Bright golden rays of sun filtered through the dust free sterile white blinds, warming the tanned skin of Damon’s exposed back. Three weeks had passed since the near fatal incident at Shiro and he again sat upright in the bed he was still unable to move from, staring blankly at the metal rods weighing down his exhausted arms that rested on his legs. Had one entered they would have thought him to be in a deep meditated trance until they caught glimpse of the still labored breaths he was struggling to take.
With a snuggly wrapped torso, a hasty attempt at being a mummy, Damon could still feel the strenuous pain of each breath through the broken ribs. Only days ago they had removed the chest tubes and various other tubes binding him to the bed. News about his previously sustained injuries that had furthered the lethality of the minor injuries which decreased his ability to heal vaguely crossed his mind along with the troubling news of his various injuries and new limitations.
Over the weeks since he had regained consciousness, he apathetically sat through silent interviews with FPS officials, the hospital staff, Novak, and even his team. Each wanted answers to different questions, but Damon answered them all the same, with silence. For once he was grateful that Ikrisia paid him little to no attention, and he found himself almost thankful that the attention gravitated towards her as their roommates found Ikrisia more lively and attentive despite her own silence. It was Anna though who was really the life of the room, floating in like a specter from another realm, playing tricks and entertaining the guests as they passed time. Formalities was what it came down to, they were there because Ikrisia and Damon were there, paying respects to them. Another time, another set of circumstances leading to Damon’s incapacitation and Damon would have inquired about Anna’s floating, but again, he resigned himself to the oddities of Shiro and the demonic realms of the supernatural these strange people lived in.
Many nights of pain kept Damon awake until a drug or another was administered to quiet his pain or put him to sleep. Silently he spent his days in pain, not uttering a word, but resigning his fate to the hands of others as they pushed another medication into his IV or placed another meal before him which sat uneaten until they removed it.
Several hours must have passed for the warm sun was now setting and the nurse returned with another meal. No guests spent the night in his room this time. Ikrisia herself had been discharged almost two weeks earlier. He was again alone, alone with his memories and his failures.
“Elysia,” the words quietly fell from his lips, his accent still highlighting a beautiful quality in the name. Although he spoke to no one, the name was a reassuring utterance…it made him feel warmer, welcomed, less alone in the world. But he lifted his head to find the door way empty, the halls less active, and the room much colder than it was just moments before.
Feeling the pain resonate throughout his entire body, he continued to sit there, finding even the motion of moving caused him too much undue pain and energy. So there he sat, his head again drooping as he tried to drift off to sleep.
Memories, voices, dreams, otherworldly hauntings plagued his mind as he attempted to sleep and again looked up to see a figure beside him in the dimly lit room. He would have been startled, surprised with the passing of time as it was nearing ten, had he had the energy to do so, but he just looked up at the figure he was unable to make out. Blonde hair caught the light and his heart skipped a beat as he searched the dim light for an answer.
“Elysia?” he asked, hoping he was not alone.
“Ah sweetheart, it’s just me. Come on, let’s get you to bed. You’ve been sitting like this all day, that can’t be comfortable,” an aide spoke as she assisted Damon back into a supine position. Whether she noticed the desperation in his voice or the utter despondency that swept over him at the realization that it was not Elysia, the aide sat with him and held his hand, talking softly until her words blurred into the dim light of the room and everything dulled to Damon’s senses.
Several more hours must have passed for Damon awoke with a start, flushed with a fresh layer of sweat. He knew suddenly what he had to do. He struggled to his feet, pain piercing his body, spreading from his chest outward almost like a crushing heart attack. He felt his arm snag, the IV holding him fast to a bedside machine. He watched it capped enough times to quickly find the locks. Disconnecting the IV, he left the tube in his arm as he painfully worked his way to the door, grabbing his uniform on the way out. He looked out and found the halls empty with the exception of a few staff in the kitchen cheerfully chatting away about their weeks. His bare feet pressed against the cold floor as he found himself on an empty staircase. Each movement caused a new wave of pain to wash over him, but he pressed on until he found himself in a hospital lobby awkwardly standing barely clothed in the paper thin hospital gown with a battered uniform and IV still in place in his arm. His head was beginning to swim as people gawked at him. A few more steps and freedom was there, a desire to run overtaking him. He dreamed of freedom since he first realized he was too injured to move, but now, he pushed forward despite the pain and against medical advice. The door was now five feet away and he could taste the cool air rushing past him as people mulled in and out of the lobby doors, stopping to stare at him.
A guard approached him and panic took the best of him, instinct overriding logic. He ran…right into the glass door that failed to open before he collided with it. He stumbled back, pain surging and blinding him, but he managed to collect himself as the guard shouted and reached for him. He stepped through the doors and ran towards the first thing he could see…a car.
He hopped into the back, finding himself aside of a newborn baby with frantic parents yelling in the front. Damon locked the door before the guard could reach them. “Drive, now. I’ll pay, just drive,” Damon urged, pleading with the parents who stared at him in utter disbelief and terror, as if he were not a young man just desperate to get away but rather a homicidal terrorist threatening the life of their infant.
“Help!” the mother screamed, startling the infant into a panicked cry. Damon looked onto the newborn for the first time, a pang of guilt overtaking him as the newborn locked eyes with Damon. In the reflection of the car window he finally caught sight of himself, his face littered with stitches and bandages, his naked body covered only with torso bandages and the light gown, while his arms were held together with metal rods and pins. He looked more like a monster than himself and the realization shattered him.
“I’m sorry ma’am,” his deep voice sounded, hopeless as he caught the eyes of the curious infant who now ceased crying to stare at Damon. Damon looked down into the newborns eyes, the dark eyes of a curious child. “He will be a handful, like his father,” Damon noted but already was turning himself in as he unlocked the car door and stepped outside.
