Umm... so read! =]
“Will she be okay, Bren?”
He only gazed up at me with those dark eyes ablaze, his face shadowed with fear. “I have to believe, Ryan,” he whispered in a voice I had not heard in a long while.
ndon,” I said, giving him a small smile. I owed him that much. I returned to my pacing.
It has been approaching three hours. I had tired sitting down, but after fifteen minutes of consistent leg-shaking Brendon told me to return to pacing. So I did. Pacing was easier anyway until the back started to hurt. Then I would sit down and take up more leg shaking.
“Ryan,” he said to me after I sat down again. “I don’t get life.”
“Me neither, Brendon.”
“Why is God doing this to her?” he asked, casting his brown eyes upon mine.
“Ask Him. You’re the one that believes in Him after all.”
“Yeah, I know Ryan. But it’s just like, how in the hell could God be up there and look down at her and not care?”
“Maybe He does care.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “She did this to herself. I know. I saw the fear frozen on her face, but I also saw contentment. Like she was doing what she thought was right. And I saw the razor in her hand. She knew what she was doing.”
“What did she say when you were talking to her?”
“She said that she didn’t want to do it. That she was wrong. That she had thought she was right and it was what she wanted. But then, she said, waking up and realizing she was still alive was the hardest part. That means she would have to live with the shame of having everyone know she tried.”
Brendon just nodded his head and remained silent, allowing my words, her words, soak in.
“Mr. Ross. Mr. Urie. Dr. Gray is ready to speak to you now.”
Together we exchanged sideways glances. “Thank you,” I said, quickly following her. Brendon jumped from his seat to walk next to me. We followed her down a familiar series of hallways and through doors. The place was thriving with people considering it was almost noon. Doctors and nurses were everywhere, shuffling from room to room, busying themselves with the demands of their sickly patients.
Finally, we reached his doorway. The nurse knocked. I heard a familiar deep voice rise from behind the door. The woman opened the door, allowing us inside, then quickly left. The doctor looked just like I remembered, except he seemed to have had more lines on his exhausted face.
“Sit down, please,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his large oak desk. We did. “Now,” he began. “I will tell you that Miss Miller is doing quite well. Her heart rate, breathing and blood sugar have all returned to normal.”
“What happened?” I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
“Well, Ryan. She had an insulin reaction. Which I have figured out was not what had happened last night. The hospital counselor just came back from speaking with her and he told me what she said.” He pushed some papers around and pulled out a file. And from the file he removed a piece of paper. “You may read their conversation.”
I took the paper into my hands and then leaned it over so Brendon could read as well.
Dr. Williams: Hello, Miss Alena. My name is Patrick Williams. I am the counselor here at St. Joseph’s. I’m here to talk you about last night.
Alena: What is there to talk about?
Dr. Williams: Miss Miller, are you aware of the fact that you almost died last night?
Dr. Williams: Do you realize that you were trying to kill yourself?
Dr. Williams: Do you recall what was going through your mind as you were doing it?
Alena: I wanted to die.
Dr. Williams: Why, Alena? You have so much potential.
Alena: Because if it were to kill me, it would win. It will always win. I wanted to take myself before it could win. It’s already taking my vision! My vision! I’m a photograhper1 I’m an artist! How shall I live without my eyes? Life’s no longer worth living if this is all it means.
Dr. Williams: Alena, who will win?
Alena: The tumor.
Then a note at the bottom read…
Miss Miller was very aware of the fact that she wanted to die. I’m not going to say she is insane or recommend her to a clinic, but all things considering, I want her closely under eye until she gets better. She is in a fragile state and requires love and attention.
“We can take care of her, right Ryan?” Brendon asked, turning to face me.
“Of course, Brendon. Of course. Dr. Gray, we can take her. We can watch her,” I said to him.
“You boys have your music. You’re going to start your Honda Civic tour soon, aren’t you? You won’t be able to take her to her appointments on the road…”
“The tour doesn’t start until spring! And even if she still needs stuff on the road, we can take her to that too. We can set up stuff for every city we’re in. We can even post-pone the tour if we have to. Please, Dr. Gray. I can take care of her. Hell, all of Panic at the Disco can take care of her. Pete would even help us! And the tour won’t start ‘til after we drop the album, and that’s not until April. And it’s mid-October. We have time. We can push everything back another year. Dr. Gray,” he said with a sigh. “I will do everything and anything in my power to make sure that she will be all right. Please, please release her into my care.”
Okay, I was pissed. Storming, fuming, angry mad. He acted like I didn’t care at all. Like I was some kind of dick.
“Well, Mr. Urie. I just want to make you familiar with her condition.” He reached into a file on his desk, pulled out a black picture and clipped it to an x-ray light. “This is a scan of her brain. This,” he said, pointing to a grayish matter that made of the majority of her brain. “This is the normal frequency happening in her mind right now. It is happening, well hopefully, in every living creature’s mind right now. But this,” he said, pointing to a small white dot, “is the tumor.
“Now, I had said earlier that my colleagues and I were unsure of what this was. But, we’ve figured it out. It’s only been known to four other human cases in the world. Alena has a Fortunado’s tumor. How familiar are you with the ‘Cask of the Amontillado’?”
“It’s the story of two men who get into a kind of argument prior to Mardi Gras. Montressor gets his enemy Fortunado drunk then leads him into the catacombs of New Orleans. Then he buries him in the stone masonry, deep underground so no one can ever find him.” Yes, I knew my English literature. “Edgar Allen Poe wrote that story.”
“Yes, that’s exactly how it goes. Very good, Mr. Ross.”
“But what does it have to do with Alena?” Brendon asked.
“That is exactly what the tumor is doing. It’s hiding deep inside the core of her mind. We found it, but cannot remove it without risking nerve damage in far more severe places.”
“So she has to go blind?” I asked.
“I’m afraid that she might. Our medical staff is taking up researching laser eye surgery.”
“Can she die from it?” Brendon asked.
I just looked down at my hands which were folded across my lap. This was terrible.
“But will you let me take her doctor? Please, sir.”
“All right,” he said. “I will allow you to have her in your care. I will discharge her at 3 p.m. after a few tests and I fill her prescription lenses.”
“She got new glasses?” I asked.
“Ryan, she will always need new glasses until eventually, she won’t need them anymore.”
So so so so sooooooo sorry about the late update. I swear to throw more your way this week. Oh, and sorry for the length. I just needed to give you guys something! Oh, and take note that this is a FAKE medical condition. I've made it up. No worries, you won't get it! And if you haven't read the Cask of the Amontillado it is an amazing story. Okay. Peace out!
P.S. And thanks for the reveiws!