Eyes of Time - 2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Runaway

From a safe mute darkness flowing around me, images start progressively running wild behind my eyelids. A chaotic entropy of colours and sounds. I try to get focus, to orient myself among the dizziness of information. It must be a nightmare, what with the ugly and twisted faces. Anguish, sorrow and pain, all twisted in a deformed mass which causes me instinctive anxiety. All faces accuse me with their eyes, all except one. Such beautiful eyes, they captivate me. So clear and yet so cryptic. A piece of light in the middle of all the gore. A stark contrast.

I can hear sounds, but these are different from the amalgam of screams taking place inside my head. Like they are outside, sounding as if they are being delivered by a very rusty radio mechanism. It’s getting clearer, a distinct bipsound, things being moved around me. The fuzziness of my brain is starting to clear. Funny, I had no recognition of a saddled brain process before it started getting better. The sudden sharpness of my senses drives away the images. I mourn the loss of none except for those eyes. I wonder where they came from.

Someone is talking, that means I must be awake. They probably want me to reply, but all is so heavy. My eyes, my limbs. I try to fight it by blinking my eyes. I regret it immediately because someone clearly took it in their hands to blind me with laser beans. Maybe they’re just really bright lights, but they still hurt.

I try to adjust to the light but all I see is an unfamiliar ceiling. If not for the distinct smell, that only now I took mental notice of, or the very white impersonal space I can decipher on my peripheral visual field, I would probably panic. As it is I decide to ask the nurse instead, the only moving shape I can distinguish. She must have been the source of all the noise. I try to sound the words and again, I regret it. I’m starting to discover a pattern and make a note to remember not to try anything too sudden because I probably won’t like it.

The nurse must have noticed my difficulty, because she worries with a water glass in my direction. It’s manna to my parsed throat.

“Feeling better?” She seems nice, or at least entertained, because she is sporting a little smile, like she thinks my puzzled expression is amusing.

“Thanks. What happened?” I’m still trying to get my bearings. I am obviously in a hospital. Only my first impression had missed some of the more striking details. This was no regular hospital, not one I could afford at least.

“You were involved in a car accident. You were crossing the street and must have felt something, maybe some dizziness. All witnesses stated you just stopped in the middle of the street.” The images are starting to make sense now as I recall the cause of those symptoms. Not nightmares after all, not ones created by me at least. I try to stop a shudder by moving myself but I should have followed my own advice. The numbness hurts.

“You were very lucky the driver was able to stop in time,” she goes on. “Not enough to avoid impact but enough to lessen the damage. You were wearing protection too. Very responsible of you. If you had any idea how many kids just land in the emergency rooms because they wear no protection. Irresponsible is too soft a term for them.” This obviously troubles her because her expression has darkened considerably, her mouth a bit pursed around the hedges.

“Where am I? I mean, I know it’s a hospital, but I’m not sure this kind of care is covered for me.” I’m actually starting to feel anxious about it. A very silly thought considering the seriousness of what had happened to me before I woke up here. But I guess that is due to my effort to block those horrible images of my conscious thought process.

She starts smiling again, “Oh, don’t worry dear, the driver was very thoughtful. He was desolated that he could not accompany you and so he gave clear instructions to take you to the nearest private clinic. He said it was all on him. That he wanted to make sure you would have the best of cares.” Oh...the clear eyes then. I can feel a little smile showing on my face, those weren’t part of the dream after all. I had thought them a recovery measure of my subconscious, trying to balance all the negative with something beautiful.

“He sent those too,” she is pointing to my right, directing my eyes to the beautiful flowers laying on a jar on the top of the bedside table. Dark tulips. How curious, they are my favourite. I sometimes try to match my hair with their colour.

The lady nurse had walked to them and was now giving me an envelope. I can only assume it’s a card that came with them. Somehow these seemed to fit you, hope they please you. I’ll visit has soon has I’m able, it read, in a neat feminine script. He must have ordered them through the phone then. He seemed in a worry if I can recall it correctly. It was a nice gesture I guess.

“How long have I been asleep?” Only now do I look at the window, no light passing through the curtains. It must be night time then.

“A few hours. It’s around eleven in the night. But I’m afraid you can’t leave yet if that is your concern. Even if you’re feeling a little better we have to let the sedatives clear off your system so we can run some tests. You did stop in the middle of the traffic after all” I try to suppress a groan. Ever since I was little I hated to be inside, and I hated to be still for long periods of time. I sigh. My body doesn’t seem in a mood to cooperate with me, there aren’t many chances after all. And all for nothing, the head scans will show nothing unusual, just like the first time I did them. Whatever my gift is, it does not manifest itself physically on my brain tissue.

After making sure I wasn’t hungry or in need of anything else, the nurse finally leaves. I guess I should be lucky she was nice. Hospital and grumpy staff are not good recipes for my good mood. Even though my mood starts declining very fast little after she leaves.

The images restart surfacing, and this time there is nothing to distract me from them. I try taking deep breaths, but they are obviously useless against the effects of such an onslaught of carnage. Memory can be a tricky thing. Most things in my life pass me by without my recognition, I keep my head in the clouds too much, my step-mother used to accuse me of that. My mother used to encourage it. You’ll have your whole life ahead of you to look at the ground princess, no need to start now. How I wish she could be here now, because this memories are not fuzzy things. They’re sharp as razors and they’re obviously trying to viciously stab me if the warm wetness in my eyes is anything to go by.

I can still recall the sickening smell of sweat and mud. My stomach revolts in dry eaves. More deep breaths, I need to get a hold on myself. I try looking around the room but the images still pursue me in fast, nauseating glimpses of all of it. I must be hyperventilating by now.

Never before have I felt such a heavy weight on my shoulders. Blocks of cement pushing me to the ground, constricting my chest. After my mother died I could feel expectations everywhere. And I compelled myself to answer to them, in a maddening effort to please. To be the perfect daughter, the perfect adult my age was starting to imply, the perfect role model of a sister. I was suffocating under it all and after my first vision I took it as a sign of the fallibility of life, how I should be myself, and not care about what the others wanted of me. I got free.

But now? Now I have to question myself if that was a correct interpretation. What I was feeling right now could not possibly compare. It was so much heavier, so much more overpowering. I can actually feel the despair that had been bubbling in the pit of my stomach, start to roll up to crush my lungs. My torso starts to heave as the sobs win the fight over self-control.

How can I not despair. What to do when you are the only one to know the world might be condemned? Those crazy people screaming the coming doomsday on top of boxes in the middle of the street don’t look so crazy anymore. My visions have never been wrong before. I always made sure, always checked all the data I could get my eyes on, all records and testimonies. The logical conclusion is that this one is correct as well, even if I’m certain it never happened before. It could not have escaped the public eye like that. I have to make sure though.

I try to sober as the possibility of it having been covered makes itself present on my mind. Maybe I’m not the next Nostradamus after all, the messenger of the new Apocalypse. The biblical figures seem awfully appropriate, even if I never paid them much attention besides the fantastic potential they had in creative processes. My mother always tried to instil that in me. Creative people go everywhere honey.

My thoughts are an irregular stream of mixed currents and ideas. I always get like this when I’m upset, going all places at the same time, unfocused in any particular thought. My breathing is evening out though. I was obviously able to stave off the catastrophic side of my thoughts, with the excuse of further research and proof of past human cruelty. After a little the remains of sedatives in my blood stream start working their magic, my eyelids getting heavier, unconcerned with the heavy lump still lodged on the pit of my stomach.

As I sleep it is clear that even though my addled brain could be placated with promises of finding evidence, my subconscious wasn’t so simply deceived. The nightmarish images return. Just as vivid and fetid as the first time.

**

I wake, yet again. This time finally starting to feel the control over my own body. I hate feeling numb and sore the way I was. The soreness remains but now my muscles are begging to be used, a good sign then if the vitality is returning.

I look at the clock on my right, near the dark flowers. A little after lunch time. I was still a bit nauseous this morning when Tina came to see me and bring some of my things in a backpack that now stood against the wall, near the door. I’m glad I gave her an extra key, just in case something like this ever occurred. The nurse must have let me sleep so the nausea could take a leave. It did, my stomach is now rumbling. I consider asking for the nurse to bring me some food, but my legs are begging me to get out of the bed. I try to get up. It isn’t as painful as it was to be expected, even though I’m still feeling sore it is obvious that the pain medication had a big part on the inertia I felt before.

I decide to put something over the hospital gown and try the cafeteria. Some ice-cream would make my day. I walk to the backpack to take some clothes from it. I notice my laptop and a couple of books inside: Tina, the life saviour. I wouldn’t bore to death after all. I dress and am almost leaving when I look at the bed. I had relocated the backpack there. My stomach is telling me to leave but the backpack is telling me to stay. Huh, that’s odd. It isn’t literally talking to me, but that same feeling that always tells me when to turn my heels on the last moment of a rollerblade stunt, is now telling me to grab the backpack, telling me to take it with me. I try to rationalize, it must be the meds meddling with my senses still. I reason with myself to leave it here in the room, but I compromise by putting it again by the door. I still don’t know why I told Tina to leave it there in the first place.

I put it off my mind on my way to the elevators by deciding I’ll do some research on my laptop after lunch. Hope they have an Internet spot around here somewhere. I conclude they must have, they’re that fancy after all.

I’m sporting a big cup of ice-cream, I was craving it before after all, and am on my way back from the cafeteria when I start worrying that I didn’t inform the nurse of my whereabouts. It’s not the same one of last night, but this guy was nice too, it must be a requisite to work here. Weird how it didn’t even cross my mind to tell him, and how I could pass past him without him noticing in the first place. Maybe it was the timing, he must have gone to the bathroom or something.

I worry to my room so I can tell him I’m of good health. I choose the set elevators on the right side of the first floor lobby, because they’re closer to my room, as opposite to the other set I had taken, closer to the back exit of the building, near the laundry service. The result of me wondering on the corridors, no doubt, without stopping to ask directions.

As I exit the elevator I’m clumsy enough to drop my ice-cream all over the floor. Great! I look around for something to clean the mess when I notice the relieved face of the guy nurse that was just past the corridor corner.

“There you are. I was all over looking for you.” He looks at the mess. “I would

have gotten you some food,” he smiles at me. “Aren’t we clumsy? Leave it there, I’ll call for someone to come clean it.” I smile at him as a way of thanks and am almost turning the corner on the way to my room when he speaks again. “Oh, I almost forgot. I noticed a man on your room. It must be a visitor, I didn’t get the chance to check who it was with my colleague.”

“Thanks,” I smile at him again, feeling warm at the prospect of some company. Maybe it’s Sam, even though he should be at the store at this time of the day. Another thought occurs to me, that maybe it was someone else, maybe it was the driver finally visiting. I smile a bit, not sure why I would be glad to see him.

I’m in front of my room door, it isn’t completely closed. I find it weird, as it had always been open so far. Maybe the driver wanted some privacy to talk to me. I nudge the door so I can see inside the room, ready to walk inside and tell him I’m here but I stop one step inside the room. The room is empty. My backpack is still to my left, near the door, with my rollerblades with gear attached near it. I crouch to get it finally deciding it’s silly to have it so far from me in the room, ready to put it on the chair near the bed.

I hear a noise then, from the bathroom on the left side of the room. I see a man opening the door and exiting, he looks wildly in the direction of the windows, sweeping his gaze around the room. He didn’t notice me yet, crouched as I was. I don’t recognize him, hard profile, broad shoulders. He’s carrying something on his right hand. My attention is immediately on what it is. The first thing I notice is a copper coloured ring with a turquoise symbol. It resembles those crest family rings of past generations, only much simpler. This signet carries only a simple turquoise coloured horizontal ‘8’. My stomach drops. I had used only half a second to take notice of the ring, but I need even less to take notice of what else that hand is carrying. A shinny silver gun, probably just as shivering cold as the metal seems to be. It has a long barrel, broader on the outside. Something I recognize from movies as used to muffle the sound of the projectile leaving the gun.

This time my stomach doesn’t even have time to drop. I look up in enough time to notice the hard faced man turning around, in my direction. Our eyes lock and his gun hand starts lifting in my direction. I have only a spare millionth of a second to take notice of my things, still in my hold. I hug them to me as I stomp my left foot to the ground, and, just like as if I was wearing the blades my hands now carry, I swivel as fast as I can to crouch instead on the outside wall. There is a dry sound and vibration as bullets penetrate the wall, just beside my head. Oh my god!

My instincts are screaming at me to run as fast as I can from here. If the sequence before seemed to drag forever this seems in fast-forward, not being sure when it was that I took my previous breath of exigent.

I get up and run as fast as my legs allow me, which isn’t that bad considering my previous hospitalized state. I see the elevator doors opening but something tells me to not go there. It is the obvious path to take. If he isn’t alone someone will be waiting there. Adrenaline is boiling my blood in a rush I can hear in my head, but that leaves me strangely sharp and aware. I can hear the man’s footfalls behind me, but I know he hasn’t yet rounded the corner. How I know this I can’t tell, I just do.

I take a not even a second long decision to keep running and round the next corner as fast as I can. Again, I know he won’t have turned that corner in time to see me. He’s heavier, and that doesn’t make him a fast runner, not as much as me. All he’ll see are the elevator doors closing because no one got in to delay its closing.

I rush to the corner and turn as fast as I can, getting inside the first open door on my path. Whoever the patient is, he’s asleep, and I make as little noise as possible as I go to the bathroom and close the door behind me. This buys me a little time. I look in the mirror, to my ashen white face. Not even the pounding rush of my blood could give colour to my just looked-death-in-the-face expression.

I take a deep breath as I try to rationalize. I don’t feel cornered in this bathroom, and a second after I understand why, as I conclude they won’t be checking every room, every bathroom. Already I assume there is more than one but I could be wrong. Either way I decide to go for the safe side. Whoever it is feels confident enough to assault me in my room, with a closed door but does not wish to call for attention. Probably why his step wasn’t as fast in the corridor, and why he had a muffler on his gun.

As all this is going on inside my brain I am taking deep breaths in order to calm myself. I look at the balcony, near the sink there are some folded clothes. The patient is this room is a boy. I discover than it must be a teen as I unfold the shirt. Big but not overly so. I look in the mirror and can see that I call too much attention over myself, denim skirt over the hospital gown, purple hair. I decide to change my clothes, get inconspicuous, and leave the hospital as fast as possible. The ruckus was almost non-existent, not enough to call the authorities, therefore not enough to drive my persecutors away.

I trade outfits to the large black shirt and somewhat baggy jeans. Not too tall thankfully, but large enough to cover my rollerblades. This allows me to move swiftly without calling attention. I’m wondering what I’ll use to cover my head when I notice a black baseball cap on a shelf near the sink. I don’t like stealing, but if this boy’s parents can afford him a stay at this hospital, they can afford him a new set of clothes. I try to placate my conscious, but truthfully I’m too hyper to really care. It’s just a fleeting thought in the middle of all the planning I’m trying to do. As I grab my hair to put it all under the cap I try to remember all the entries and exits, everything I know about the building. It isn’t much, but the earlier stroll to the cafeteria gave me a good notion of the floor structure. I hope it applies to all the floors. The back exit may be the furthest away but also the more secure for exiting, of that I am again sure. I don’t have time now to wonder how.

Not more than a few minutes have passed as I walk again into the sleeping boy’s room, or should I say slide. The wheels barely leave a sound in the floor linoleum. Even though they may call attention to my walk, even under the baggy jeans, they can give me advantage in speed if I have to run away. No way I’ll give up on that.

Adrenaline starts pumping high again, almost a buzzing sound to my hears, due to the anticipation of my getting away. I pray to whatever deity exists that whatever kept me alive so far won’t fail me now. I get a glimpse to the corridor, beside some hospital staff going about on a random room, there aren’t strange mean looking people in the corridor. There are only a few visitors inside the rooms, with a clear purpose, other than me. I keep going down the hall, trying to get to the other set of elevators, the ones that will get me closer to the laundry services. I keep my head down, a hand sliding along the wall as I move forward, so that I can look like a bored kid, with a steady stroll and head in the clouds. I’m good with that.

I have to turn another corner at the end of the corridor before I can get to the elevators. I start getting anxious, what if someone is there, waiting for me? A couple is giving their farewell in a room to my right, ready to leave. The room is almost near the corner. I keep sliding in their direction. It isn’t hard to understand where they’re going. Like me they’ll take the elevators, and I try to slide near them, so that whoever looks will think me their teenaged kid, but not too close to call for their attention.

They press the elevator’s button, and I try to have them in front of me, so that someone at the end of the corner won’t recognize me right away. The doors open and it’s empty inside. I try not to sound my relief to loudly by evening out my breading.

When the doors open again I give a quick look around the lobby. There are more people on this floor. Not as easy to spot them but not easy to spot me as well. I decide to turn in the direction of the exit again. A man in the far corner of the hall is looking over the crowd. Not the same man, but dressed in dark clothes and franticly looking for someone. I turn to the corridor I was looking for, a second before our eyes can meet. Another turn, soon it will be hospital staff only but I’ll give it a try before trying another exit. I can always say I got lost.

The corridors are empty now. Soon I find the laundry room double swinging doors. There’s a dry hotness in the air as soon as I cross them, resulting from the ironing machines no doubt. It’s oddly appealing in conjunction with the flowery fragrance of the detergents. I can spot a few people in the side rooms, working over the big piles of sheets. I look around and I can see an opening ahead, natural light instead of artificial one. I keep rolling, and I’m starting to feel anxious about the fact that nobody seemed to spot me so far. Was it possible that my timing was that good?

There’s an exit to the parking lot from here. It isn’t such a surprise for me as it should, because for some strange reason that seems obvious to me. I try to hold a bit by the exit, looking around at the cars to try and notice any suspicious movement or person. None.I should have gone into a spy career obviously. Maybe joking is the first sign of hysteria, I should leave before it gets me laughing uncontrollably, it isn’t the best place to call attention over me after all.

I can hear someone of the staff approaching and I take that as my cue to leave. This is where it gets tricky, I wasn’t conscious getting here, so I have no idea where I am or what the building structure even is. I try to look for exits I can take from this parking lot further into the back, but all I can spot is a highway right ahead. Not very good for my set of wheels, not with all the cars. I could always get another accident and get transportation to another hospital, but that option isn’t very appealing. Note to self: keep the hysteria at bay.

I decide to turn around the building, obviously pedestrian exists are more towards the front entry. I can spot one a few minutes later, and I go for it. I’m almost in the middle of it when a movement calls my attention to the front entry. I crouch behind the bushes siding the pedestrian path. The man that was in my room is near a black car with dark windows, parked right at the front. Could it get even more cliché? If I wasn’t in the centre of this badly scripted gangster movie I would be laughing at it. As it is I’m trying to get my bearing and see what will be their next move.

The hard faced man that tried to shoot me is talking with someone on the cell. Someone is walking in his direction, and my stomach drops heavy as I realize it’s the man in black from the first floor, the one that almost spotted me when I left the elevators. He stands near the other one, and after he finishes his call they trade words and get inside the car. That makes three of them then, counting with the one that must be behind the wheel.

The car is long lost on the road when I notice I’m sitting on the floor, my back to the bushes. How lucky could I get? I was obviously in shock, not having yet realized I had just escaped a certain death.

A ton of questions are rolling around inside my head, like rocks inside a washing machine, their noise giving me a headache. Who were they? Why would they want to kill me? An image is fast to pop into my awareness but I’m not sure I want to dwell too much on it. The symbol on that ring was something I had seen before, not even twenty-four hours earlier. It was the same one sported by the soldiers on my vision. How in the middle of all the confusion, and with a big gun right beside it, was I able to spot that ring I have no idea. But my eyes were drawn to it like a mop to a flame. And just like the mop I almost got burned in the process.

I could no longer discount the validity of my vision. And whoever those men were, or whoever sent them knew I knew about it. It was the only explanation I could find. I had only to figure out how they had gotten to me.

I’m on my way the nearest bus stop, so I can get home when I realize that all my documents are with me, and with them my address. That must mean the hospital has that information as well, I had Tina filing some papers just this morning. If they could get into those records, they could get to my apartment, and that thought made it the least appealing place on earth. It was a long-shot, but if someone had the resources to pull my vision into happening then a little informatic record checking couldn’t be impossible.

I get the first bus directed at the city central area as I wonder where I should go from here. My apartment is off limits, and so is Tina’s because I’m sure she gave her address as an emergency contact. And there was no way I would put my kid brother Adam, or even my dad or the witch in danger. What I need is a friend that no one would suspect to check. Sam’s name is the first and only to pop on my mind. I look at all angles for a flaw but I find none as only Tina and Adam know that I’m close to my boss. Even if they went looking for me at work, Sam could lie convincingly. And a plus is that he is the only one, beside my closest family, to know of my visions, well he and Adam are the only ones that actually believe me to some extent.

I check the backpack Tina had brought me for signs of my cell phone. It’s there, and it’s intact, but with no battery. That means I’ll have to wait outside Sam’s house for him. Tina had mentioned him visiting me after the store was closed, hope he changes his mind, or that at least he won’t get too concerned when he gets there and I’m nowhere to be found.

**

I’m waiting outside Sam’s house, have been for hours, I could have tried the store first but I have no way of knowing if it is being watched. I feel guilty of dragging Sam into this mess. Sweet, reliable Sam, that would cut a limb if I was in need of one. It almost seems like taking advantage of him but I have no other choice, unless I want to become a runaway homeless.

It’s way past the hour Sam usually returns home when his car finally enters his driveway. He has a small one floor house that his grandmother left him, in the residential areas outside the city centre. It’s a pleasant neighbourhood, where kids get to play on the streets during the afternoon. Very different from the high dormitory towers on the other side of the river.

He turns off the headlights and the car engine and gets out of the car. He’s almost near the house front door when he notices me sitting on the floor of the front porch, hidden by its knee-high fence from outside view.

“Jesus! You scared me!” He seems unsettled by my presence, no wonder, it’s the middle of the night after all.

“Hi Sam,” my voice seems too small, it must be the cold, or maybe the fear that has been rolling inside my veins since today’s early afternoon events.

“Rhina? Is that you? Oh my god, I’ve been looking for you all over. You weren’t at the hospital, nobody saw you leave. All they knew was that there was a man in your room right before you left. But they couldn’t even tell me who.” Poor Sam was worried, as I knew he would, I can see it in his expression, through the uneven bangs of his caramel, chin length hair.

“Calm down Sam, I’m okay now, but I need your help, can we get inside? I’m cold, and I don’t want to have to explain out here.” I look him in the eyes, trying to convey with them the anguish I’m feeling, the fear and the heaviness of my soul.

He allows me in soon after, as I knew he would. He foregoes questions to make me comfortable first: food, warm tea, blankets, the couch (I refuse to put him out of his own bed).

I look into his blue worried eyes as I tell him all that has happened since he last saw me. I’m sitting in front of him, with my arms around my raised knees, trying to impress how everything changed the moment I had that premonitory vision. The events in the future, the accident, the man at the hospital, the connection between the two. The struggle to accept it all as real is visible on his kind face, but I know he’ll try it, for my sake at least. At the end of my tale he seems genuinely worried for what had happened, even if not for the vision part, at least for the assassination attempt he could explain no other way.

I get to sleep early, I must look more distressed than I thought, because Sam even offered me sedatives, which I’m quick to refuse. Sleep is deep when it finally arrives, but the dreams are all but restful. My conscious brain had given up dwelling on everything for any more length of time before sleep, but my dreams had obviously not been informed of this.