Slipping Veil Part I
The white interior of the hospital made it seem that there was no colour left in the world. There were only various shades of grey and beige. As Stiles walked the hallway, empty walls guiding him along, he felt like a ghost. He was as colourless as the walls, with no background and no future. In his head, he saw the list of symptoms he would be to the doctors.
Too thin. Cheekbones cutting almost through his pale skin. Maybe malnourished? Would have to put him on a scale and find out for sure.
Dark circles under his eyes. Doesn't sleep enough. Might be a side-effect of the malnourishment. Or the other way around.
Favouring the right leg, indicating a past injury on the left. Broken bones maybe. Loss of muscle tissue probably the result of that.
Old scars adorning his body. Could be because of previous abusive behaviour from relatives or classmates. A psych eval would determine which.
He was a list of symptoms walking down the hospital hallway, holding his head high as if he was one of the healthy ones. Pretending that he was not as broken as he was.
While Stiles did avoid every glance into a mirror, he did have a clear picture of his appearance. He felt his chapped lips, knew from his from time to time trembling fingers that he was not the epitome of health.
But he refused to be reduced to this. Refused to be seen as the victim when in reality he was a survivor.
He was not here for treatment.
He was here to right the wrongs he committed in blind hope and blinding arrogance.
With every step he took, he was reminded that he was not a god. He was a mere mortal, fancying himself as something more and thinking he would get away with it.
The fragile body in the hospital bed was his punishment.
The nurse commissioned to overlook his care almost wouldn't let him through, insisting that the child was in critical condition, not physically, but emotionally. Unstable, she said. A transfer to the psychiatric ward might be what is in his best interest.
She had been close to calling security if she hadn't been stopped by the most respected nurse in the whole hospital. Melissa McCall was respected for her competency but most of all for her deeper understanding of the human mind. She could take one look at you and see right through your intentions. Therefore, when she saw the commotion and discovered that it involved her troublemaker, she immediately knew that it was important to him. He had his reasons and she didn't need to know them. All she knew was that he was doing it, not for himself but because of his concern for others and that was enough for her to know to let him through.
Stiles felt like kissing her cheek.
At first, Ray didn't react much to Stiles visiting him. He was staring at the wall, the blanket clutched with a tight grip close to his face, ready to hide under it any moment. The only sign that he acknowledged that someone had entered his room was that his eyes shifted quickly to the door.
When he recognized Stiles, a sob of relief broke out of him.
"Where have you been, Stiles? Why'd you leave me all alone?"
If he hadn't still been clutching the blanket to his chin, Stiles was sure the boy would have pointed an accusatory finger at him.
Taking half-steps, he approached the bed.
"What's wrong, Ray? Why are you so scared?" he asked cautiously, fearing the answer.
"Because of the monsters," Ray whispered, looking around frantically as if he expected one to appear right then and there. "They're coming to get me, they said so!"
"No one is going to get you. Not as long as I'm around."
"But you're not around much!"
Some time had passed since his last visit. A lot had happened since then as well. He had lost another name, which the boy had most definitely felt, even if he probably hadn't recognized it as such.
Stiles had not been there to see the effects on the boy, too scared of the feelings he would awaken. As it was, the guilt was a wave crashing into him when he least expected it. The water was clogging up his nose and he couldn't breathe.
Ray had always looked sickly, ever since Stiles had first met him. The cancer was to blame for that. But nowadays, he looked worse than Stiles had ever seen him. He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was that set it apart. But just as a part had been ripped from him, the same seemed to have happened to Ray as well.
"I know about the monsters, Ray. I know how horrible and terrifying they can be. They suck all that is good in the world into their hungry little mouths and take and take until it seems that there is nothing left. But they won't harm you. Not anymore," Stiles promised.
How much of his pain was divided between them? The spark had caused the division of pain by three, but was it equally divided? Was the darkness refracted and split up as it would if it were light hitting a surface?
One shaky hand was suddenly brave enough to leave the sanctuary provided by the blanket and pointed to a door. The door to the bathroom which was left ajar.
"It's in there," Ray whispered as if just by raising his voice the monster would wake.
If monsters have dominion over people's minds and if they can inspire fear without ever showing themselves, why is it that they need to hide away in small spaced rooms like closets and bathrooms?
"Will it come out?" Stiles asked.
Ray shook his head. "No. No, it won't. That's the thing. It just waits for me to come to it."
"Did you?"
Ray shook his head energetically. "No! It would eat me!"
Entranced by the thin stripe he could see of the bathroom, Stiles inched closer. The light of the room was immediately consumed when it fell on the crack of the door. Stiles's shadow had reached behind the open door already, the head swallowed by the darkness.
Gathering every ounce of courage he possessed, he tapped the door open a tad bit more so that he was able to slip inside. Darkness surrounded him like a safety blanket. He let his fingers wander along the wall, looking for the light switch.
The door made a soft noise, like a quiet sigh.
His fingers got faster in their search but he tried to remain thorough. He pressed his whole body against the wall, hoping to hit the light switch accidentally. It was one of his talents to hit things accidentally on many occasions so why would it fail now?
The click of the lock falling into place caused his blood to freeze in his veins. It's alright, he told himself. Doors fall shut if they hang slightly out of their hinges. It's gravity doing its work. Nothing creepy about that.
The rational thoughts appeared to have a positive effect on his jittery fingers as indicated by the light coming on. He must have finally found the light switch.
The light flickered on and off a few times before it decided that it wanted to stay on.
The first thing he saw as his eyes adjusted to the light was the most frightening. Blank eyes stared back at him, underlined by dark shadows looking almost like bruises. He stared back, touching his cheek.
The boy opposite him mirrored his movements.
He reached out a hand, as did the boy and then they touched.
For all his life, he had known that boy, but still, he seemed so foreign to him at this moment that he could have sworn the person he saw was a stranger.
It had been a long time since he had seen his reflection so it was understandable that the changes he had undergone would surprise him at this moment.
For a moment, he had to suppress the laughter threatening to spill out. He simply couldn't help it but find some humour in the situation.
He should have anticipated that what he was most afraid of was his reflection. What else would it be?
The boy in the mirror laughed with hollow eyes. His hand found itself in his hair, first brushing through it, then pulling at strands.
Stiles watched as the boy in the mirror craned his neck, looking up. Then he turned right, looking over his shoulder.
While Stiles himself was still avidly observing his reflection.
Another person slowly came into view in the mirror. She was walking calmly from a far distance even though the bathroom wall opposite the mirror was only about seven feet away. She walked through the fog that seemed to clog up most of the mirror with her face hidden by mist. Still, even though her sight must have been impaired, she walked on with determination, every step taken with confidence.
No, Stiles thought. It can't be.
He would never find out if he was right or wrong with that assumption because he stumbled out of the bathroom before she could come any closer.
The lights were off again but the darkness wouldn't carry through as there was a speck of light filtering through it. He followed it in blind faith until he found his way to the bed where the body of a child was lying motionlessly. The tubes in his body hooking him on to various machines made it seem like he had stumbled straight on a set of a science fiction movie.
This could not be Ray. Ray who had been breathing on his own only a minute ago. Ray, who had become a ghost in fright of people.
The light was sifting out of his chest like puss oozing out of a wound. The spark was getting restless.
Stiles' hand hovered over the chest of the boy, hesitating and unsure. He tried to remember the connection he had to the spark as faint as it might be at this moment. The string connecting them was strained, worn thin by every disappointment the boy had experienced. It was clear that he had at some point tried to rid himself of the connection. But he was not the one holding the strings.
"I'm sorry," the teenager muttered to the sleeping boy as his hand was shaking. "I'm so goddamn sorry."
With as much force as he could muster, he pulled on the string but he immediately encountered resistance. Something had a hold on the spark so that he couldn't extract it, not without damaging whatever was holding on to it.
His hand wanted to settle on the boy's chest but instead, it passed right through until it found the spark. It was held in a tight grip right where the boy's heart would be.
"Your heart is strong enough on its own. You don't need it. You're a fighter," Stiles said to the boy. "It's not the spark that's holding you up, that's your heart alone."
He felt the grip lessen slightly.
"Promise me," the teenager pleaded, his voice full of anguish. "Promise me to fight. To hold on. Because I know that your heart is strong. Promise me."
It was with a sob that the spark was finally freed and back in the hand of its puppet master.
The spark once had been a radiant source of light but now it was as if the light was filtered by milky glass and fog. He held it in his palm and felt cold.
He saw what he had done to it and wept. He wept for the boy in front of him and the light he had been slowly extinguishing.
This is what you get, he thought. This is what you get when you're thinking yourself above it all. You forget the warmth that is necessary to keep the strength alive. And then you're left in the cold.
The boy from the mirror watched him cry out his agony. He watched dispassionately and without a grain of remorse.
***
Cora passed through the hallways as if she owned the place. She bumped people with her shoulders without turning around or stopping to make sure they were alright. She just carried on as if the devil himself was on her tail.
Only when she bumped into a figure that was vaguely familiar to her did she turn her head.
He was a head taller than her and indisputably handsome. Were she the protagonist in a romance novel, she would have fallen head over heels in love with him if only for the obvious age difference between them. She wouldn't fall for him because it was love at first sight but rather because that man embodied everything her brother would disapprove of.
He was dirty blond with a charming but boyish smile and eyes that reminded her of the lake she used to go to in the summer. The white coat he wore indicated that he was working at the hospital which meant that he was way too old for her. He wore jeans that he had turned up at the feet because he probably didn't want to invest in tailored ones that fit his size. The icing of the cake was the turtleneck pullover he wore, clearly visible beneath his open white coat.
He looked like she thought a kindergarten teacher ought to look like, sans the coat.
But what her brother would hate the most if she were to fall in love with him was the fact that he fancied himself as a bodyguard for her best friend.
"Hey. You. I know you. Where's Stiles?"
She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting impatiently for an answer. She really should have just parked right in front of the hospital entrance. Yes, it was illegal but it would have saved her the time to look for a parking spot.
He tilted his head with a smirk. "You're straight to the point, huh? Well, I do remember you too. And if you're here in search of Stiles, I take it something is going on."
His smile didn't falter even though it seemed that the mention of Stiles had alerted an alarm bell in his head. She could see that he was tense despite his seemingly relaxed posture.
"Well, don't just stand around dillydallying! Find him!" Cora ordered, her eyes narrowed.
"Where did you expect to find him?" he asked, still appearing calm. But his foot was tapping in a fast rhythm against the floor.
"In the hospital room of Ray Simmons. I went there and he wasn't there. More questions?"
"No. Let's go look there."
She wanted to object but he just walked ahead, expecting her to follow. Muttering curses under her breath, she did as told and together they went to the pediatric ward. Cora noted that there more nurses present than she had ever seen in a ward at once. Some were whispering together in harsh voices, others were waiting in front of a door with their hands just inches away from the door handle. The only one who appeared to be moderately calm was a pretty nurse with wild dark locks and sharp eyes. Cora thought that she reminded her of somebody she knew.
"Oh, Jordan, good to see you!" a blonde nurse exclaimed and forced a smile on her face. "See, we're in somewhat of a crisis right now and could use an objective third party."
Jordan smiled at her goodnaturedly. "You got me curious, Betty. Spill the beans."
The blonde appeared to have expected that answer as she immediately threw herself into a tirade. "Melissa broke protocol by allowing a visitor into a patient's room even though the patient's doctor's and parents advised strongly against visitors aside from family. Even worse, the patient is emotionally unstable and an unpleasant visit might wreak havoc on his healing process."
The blonde glanced at the calm nurse whose name appeared to be Melissa. She took another step to further the distance between the two of them.
"Oh, I see," Jordan said, his lips pressed together. "That is a dilemma indeed. I can see why you're so worked up, Betty. How long has this visitor even been in there?" Jordan gave a quick nod in the direction of Ray's room. One nurse had by now gathered the courage to grasp the door handle.
"Melissa gave him 15 minutes tops, he said that was more than enough. But now he's been in there for over 20 minutes!" She lowered her voice for the last part and looked with squinted eyes at the other nurses. "Something needs to be done. Someone should tell him to leave, right now."
Jordan's smile seemed to become brighter. "Oh, I believe you're right, Betty. Since I'm not at all involved in this fiasco, I'm thinking that someone should be me."
He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and walked her over to the nurse's station, speaking soothing words to her while still wearing his warm and charming smile.
Cora thought that he was either extremely evil or too friendly for his own good.
It was his charming smile and his reassuring words that took the nurse's attention off of the problem but it was also the strategy behind the acts that could turn these acts of kindness into calculated and self-serving ones.
He came back and brushed her shoulder. "Come on. We have a problem to solve."
It was only Melissa left who was watching over the room but she didn't utter a single objection as they were about to open the door. She pretended to look at her notepad, only ever so often giving a glance in their direction.
Feeling shocked was something Cora was familiar with. She still remembered the glass of ice water that was thrown over her head when she heard that her family was gone. She hadn't seen it coming like it was a prank played by one of the pricks at school. Normally, she would retaliate tenfold. But right then she couldn't. She could scream profanities, destroy every little thing that was in her way or cry until her eyes burned. Nothing had changed. She was still left with the cold.
As she entered the room, she was confronted with the sight of a young boy fading slowly into nothingness, she felt the cold again.
While she stood frozen to the spot, Jordan moved around quickly, assessing the situation.
She moved over to the bed where the pale body was melting into the stark white sheets. He took up so little space, it looked like he did not matter much. Like he was insignificant. Small and inconsequential.
Cora had always thought of herself as stronger than this so why were her hands shaking and her fingers numb as she grasped his small hand?
She had experienced misery in her life, had toughened herself against the cold. Despite all of her layers of defence, she felt stripped down to her bones at that moment.
It was Jordan who surprised her enough to shake off the cold that was slowing her down. Responding to his call, she looked up. He had come back out of the bathroom again and was now holding a wooden cane in hands.
"He was here," he stated with a grim expression. "And apparently, he never left."
Cora frowned. "But where is he? If he should be here and isn't, where else could he be?"
Jordan turned the cane so that he was able to grip its handle. A small bird with its wings spread was engraved at the very end of it which Cora only noticed now.
"What is that?" She came closer to examine the strange carving and wondered silently how she had never taken a closer look at the cane. It seemed like a huge oversight in retrospect.
"It's a phoenix." Jordan pressed his thumb right above the bird and closed his eyes.
For a moment, Cora wanted to close her eyes as well and shake her head. What she was seeing was so unbelievable, she was sure it must be a dream.
Jordan grinned as he noticed her almost open mouth and wide eyes. "How can you as a werewolf even still be surprised by something like this?" he asked.
Cora's mouth snapped shut with a cluck that was almost comically loud. "This," she waved her hand towards the carving of the bird which was moving slightly as if the bird was alive, "is not the usual werewolf stuff I deal with normally. This is some weird shit. I thought you were human?"
"I am," Jordan answered, watching as the bird flew away, leaving the cane unmarked again. "Mostly, at least. Doesn't mean I can't still surprise you."
"Well, fine." Cora turned away from him in frustration. She took a look around the room once more, contemplating their next move.
"He's still in this room," Jordan said then. She turned to him and noticed that the bird had returned to its rightful place on the cane.
Shaking her head in annoyance, Cora asked, "And how do you know that, oh wise one?"
"When he accepted this gift, he accepted my protection. Symbols have just as much power as names if you use them correctly. And this is my symbol. If Stiles were gone, the phoenix wouldn't have come back."
"And that means what? That he's invisible now?"
"I don't think so." Jordan looked up from the cane, showing Cora that he was just as uncertain and lost as she was. "He disappeared before, right? I think he did it again. But this time, he didn't exactly leave. He's just out of reach."