Amber Frost (31 page)

The female officer began asking me more questions as we pulled into the hospital’s large parking lot and pulled up right in front of the Emergency entrance. I distractedly answered, giving her some more information about when I’d last seen Sebastian, where he lived and what school we went to, and also my parents’ names. I mentioned that my mother headed the hospital’s volunteer and fundraising committees and was usually at the hospital most days; the police woman seemed pleased by this, probably thinking my mother would be there to support me. The idea might even have been laughable if I could ever find a reason to smile again.

I felt like I was in a dream as I got out of the police cruiser and numbly followed the officers through the sliding hospital doors. Everyone in the busy waiting room turned to stare curiously as the three of us entered. One of the officers enquired at the front desk about where Sebastian had been taken. I tried to wait patiently and not appear too alarmed when he gave the nurse Sebastian’s full name so that she might find his medical care card number in her system. Thankfully she didn’t do a search right away; I couldn’t bear the thought of more delays and more unanswerable questions.

“This way,” the officer instructed, gently placing his hand on my back as he led me through the waiting room and down the hall. I vaguely noticed the female officer had gone back out to the car. “He’s out of surgery but still in intensive care. They think he’ll pull through. ” I gasped at his words, fear and shock shooting jagged spikes through my heart and down my spine. I knew his words were meant to reassure me but they had the opposite effect.

“He… he might not… make it?” I managed to get out, tears flowing mercilessly.

“They think he’s past the worst of it,” he said reassuringly, speaking in a low, calm voice. I wanted to scream at him, to shake him and break down into the hysterical mess I was on the verge of. Somehow I held it together. “Perhaps we can find a doctor who can tell us more.”

We got into the elevator and the police officer pushed the button for the second floor. We were silent as the elevator doors closed; the only sounds were the hum of the elevator and the occasional beep and static from his dispatch radio. I tried to breathe steadily. The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors began to slide apart. My heart pounded and my whole body began to tremble as we stepped out into the bright, white hallway.

My police escort stopped and spoke to another doctor on this floor. This time we were given a bed number and told that another doctor would meet us there. The officer turned to me anxiously.

“Are you sure you want to see him now? You can only go in for a minute and he’s not even conscious. Perhaps you’d like to wait until your parents are here? It’s going to be a pretty shocking sight,” he warned.

“I have to see him.” There was a strength behind my whispered words that made the officer look more closely, a touch of understanding in his eyes. He seemed to reconsider me.

“Let’s go then.” He led me down yet another long, sterile-white hall.

We came to a stop outside a small recovery room within the ICU. There was a glass window through which I could see the room beyond, all I could make out though was a bandaged form on the bed, wires and tubes coming out like spider webs amongst the beeping monitors and whirring machines. I could not believe that bundled, motionless mass was Sebastian. This was a nightmare; it had to be.

“Do you want to go in?” the officer asked gently. I silently nodded. “You have two minutes; I’ll go find his doctor.” Without answering I stepped forward and opened the door, moving into the room beyond. The monitors beeped and whirred, and the room smelt strange – it was too sterile, too bright. Sebastian would have hated it. I slowly inched towards the bed.

“Sebastian?” I whispered, my throat so tight I was barely able to speak. I stepped closer to the bed, objectively wondering how I was staying so calm? When had my tears stopped? That was when I noticed the arm coming out from the bandaged mass; a dark, twisted tattoo snaked out from underneath the fresh cast on his arm. My breath rushed out of my lungs as I flew to his side.

“Sebastian, Sebastian, oh God.” My tears fell hot and fast. I gasped for air, my grief so overpowering I could hardly breathe. I forced myself to look, to study this unfamiliar face and search it for traces of the boy who I loved.

Both of Sebastian’s eyes were swollen shut, his face a mass of angry red and purple bruises, a large gash sewn up with dark stitches just over his brow. His top lip was badly swollen, making it look as if he were sneering in his sleep. His head was wrapped in bandages, not an inch of his beautiful, dark hair visible. His right arm was in a cast and I could see that both his hands were badly cut and bruised, probably as he had tried to protect himself. I noticed all of his earrings and rings had been removed, and this made me angry – it didn’t seem right. The thin white bed sheet was pulled up to his chest, covering the rest of his body and obscuring any other injuries he may have had. I could just make out the sound of him breathing over the noisy monitors; his breath was rough and slightly wheezy but the steady rhythm of it comforted me.

I crouched down beside his bed and carefully slid my hand over his fingers that poked out from the cast. The heart monitor seemed to minutely pick up in pace; I wondered if it were just my imagination. His fingers felt cold and icy to my touch, the unfamiliar sensation tore at my heart. I tried to imagine the warmth from my hand soaking into him, lending him all my strength and all my will for him to be okay.

“Sebastian, what happened? Who did this to you? I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I whispered through my tears. “You’re going to be okay, you know. You
have
to be okay. I’ll never forgive you if you… but you won’t. You wouldn’t do that to me. I love you.” I carefully studied his face as I spoke, looking for some flicker of recognition, some sign that he heard; there was none. I could barely believe this was him, my mind still struggling to understand, to process what had happened. I wondered if I were in shock.

I turned at the sound of a light tapping on the glass window. The officer had returned with a sour-looking doctor who was eyeing me disapprovingly through the glass. I guiltily pulled my hand away from Sebastian’s, twiddling my ring nervously. It was so hard to be this close to him but not to throw my arms around him, to snuggle into his side and kiss the unhurt areas of his skin as I wanted to. I knew I shouldn’t, I knew right now it was very important that I play by their rules. There was more trouble coming – it was inevitable. I had to try my best not to make things any worse.

“I’ll be back soon,” I whispered to the motionless, bandaged form as I straightened up. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and sniffed hard, trying to get myself under control. “I’ll be close by. I love you.” I reluctantly turned and went back out into the hall.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. For the most part, I stayed in the hallway outside Sebastian’s room, intently watching him through the glass for any signs of improvement or distress. The female officer returned and told me she’d contacted the Jensons and they would be arriving in a few hours. She also asked more questions, endless, endless questions. Was I sure of Sebastian’s full name? Had he recently moved to Victoria? Who was his doctor? Did I know any reason why he wouldn’t be registered with the provincial health authority? Or have a social insurance number? Or a birth certificate? What were his birth parents’ names? Where was he born? How long had he lived with the Jensons? Why wasn’t he a registered foster child? The questions went on and on. I tried to appear as helpful and cooperative as possible, apologizing repeatedly as I said over and over again, “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

Matters only became worse when an hour after I arrived at the hospital, my mother tracked me down. She was on her way home and tried to insist I go with her.

“No, Mother,” I said as firmly as possible. “I’m not leaving Sebastian.”

“That boy is no good Grace, you’ll stay away from him from now on. From the moment I first saw him, I knew he was trouble; there’s no record of him anywhere, even the police don’t know who he really is. He’s obviously some kind of criminal. He must have some connections high up, pulling strings and thwarting Walter and my efforts to expose him but his web of lies is collapsing now,” she added. Her smug satisfaction made me feel physically sick. Bile came bubbling up my throat, angry, disgusted words spewing from my lips.

“Shut up! Just shut up!” I hissed, struggling to keep myself from screaming. My mother’s eyes bulged in surprise at how I was addressing her. “You don’t know him,
Mother
, you don’t even know me! You
sicken
me. How can you say such horrible things while he’s lying in there broken and beaten nearly to death?” My outrage was so fierce, my glare so heated that she shrank away from the fiery passion with which I spoke. “I’m eighteen – I am not a child anymore and I am
your
child no longer. You don’t love me, you don’t care about me or my happiness – all you care about is yourself.
You’re
no good. I want you to stay away from me – starting now!” I looked straight into her eyes as I spoke. I was no longer afraid of her; I would never cower before her again. She no longer had the power to hurt me.

My mother’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She grabbed my arm with one thin, bony hand as if to drag me out of the hospital by force but I quickly shook her off.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” I warned her, my voice strong and sharp. I hadn’t known I was capable of speaking with such a clear, dangerous edge. I supposed it was true that when you stripped yourself down and faced the possibility of losing the source of all your happiness, your strongest, brightest reason for living, you found out what you were really made of.

I could see the outrage in my mother’s eyes, the angry flush to her cheeks as I spoke. I had never spoken to her this way before, she hadn’t expected it, and she probably hadn’t even expected her own reaction. I could tell she was about to lash out, the angry words reaching her lips before she had time to sensor them.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” she spat, her eyes wild and furious. “If I hadn’t sent Walter out last night to keep Clarke and his friends reigned in –” My shocked gasp seemed to bring her back to reality, to make her realize what she’d just said. She shrugged, her face twisting into an even uglier sneer. “Oh, don’t act so innocent! You’re so naïve sometimes Grace, it’s ridiculous! Don’t even think of talking to the police – no one’s going to believe you, or him –
if
he ever wakes up. We’re important people, protected by our social standing, our connections, our wealth. You’re just a nobody now Grace; an insignificant, nobody just like him. You’re no daughter of mine,” she whispered, a hateful gleam to her eye.

I struggled to speak, slowly comprehending what she’d just said. My mother, Walter, Clarke, Graham, Adam – they were probably all to blame. They had all conspired to hurt Sebastian, to take him by surprise, outnumber him and beat him in the dark and leave him for dead. And for what? To soothe their jealous egos? To feel powerful through a violent act of cowardice? To wound me through their vicious beating of him? And my mother actually expected me to thank her for ensuring the boys stopped before he died – to make certain that he was beaten only within an inch of his life but not a millimeter closer? I glared at my mother, overwhelmed by my sudden hatred for her, consumed by my own violent, murderous rage.

“You’ll pay for this,” I told her, surprised by how even my voice came out. The powerful anger continued to burn within me, flaring nearly out of control despite my level tone. My mother took a small step away from me, a sudden uncertainty in her eyes, a hesitant fear in her expression. I grabbed the amber pendant that hung from my neck in a tight fist, surprised by the sudden glowing warmth within it. I tried to draw strength from it as I struggled to contain my righteous anger, my bitter rage that threatened to overflow.

“I won’t pay for anything,” my mother hissed. With one last cold sneer, she turned and walked away. Her step quickened as I glared fiery daggers at her retreating back. She almost appeared to shrink beneath the heat of my hatred as she quickly walked away. By the time she reached the end of the hall she was near running like the weak, ugly coward she was.

The moment my mother was out of sight, the burning, hate-filled fire within me cooled. I was left feeling strangely hollow and numb. It was like it had quickly burnt up all the emotions within me, leaving me with little left; it was almost easier to deal with the empty, numbness.

I hurried back to the hallway outside Sebastian’s room to silently watch and wait.

Just after lunch the Jensons arrived at the hospital and a new round of questioning began. It wasn’t until over an hour after they arrived that I was finally able to speak with Mrs. Jenson alone and get some more information.

“They’re ready to move Sebastian out of recovery and into a room soon, I think,” she told me reassuringly. “He’s been treated for hypothermia and bronchitis which he was apparently suffering from also. They’ll keep him in a drug induced coma for several days until some of the swelling around his brain goes down, then they’ll try and wake him up.” I picked up on the key word at once, noticing the redness in her eyes, the tight lines across her plain, gentle face.

“Try?” I whispered.

“They’re not certain as to the extent of trauma to his brain. Grace… there’s a chance when he wakes up that he might not… be himself. He could have more memory loss, he could have trouble speaking or even moving. There’s a chance he may not even wake up at all,” she warned me, her voice breaking at the end. I could tell that it didn’t matter right then to Mrs. Jenson that Sebastian was four hundred years her senior, that he had seen and experienced more than she ever would in her own lifetime; in that moment, I could see that Mrs. Jenson saw Sebastian as a teenaged boy, as her foster son. My heart broke along with hers.