Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (29 page)

S
omewhere in the distance the sound of organized chaos mingled with metallic calls to order permeated the shroud that darkened his consciousness. Computerized sounds superimposed themselves over flesh and blood voices, yanking him further into his body until pain washed away the external noise as his breath caught. Aching all over he tried to retreat into the void that succoured him, but to no avail. The pain, throbbing in time with his pounding heart, pulled him further into his body. He did not realize his groan until the sound hammered his brain, sending a wave of nausea to crash in. He was going to be sick and it took the tattered shreds of his will to push it down. Mouth dry, he wished for something to wash away the metallic cobwebs.

A familiar voice caught his attention and yanked his focus away from the bone deep ache that throbbed in time with his heart.

“Are you sure of your findings, doctor?” The familiar voice sounded weary despite the tinge of surprise. “I informed you that I did not want further tests to be done.”

“I understand that, Mr. Nathaniel, but the blood tests are routine and were ordered before your request.
No further tests were done in accordance to your orders.” Slight annoyance coloured an Island accent. “Regardless, the findings of the blood tests have prompted me to ask you to reconsider your decision.”

Tense silence masked the distant cacophony.

“What…what did you find?”

“There were many irregularities, things that registered outside the normal levels.” The doctor’s voice dropped into a drone. “His white count is nearly triple while his platelets are well below   normal. Despite the glucose levels being normal, the HDL, LDL and triglycerides were all over the place. There was also an      irregularity to the shape and colour of the red blood cells.
I would like to have a full genetic profile done on your son, Mr. Nathanie
l.”

There was a sharp intake of breath and a subtle change in how the familiar voice spoke. “Dr. Thompson, you will cease and   desist any further investigation into my son’s health. Furthermore you will do whatever is necessary to delete, destroy, erase, and remove all physical and all electronic evidence and all records of my son within the hospital and any networks this hospital shares.
Since my son is now awake, you will give orders for his immediate release and then you will carry out my orders.
Once complete, you will forget that my son has ever been a patient of yours and you will forget having ever met me. Do you understand all that I have stated?”

Quietly, in a voice sounding drugged, the doctor repeated the instructions without any faults.

“Good,” replied the voice. “Now you may leave.
As you pass the threshold you will not consciously remember this conversation
and nor will any attempts to retrieve this memory from your      subconscious find success.”

The shushing sound of rubber soled feet disappeared into the chaos of the hospital floor.

Fatigue bit at his aching muscles and he felt the darkness close around his consciousness, buffering him to sleep.

Icy tendrils snaked down the side of his face before resting on his cheek, burning the warmth away and draining his awareness from the nightmare that clutched at him. Again Jeanie thrust his sword through his body, his blood on her twisted full lips. His gasp at the fiery sensation startled the cold touch on his face, allowing heat to rush in where the tendril had been. The conflicting       sensations, both real and imaginary, were enough to snap his eyes open.

The alien room was awash in gloaming darkness. A beige  curtain cut off his view of most of the room. The ceiling was striped with large rectangular fibrous tiles intermingled with  darkened clear plastic that housed slumbering fluorescents.

Everything appeared off, fuzzy and too dark for the yellow light that splashed across the lower half of the ceiling near the source of the distant, yet hushed, sounds. Blinking did not        alleviate the bizarre images his eyes sent to his brain. Raising his hand in the hopes that rubbing his eyes would return the world into brilliant detail, he was surprised to see a thin plastic tube   disappear beneath the white tape stuck to the back of his left hand. He followed the line with his eyes until it led him to the clear liquid suspended in an intravenous bag. Eyes wide he closed his dry mouth with a click and nearly jumped out of his skin as something cold grasped his invaded hand.

“Let’s get this thing off.”

He turned his head to see Notus carefully remove the I.V., bending the plastic back on itself so that the clear liquid would not leak onto the floor. White brows furrowed, increasing the headache pounding in his temples. Something was very wrong.

Where am I? What’s happening?
he Sent, worry blossoming to constrict his chest.

When no voice replied in his mind he took a closer look at his Chooser. In the dim light he could barely make out Notus’ red rimmed eyes in a face drawn and haggard. The monk’s eyes slipped away from his as Notus continued to remove the wires leading to quiet monitors.
Notus’ silence sent his heart racing in fear and he grabbed the man’s cold hand in the process of removing a padded wire from his chest.
Hazel eyes glanced sideways up at him and he dropped his grip. There was no doubt that something was terribly wrong. He had no awareness of his Chooser beyond what his regular senses told him and they were woefully lacking.

“What—” he began, his voice dry. He swallowed the dust in his mouth and tried again. “What’s wrong with me?”

He did not intend for his voice to rise in volume but the panic strangled it out of him. It grew when Notus frowned and turned his head away to stare at the curtain.

“Notus.” His voice, constricted in fear, was barely audible, but he knew his Chooser heard him and chose not to respond.

“Paul,” he whispered, hating how small his voice sounded. “Tell me.”

Notus sighed. His shoulders dropped in resignation and began his quiet retelling of the events leading to their current situation. Straining to listen to the whispered narrative, it provided more evidence to the situation he currently found himself. His ruby eyes widened throughout the retelling, his ears unbelieving. It made no sense. The last he remembered was preparing to jump after the Vampire responsible for the theft of his sword.

His sword!

They stole it!

“My sword!” he gasped. He made a move to get out of the short bed only to find a cold hand on his chest, pressing him to be still. Notus met his gaze, holding each other still.

“Did you not hear, boy?” Hazel eyes welled with unshed tears.

“I heard,” he replied, confused. He did not understand.

“I don’t know how it’s possible. A miracle, maybe.” Notus’ eyes bore into his own.

For the first time in their lives he was the one to look away. He had never seen Notus in such a state. A new thread of panic twined around the others and he frowned. Daring Notus’ burning gaze he was frightened to see tears trailing down the monk’s face.

“You are no longer Chosen. Gwyn, you are mortal again.”

The words, at first, made no sense. Disjointed sounds strung together to imply meaning slowly coalesced and he sucked in his breath, comprehension punching his gut.

“Tha—that’s not possible.”

Notus lowered his eyes and stood. “Possible or not, the fact is for some reason you are once again mortal.”

Disbelieving shock filled the silence. It was impossible!

It also explained why the room should be brighter, the images sharper. It explained so much, but even more, it explained why the I.V. puncture was still there and why he could feel nothing from the monk. He shook his head, denying the truth the facts pointed towards.

“I must go,” announced Notus, sadly, as he turned to leave. “I’ve stayed far too long. The sun will rise shortly. I’ve arranged for Elizabeth to pick you up in a couple of hours.”

He could not believe what he was hearing. He too should be able to sense dawn’s approach but the absence was yet further proof he was no longer Chosen. Then the thought struck him - Elizabeth will expect him to go out into the sun. Mortal or no, he could not do that! He had not been able to go out during the day since he was a child beaten and left for dead by other children  because they thought him Fay.

“Notus. Wait!” he cried out, but it was too late. In a blink of an eye the Chosen was gone. The only evidence of his departure was the curtain swinging as if a breeze had blown through.     Staring at the beige fabric he took a shuddering breath.

This cannot be happening.

R
ain slithered down the window, obscuring the steel grey that enveloped the view from the hospital window.  Lightening flared a spectacular display that cut across the leaded clouds before the booming thunder rattled the window. He stood there, watching the show, his hands clutching his elbows in an effort to hold himself to the reality that presented. He wanted to run from what he witnessed. He should run. He would have fled had he been Chosen. Now he was able to stand here at the window, the sun well over the horizon, even though obscured by the thick clouds. Another flash of lightning cut off his vision of the sliver of city the window allowed for and he closed his eyes, waiting for the rumble that quickly followed.

After Notus left, he had laid there in the hospital bed too stunned and too afraid to move. Almost every cell in his body protested the truth except those that proved his mortality. For the first time in over a millennium and a half his bladder screamed at him for release. Disgusted and ashamed, he had managed to rise unassisted from the bed and use the facilities in the water closet attached to the room.

In private, he found clothing left for him in the crude armoire across the bed, and dressed. He did not know when Dr. Bowen would come to drive him back to the condo, but it was better than standing around in hospital garb that was far too small. Now he stood in black jeans and an ebony dress shirt, the top two buttons undone to show the white surgical tape that bound the gauze pad to the burn over his shoulder. His black leather coat still hung in the closet in expectation for the time of departure. The sound of someone entering his room turned him to face an Asian orderly carrying a breakfast tray. It was clear that the young man had not expected the patient to be out of bed, nor to be so strange in appearance.

“I’ll just leave this here,” he murmured. He placed the tray on the rolling table, turned and fled.

A frown furrowed his pale brow. Some things never change.

The scents arising from the tray drew him over to inspect the contents. Lifting the cover revealed runny scrambled eggs, oily sausage and over cooked chunks of potato.
Despite the disgusting appearance of the food his mouth watered in anticipation. Horrified by the mortal need for sustenance he dropped the lid to cover the sight.
This was not the nourishment he should crave as his body cried out for the meal denied.

“Hospital food has a reputation for being unpalatable for a good reason.”

He spun around to see Dr. Bowen standing in the doorway. He whould have known she was there had he still been Chosen. The lack of preternatural senses unnerved him, knocking him off his centuries old balance.

Dr. Bowen took the few steps into the room to stand before him. He was surprised to see her in blue denim trousers and a cream coloured sweater. The casual attire transformed her        appearance to that of a younger woman. She looked up at him and for the first time he realized that she never balked at meeting his gaze.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, concern filling her ice blue eyes.

The question cut to the heart. He knew what she was really asking but the truth made him turn away to walk to the closet to grab his coat and the small suitcase that Notus had brought over earlier.