Offside

“Go to her.”

“CLEAR!”

I was swimming in darkness, and my limbs felt like they were trying to get though some thick, viscous substance without any strength to push it aside. I couldn’t open my eyes. Someone was talking, but I couldn’t make out who it was or what they were saying. They were just meaningless fragments of sentences in my head.

Extremely serious...several broken bones…kidney failure…

Flashes of pain ricocheted through my body. Nothing made any sense.

…Lacerations…shattered left scapula…spinal cord…

Where was Rumple? Was she okay? She said she was…I didn’t dream that, did I?

…Scheduled surgery…his spleen will need to be removed…

Was my mom here?

…Head trauma…induce coma… best chance…

I didn’t understand and let myself sink into the darkness. It w

as cool and safe there.

I opened my eyes, blinking.

My mouth and throat were so fucking dry, they burned.

Even through the darkness, I could see the sterile, off-white walls and bland décor of the hospital room. There was a slow, steady beeping sound from a machine on my left.

I was lying on my back, and my muscles ached. I hated sleeping on my back—I was always on either my side or my stomach. I wanted to roll to one side but didn’t have the energy. I had just enough strength to loll my head to one side and notice the IV line going into my arm. Other tubes and wires for monitors and shit were sticking out from under the blanket that covered me up to my chest.

I managed to turn my head to the other side to see a small side table with a vase of faded flowers and a stack of greeting cards. Long vertical blinds covered a window, but it was obviously dark outside. The only light in the room was a small, dim table lamp in the far corner next to a reclining chair.

No one else was in the room.

There was a cup of water on the side table, and I tried to raise my arm to reach it, but I didn’t have the strength. My hand twitched, and I tightened my fingers into a fist, but even that completely exhausted me.

A noise coming from the front of the room caught my attention, and the door opened to reveal a petite woman in a hospital smock with brightly colored circles all over it. She walked over to the side of the bed, reached for my IV, and looked down at me.

“Thomas?”

I licked my lips and tried to answer, but only a weird croaking sound came out of my mouth. She grasped the cup of water and held the straw to my lips. Once I managed to take a couple of painful swallows, she took it away again.

“Can you speak now?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” I managed.

“I’m going to get the doctor, okay?”

“Sure.”

My head was a little swimmy. I wanted more water, but at the same time, my stomach seemed a little pissed off at the intrusion of the liquid. A couple minutes later, a guy in a lab coat, carrying a clipboard, came and sat down in the rolling chair near the bed. He came up close to me and said his name was Doctor Peter Winchester.

“Do you know how you got here, Thomas?”

Flashes of the dark Buick skidding over the ice sliced through my brain.

“Hit by a car,” I replied. “Nicole? Nicole Skye?”