of rainwater soothes me and then–

No, this isn’t right.

I was somewhere else – somewheregood.

I’m in the hallway now, my hand trailing the wall like I always do, only moving when there’s a doorway.

I should run.

Escape.

I will…

But I can’t… remember things. It’s fuzzy in my brain. I have to… there’s things to remember. Faces. Faces. So many faces but they don’t make sense.

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