Last Bitten(7)

Just a blurry fog was all Nia could see when she tried to open her eyes. She closed them again giving into the feeling of death that hung around.

“What’s this on your neck, Nia; can you tell us?”

No words escaped her pale lips. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t. There was just the lull, the hum of the ambulance, the voices, all merging into the background—all insignificant in comparison to where she was headed.

Her grandmother smiled, holding that same orange Cheshire cat that she always held. She’d had the furry thing cremated too upon its death, and Nia’s parents buried them together in the dry Eastern Washington desert. Her grandmother smiled and waved as if to greet her, welcome her to the next plane.

“She’s going . . . she’s going . . .”

More noise filled the small space, sending Grandma and dear kitty away.

Nia’s body jolted back to life as the paramedics shocked 360 joules of current into her, gave her breath through the Ambu bag, and compressed her chest up and down.

More pain—that’s just what I need, Nia thought as she came to.

“Stable, run the epi drip.” The crew wheeled Nia to the ICU, where more people fretted, more slammed blood into her veins. All the while Nia knew, deep down, that it was all for nothing. He was coming for her. She could feel him near.

“Johnny,” she said.

“Who?” asked the old, white-haired ICU nurse, wrapping a blood-pressure cuff around her new patient’s arm.

“Johnny. Johnny . . . Last Bitten.” Nia faded once again.

CPR commenced in the dimly lit room among the red, blinking lights and brash alarms.



***



It was dark, and the moon crept over the green-tinted windows. The green-silver clouds came with, beckoning to all the lost souls. The heavy ICU room door creaked open and something rolled in—an unformed, black mass.

Nia lay pale on her death bed, half her face illuminated by shades of green and the other half in black shadow. Dark-red blood pumped into her veins from unknown donors. An array of other drugs followed in too, into the octopus of IVs speckling her arms and neck.

The black mass took form—a man in a long, black trench with lapels standing attention and bright-green eyes phosphorescing.

“Nia . . . my Nia,” he whispered, floating on air to take a closer look. “I missed you, my Nia. Should you die a mortal life? Should you live forsaken—my Last Bitten? Stunning you are, sleeping perfectly under those pristine, white hospital sheets.” The dark-souled Jonny caressed her white cheek with the back of his hand. His nails were long, and he used one to slice into his palm and held the dark treasure above her lip. Giving a squeeze, a single drop fell upon Nia’s lip.

The ICU door slammed back open, “She’s right here, Mrs. Flynn. She’s here for the time being.” The old nurse showed Nia’s mother into the room.”

A dark shadow lingered in the corner, surveying.

Mrs. Flynn was in shock: tubes everywhere, the awful click of the breathing machine, the smell. She covered her mouth. “What happened to her?”

“We’re not sure. She’s lost a lot of blood; we’re almost caught up. Her heart couldn’t take it. She coded twice. She’s critical.” The nurse hung another bag of fluid and checked the IV pump rates.

“What’s this on her lip?” Mrs. Flynn accused, sad and angry all at the same time. “Is that blood? Why is there blood on her lip?” Nia’s mother flashed her cobalt-blue eyes at the nurse; she looked similar to Nia except old—black hair splashed with grey and weight up from menopause.

“I’m not sure.” The nurse was nervous, scampering around for a cloth. She donned some gloves and wiped the spot away.”It must be from when I removed the last bag of blood. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m just . . . my husband . . . her father, he’s on the East Coast on business. I called him; he’s on his way, but . . . I . . .” Mrs. Flynn began to cry but stopped as she felt an uneasiness surround her. She scanned the room. “Are we alone here?” she asked, panicking suddenly.

“Yes, it’s just us. Are you all right? Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? I can set you up a cot so you can sleep here, be with your daughter.”

“No, don’t leave me alone in here. I don’t know what it is. Something is wrong.” Mrs. Flynn went to the window and watched the green moon disappear under the clouds, along with all the light. The room turned black with just the blue and reds from the vital signs monitor. She felt cold. She pulled her long, purple raincoat tighter around her. “Can we not turn on a light?”