Falter (8 page)

My body stiffened as I watched the hem of a fresh shirt glide over his torso and bring my peep show to an end.
 

I licked my lips and cleared my throat. “Um, I need your help with something,” I said, finding my voice and remembering that I had a reason for being in his room—you know, other than to gawk at him.

“What’s up?” He spun toward me and grinned.
 

Suddenly realizing how hard I was staring, I averted my gaze to the right, busying my eyes with the task of analyzing a piece of abstract art on the wall next to me. “Well, I was wondering if you knew a doctor that would help me with an old injury.”
 
I chose my words carefully, not wanting to give too much away about my possible insanity.

Gavyn closed the distance between us by a few steps. “Are you okay?”

I hollowed out one of my cheeks and trapped it between my teeth, chewing on it softly—a bad habit I indulged in when under stress. I nodded shyly and hoped he wouldn’t ask for details.
 

“I don’t know anyone, but I’ll try to help you as much as I can. We can go to the emergency room. It’s not far.” Genuine concern showed in his expression as he rushed the words out.

“George is worried and thinks I need to be examined. I guess I do need to get this, whatever it is, checked out, but...,” my cheek stung as I gnawed the inside nervously, “I really don’t think that the E.R. is necessary.”

He looked at me, unconvinced. His deep green eyes searched mine with uncertainty. “Nevaeh, I don’t want any problems with my employees. If there is something you need to see a doctor about, then I will get you one.”

My face must’ve relayed that I questioned his motives. He looked offended, like he knew what I was thinking. What person would do such a thing for someone he just met?
 

“Ya know, I’m not heartless. You
can
trust me, Nevaeh. Besides, you’re my liability now that you work for me.”

Not wanting to offend him more, I smiled and accepted the help; inside, I felt ashamed for having to ask.

“Thanks, Gavyn.” I looked at the door and then down to my feet. Nerves knotted in my stomach. Pride told me to laugh at the whole conversation and tell him to forget about it. “George is waiting, are you okay to go now?”

“Let me grab a few things, and I’ll be down in a minute. Meet me at the back door.”

I nodded and then walked out of his room.

George met me as I came down the stairs. “Is he gonna help?”

“Yes. He said there’s a hospital close by, and he’ll help however he can.” I closed the stairwell door behind me. “We’ll meet him around back in a few minutes.”

George followed me through the kitchen. “C’mon, Layla, we’re leavin’.” He waved her to come with us.
 

Layla untied her apron and lifted it over her head. She hung the food-stained smock on a hook next to the door and fell in line behind George and me. As we navigated around the island surrounded by employees, past two large stoves covered with boiling pots and sizzling pans, Layla barked a command at the redheaded waitress. The ginger girl glanced at me and nodded with a smile before returning to her assignment.
 

The door slammed behind Layla as she trailed us out of the building. The three of us waited quietly in the alley where I last heard the voice. Layla and George’s rigid bodies huddled side by side, their quizzical eyes staring at me, burning with the questions they both held back to refrain from upsetting me more. I was thankful. I wasn’t sure I had rational answers to give them.
 

I faced away from them to hide any emotion that might have shown on my face. The noise of cars and crowds at the end of the alley was calming. It grounded me, reminded me that I was still a humble street girl striving for a better life, not some crazy person cursed with hallucinations.

As I considered the many unsettling possibilities for my altered mental status, my troublesome thoughts turned into a scared plea, a prayer for help to whoever was listening.

Please, please, let this be a problem we can fix.
 

Tears clouded my eyes. I quickly wiped my sleeve across my face and tried to regain some courage.
 

The jiggling door handle startled me. I turned to see Gavyn opening the door and sliding out into the alley with us. “Are we ready?” he asked, looking up at the darkening sky.

George and Layla both answered with an eager yes.

CHAPTER FIVE

Just A Mark, or Something More

The car ride to the hospital only took twenty minutes, but it felt much longer. No one said a word. I stared out through the front passenger window, not really seeing the scenery we passed as we sped by.
 

Whispers of strange commands, memories of a debilitating presence, and images of haunting aqua eyes shuffled around in my head without purpose or control. I struggled to make sense of everything, to bring logic to my maddening experiences since coming to Joe’s. When nothing made any more sense than it did before, I started to feel discouraged.
 

A soothing heat and pressure reached over my lap and surrounded my clenched fist. It was nice. I opened my hand to explore the strong, manly fingers stretching to intertwine with mine from the driver’s seat.
 

Gavyn glanced at me and offered a reassuring smile, then focused back on the road ahead. Suddenly, my troubles vanished. His gesture quieted my world, and I welcomed it—regardless of what it meant.

When we finally arrived at the hospital, Gavyn parked the car in a spot that had just opened near the Emergency Department entrance. I followed George into the packed hospital with the others behind me.
 

I assessed the mass of emergent patients as we took our place in line at the admission desk. The grumbling man in front of us held a bloody rag to his temple with one hand and a clipboard of papers in his other. People groaned while they waited on gurneys lined up against the hallway walls. Many of them cried out desperately for help. Doctors and nurses hustled about, trying to tend to those they could. My ailment seemed very small and unimportant next to theirs.

The head wound man shuffled to his seat in the lobby, and we stepped forward.
 

“Name?” the lady behind the desk demanded impatiently.

George responded faster than me, “Nevaeh.”

“Last name?” she asked in a dry, uninterested tone.

“Um, Richards,” I spoke up, using George’s last name since I didn’t know my own.

She shoved a clipboard and pen on the counter. “These need to be filled out in entirety, and I need an I.D. with your insurance card.” She eyed the four of us expectantly, annoyance clear in her disposition.
 

Gavyn handed her his license and a bankcard. “This will have to do for now.”

I looked at him apologetically but didn’t refuse. It wouldn’t do any good with him. “I’ll pay you back. You can take it out of my pay.”

“I’m sure we’ll work something out.” A kind smile graced his face.

I grabbed the papers and turned to hunt for vacant seats amongst the sea of people taking over the E.R. A nurse called out a name from a set of double doors to my left, then a family of four surrendered their chairs in the center aisle of the lobby to meet her. I nearly sprinted across the room, trying to get to the seats before anyone else did. The others stayed close behind as if I would pass out at any minute and they would have to catch poor, frail me.
 

I sat down and began filling out the paperwork. I had to guess on most of the history questions because so much of mine was nonexistent. When I finished, Layla took my papers to the rude woman behind the counter, then returned a moment later with her lips pursed and a stern hand on her hip.
 

“She said they would call us back when they could. That we would have to wait our turn. Duh,” Layla mocked in a grouchy imitation of the lady.
 

I smiled at her sarcasm and settled in for the wait.
 

Hours passed while I listened to George and Layla talk about anything and everything. Gavyn sat quietly beside me. This was a strangely consoling scene, considering I didn’t usually have this many people worrying about me.
 

I think Layla enjoyed being involved in everything. She enjoyed being as close to the center of attention as possible, but not in a bad way. It was just...her. She needed to be in the picture. George undoubtedly loved me, so he would be here no matter what. But Gavyn, why does he care? I knew there were good people out there, I’ve come across a few of them in my day, but the number of deviant individuals far surpasses the good. Yet, when I searched Gavyn’s eyes, I saw only honest intentions.
 

“Nevaeh Richards?” a nurse yelled from the double doors.

I stood and took a step but stopped when I noticed my crew tailgating my every move.

“I think I need to do this alone. I’ll ask them to keep you updated.” Their faces and shoulders drooped with disappointment, but they obeyed.

“Hi, Nevaeh. I’m Amber, your nurse.” The young woman was bright and cheery with a smile that reached her caring eyes. Amber escorted me through the corridors and into a large room, longer than it was wide. She directed me toward a bed with a green curtain around it.
 

There were ten beds sharing the room. Other patients received treatment in their small holding areas segregated by curtains like mine. I wrinkled my nose, disgusted by a whiff of the vomit puddled at the foot of the next bed over.
 

A squat woman in a navy jumpsuit saw my reaction. “Sorry,” she mouthed, dragging a sopping mop out of her yellow bucket and sliding it across the floor. My nausea came and went as I adjusted to the smell of puke and industrial cleaner.

Amber stretched the blood pressure cuff hanging from my section of the wall and wrapped it around my arm. She pumped and released the bulb, carefully listening to the inside of my elbow with her stethoscope. She took my temperature and oxygen then jotted the numbers down in a chart. Her small fingers pressed softly against the pulse point on my wrist. She watched the second hand on her watch make a full circle before making eye contact with me again. “The doctor will be with you soon,” Amber assured, letting go of my hand. She smiled brightly and then headed for the door, scribbling more notes in my chart as she walked.

I sighed heavily and let my hands settle in my lap. Most of the other patients were here for minor things, based on the quiet conversations I overheard. But a few were not so minor. Empathy filled my heart while I listened to some of the more life-changing diagnoses. I ached for those that cried with their families after receiving detrimental news. The couple next to me heard words like “cancer” and “terminal”.
 

“We’ll be back to get the admission process started,” someone said.
 

Unfortunately, this was a part of life and some things were unavoidable. I remembered my own reason for being in this horrid place, and my apprehension grew.
 

Metal hooks screeched along the curtain rail as someone pulled back my curtain. “Hi there...Nevaeh?” he half stated, half asked, flipping through my chart. “I’m Doctor Scott. What’s the reason we’re here today?” He pulled a blue penlight from his pocket and stepped to my bedside where he waited for my answer.

“Well…I had a head injury a few years ago. Some strange things have been happening lately, and I want to make sure I’m okay.”

He positioned himself in front of my knees and grabbed my chin gently. “What sort of things are happening?” the doctor asked as he shined a penlight into my eyes.

“Um, I’ve been seeing, hearing, and smelling things that aren’t there.” I hesitated, expecting some kind of judgmental comment.

“Are these things beeps, shapes, and colors? Or more defined? People, voices?”

The whole subject made me uneasy. “More like visions of words, a disembodied voice, and smells that are incomparable.”

“Any headaches, neck pain, or blurred vision?” He traced invisible lines in the air. “Follow my finger with your eyes.”

“Um, no. Like I said, this injury was years ago, and I just wanted to get it checked out.” Why couldn’t he skip to the important tests? “There’s nothing wrong with my vision, it’s my brain I’m worried about,” I snapped, irritated with chasing the penlight like a cat.