Hospital Girl

[psychometric]

Chelsea Sandstrom lies in a bed at Middle Area Hospital. She's not strapped down, and at the moment, only a few wires and IVs are attached to her. They monitor her vital functions, which are steady if a bit weaker than would be ideal, and keep her hydrated. If she hasn't come out of her catatonia soon, a feeding tube will probably be added. But there are no restraints holding her down. It's almost as if the doctors are hoping she'll get out of bed on her own.

Inside her mind, the fires have gone out. She thinks she's waiting to die. No one could live through what she's experienced, she thinks, and she's right; Zoe McCallister sure didn't. Chelsea thinks that her body has been burnt away, too. When she wakes up, she'll be afraid to look in a mirror, expecting to see a blackened husk there.

She lies in the bed in the hospital, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling without seeing it, tears still running down the sides of her face and into her hair. She hasn't spoken, has barely blinked, since she was brought in. But every so often, just a little, her lips move.

Were someone a lip-reader, and a patient one who spent a while watching her, they might decipher what she's struggling to tell the world. It might be a message from beyond the grave, or just from a girl who thinks that's where she should be now.

She's here. She's here.

Comments

[psychometric]

It won't be enough to bring her out, not so quickly... but it helps. The mitten is full of Rabies' happy memories of snuggling up to Jonathan's scent while sleeping and dreaming of cuddling and playing with his human. It's not as potent or powerful as what she's been assaulted by, but this little slice of mouse-bliss does help.

After a few minutes, a little of the pinched and tormented look eases off of Chelsea's face. The tears slow. Her lips slowly might form a pair of words again. It's a message that, with time and patience, Jonathan might even understand... and understand the significance of.

[only-straw.livejournal.com]

He's not so good with faces. The subtle change in her features is largely lost on him. She is, after all, still crying, and still gone. He would be glad if he knew that it helped. Clearly, he didn't.

His shoulders slump. "It wasn't good enough, I'm sorry," he says. He wracks his mind, trying to think of anything else that he has that would be good enough, but he can't think of anything at all. "I'll find something better. I promise. I-I'll come back. I... what?"

She's talking? She's waking up? Her lips are moving, but she's not making a sound. "Chelsea?" Awake now? No? What is she saying? Maybe she knows he's here! She is trying to say something to -him-! It very important. He doesn't know how to figure out what she's saying.

Two syllables. That rules out things like his name, or 'I'm okay', or anything like that. What would she say that has two parts? He is at a loss. He watches, though.

[psychometric]

It takes a long time for her lips to form the words. The effort is really enormous, because Chelsea thinks she's dying but doesn't want to go before she's warned everyone. She wants her death to have some kind of lasting meaning. Or perhaps it's Zoe that wants that. Possibly, at the moment, there's no difference for Chelsea, no difference between the two of them. Except that Zoe never got to know Rabies and Jonathan. It's a difference, a subtle but important one, that will let the two identities fracture and sunder apart again. Jonathan doesn't know it, but his mouse is starting to guide Chelsea back to herself.

She's...

Long moments pass between words. Long moments pass while each word is spoken. This is a monumental effort, but then the message is a very important one.

here...

Lost in her own head, burnt and blackened and struggling to follow a tiny mouse back to a better place, Chelsea doesn't know if her message is being received or not. She'll try again, and again.

[only-straw.livejournal.com]

He concentrates on trying to determine what she's saying, as long as he'll be allowed to stay in the hospital. He stays at her side, peering down at her, imitating the movements of her mouth. trying out sounds, puzzling over it, fixedly.

Finally, he whispers back to her, "She's here? Is that it? Chelsea, she's here? Wh..." Why would she say -that- to him? Why wouldn't she acknowledge him, if she knows he's here, to talk? He frowns, deeply, and considers this.

He must trust that she is his friend, and if this is what she is saying, it must be the most important thing that she can say, otherwise, he reasons, she -would- impart something else to him.

"I have to go now," he continues. "I'll tell them, all right? Perhaps they'll know? I don't know... come back, all right? All right. I have to go."