Miri's eyes never left Morrigan, until she walked back into Jarod's room. Morrigan felt like she doesn’t know when to quit. There was doubt in her mind on whether that was the last she will see of her.
That singing... Where is it coming from? I need to find it... Need to escape from the dark... That angelic voice... That beautiful singing...
4
R1SN
Five hundred, seventy pages. Forty-two different CDs. She was tired. Tired of the hospital food, and of the chair she was sitting in. Sometimes after a bed check, Morrigan would curl upon the very edge of the bed, careful not to disturb me too much. She would talk to me about Michael, about her gift, sometimes of the people she influenced. Anything to help keep her mind off the seriousness of my condition. She held my hand... Did she feel guilty for my condition? Yes. Everyone did. But she wanted me. It had to be the guilt. Trying to balance the want with feelings of guilt.
"Jarod, I'm sorry. I wish it was me, not you, those tubes fed...I think I'm starting to fall in love with you." She smiled, "But I always promised not to be swept off my feet by comatose guys! ...Jarod..." She slept a few hours right there on the edge of the bed.
"...You-what?' 'I am destroying d'Anconia Copper, consciously, deliberately, by plan, and by my own hand. I have to plan it as carefully and work as hard as if I were producing a fortune-in order for them to notice it and stop me..."
Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. It was a twitch. Her heart raced as she turned to look at him. Was that a good sign? He moaned, she threw the book down and hit the nurse button. Many times.
Two hours later, I was fully conscious. Aware of my surroundings. Morrigan was the first person I recognized. The pain I endured in my limbs and head was agonizing, and I could barely keep my eyes open. I remembered her. There was a reason to dislike her. My ex? Sleep...
...Wake. There she is again. She won't go. Why did I hate her? She is beautiful. There was something I was supposed to remember about her... Her... Miri... Somewhere together... Was it that? I don't like her, but I can't think why.... Was there a reason? I was chasing her to deny something... I was hurt...I wasn't supposed to like her... Why?
"Hi Jarod. You okay?"
"Get the hell out of here..." ...Sleep...
"...Jarod...Jarod? Wake up. Hello! Welcome back. I'm Dr. Brad Norton." Morrigan was gone; "Do you remember anything that happened?"
"No... Yes... I hit a van..." The words struggled to leave my mouth.
"Actually, a van blew a tire, lost control and knocked you through a window. You've been in a coma for two and a half weeks now. You were very lucky. During that time, your family was here supporting you, and your pretty lady friend sat here the whole time." I had no idea who he was talking about, "She would just go out to eat, hospital food for that fact, and she would be back up here playing music for you. She read to you mostly though. Arm is still numb? That should go away in a while. Looks like she cares quite alot about you. You're a lucky guy. The odds of a patient recovering from a coma improve drastically when loved ones talk, read or play music for them. You owe her a huge thanks..."
...Sleep...
I slept. And woke. In no real pattern of course, the drugs helped me with that. I still could not move my arm, and the numbness started to drive me mad, but then I gained a roommate.
...Sleep...
Wake.
"Hello over there!"
I slightly looked to my left to see a balding, old man, just grinning from ear to ear. Nothing typical could be pointed out on him, except he had to be in his eighties, and his teethy kind of grin that made me not want to look at him. I wanted to be alone in my misery. I felt my space was being invaded. I would have closed the privacy curtain, but I couldn’t even take a crap without help.
"...Routine exam when they just said they might have to operate." The old man got out of bed, "Look. Nothing wrong with me. I've been...Wow." He stares at my table; " May I see this?" He pointed to a notebook, "Not that I am nosey or anything, but I haven't seen one of these pretty things in a long time. I was in Europe about thirty years ago, and I was teaching a class at a London college at the time. Yes, this is European leather!" The old man opened the cover, and read the inscription, "Non omnis moriar, amor Furor Poeticus Furor Scribendi...You write with a frenzy now do you? Hmmm... Eager, experience, aware... Can this be done by one? This must be done by us. If he wishes anything, he ought to come to me... Wow. Profound." The old man flipped through the pages, "Hey, you see these numbers?"
"Say that again. The translation..."
"Not wholly dead. The love of a poetic writing frenzy. The love of the frenzy. Eager, experience, aware... Can this be done by one? This must be done by us. If he wishes anything, he ought to come to me... You want the numbers too? Here, let me write this all down for you. Not in the book though-"
"Yes. In the book." I commanded, "Sorry. Please, if you would."
"Not a problem. Like I said, I was teaching a class in London, that's where I learned Latin. Studied it for four years. Have you ever read Caesar’s Gallic War? Sheesh, talk about a pain." The old man started talking some more on his life, as I just listened. He talked of women, classes, all the trials and tribulations of his life. But I wasn't there anymore. I thought of the message. I thought about how the doctor told me some pretty lady was here. The whole time.
I shouldn't trust her. Why did she stay here the whole time? I'll ask when she comes back...
...sleep...
Wake... Still no Morrigan. But my father stopped by.
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