Cole Harrison was awake five hours before Isabelle Demcaste, and he had been screaming non-stop since. The blue eyes of a once young high school grad now sunk deep within features of swelling red ones. He lay on a white hospital bed in a thin white johnny looking up to the ceiling. His arms clamped to the sides of the bed, while his wrists bled from struggle. His legs, his once very strong runners legs, now worn and lifeless like jello, hung close to the bed, a chain dangling to the floor chafing his ankles.
His manic red eyes swarmed around the room aimlessly looking for someone, anyone, to help him – save him. Somewhere in the back of Cole’s mind he knew he was going die.
White. The room was white. Enormous lights hung from the twelve foot ceiling and people in white coats circled around his squirming body. They wore white, dirty, lab coats that had smudges of purple on the sleeves. They were men, Cole knew, he could see their short hair and trimmed beards under the white masks that stretched over their mouths, as they walked by. What–fuck–going–on? Cole thought.
His eyes closed as he yelled into the echoing white room. Something pulled his hair and made his skull sizzle like it was melting. Cole’s eyes rotated up to his eyelids, but he could see anything. It only made his head pound worse. And did it pound! The realization made thinking worse and suddenly the lights became unbearable to his fragile migraine and he let out another scream. The nails on his finger tips digging into the mattress.
Cole’s eyes opened and a woman stood in front of him. She had long curly black hair that fell onto a white mask. Cole’s eyes danced rapidly, the burning from his head was lowering into his stomach. Sweat and blood poured down his forehead.
“Mr. Harrison is misbehaving I see,” her voice was soothing like his mothers. The woman removed her mask to reveal a small mouth; her lips a deep purple. She bent down into Cole’s face and began examining his eyes. “Eyes look a little blood shot, skin pale, lips dry,”
Cole screamed directly into the woman perfect face, making her flinch, just a little. Then he spoke, slowly. “Wh--” Cole tired – his voice hoarse. “What...fucking...going,” he managed to tremble.
The woman frowned, “You poor, dear. You must be so frightened,” her eyes left Cole’s as he began to struggle for freedom, but he couldn’t budge. His ankles began to bleed. “Almost done, Doctor?”
“My charts seem to tell that every thing is in order, Ma’am, only a few more minutes and he should be out,” the doctor replied, not taking his eyes off of the back of Cole’s head. “The state at which the patient is in has made it impossible for him to take anyanesthetic – he just won’t fall asleep.”
Cole could feel scrapping inside the walls of his skull now, his eyes closing and tears leaking. The woman walked away to exam these charts the doctor spoke of and when she left his vision he let a out a hoarse awful scream that he, himself, was caught off guard by. Something released pressure from the back of his head: a warm red liquid fell down his face. Cole freaked looking around the room for the doctor’s face, “Blood! BLOOD!” he began to wail violently. “What–fuck–going–on!” he yelled, the hoarseness in his voice becoming greater as he tried to swallow blood and speak at the same time.
“Damn it! Cut the wrong thing,” the doctor said. “Mr. Harrison, I need you to calm down,” he made his way in front of Cole.
“Who–fuck!?” Cole screamed; he might not have been able to speak, but he could certainly see the man: Older, white-gray hair, big thick rimmed glasses, red stains on his sweat-drenched shirt.
“Listen, son. I understand you are afraid, but this operation is needed.” The doctor had a silver instrument in his hand, that was covered in red rubies.
“MAKE IT STOP!!” he spit int he doctors face, his heart picking up speed.
“We can’t, son.” The doctor swallowed and wiped Cole’s red spit off his face and pushed his thick rimmed glasses up the arch of his nose.
“Must continue,” the doctor frowned, “I’m sorry.”
“Would you like for me to put him back under, Doctor.” The woman cut in, still out of Cole’s vision. “Obviously, the task is too difficult for you to handle alone. I mean, you have what? Four doctors in here? And, yet, you still seem to make mistakes? And I believe this operation has lasted long enough. I was called here for a reason. Wasn’t I?”
The doctor’s eyes lifted from Cole’s gaze. “It’s nothing that can’t be fixed I assure–”
“I would gladly do it, Doctor,” the woman said. Cole saw a thin smile spread across her thin face.
“It will not be necessary.”
“Very well,” she said, her heels clicking away.
Cole swallowed and let out another crying yell.
The Doctor looked into Cole’s eyes for a moment, holding his convulsing body at the shoulders, “Son, I need you to stop!”
Cole began seizing; his body twitching every second, the chains constricting his movement causing blood to run down his hands, arms, and feet. Red-white foam started to come from within the back of his mouth. Then, abruptly, it stopped. Tears streaming from Cole’s eyes, clumps of foam falling onto his shirt, and down his throat making him choke a little. His eyes opened slowly as he took in gasps of air. That was when he saw the doctor lying on his blood drenched chest.
The doctors eyes were wide, and water dripped from the man’s mouth. Blood still pouring out of his head, Cole began to cry, and once again began to convulse. The woman made her way over to Cole, his head now rested on a purple drenched pillow, shaking violently, his eyes leaking, and yelling “Make it go away! Just make it go away, Mommy!”
The woman, now, standing over Cole leaned close to his ear and whispered, “It’s okay, Cole, dear, Mommy’s here.” Cole’s eyes opened slowly and right before them the woman’s dark hair began to lighten, her face contorted, and seconds later his tall beautifully blond mother stood in front of him, “Now, shut your eyes...sleep,” she said holding a shaking palm inches from his forehead. Slowly Cole’s heavy breathing came to a cool, soft, low and right before Cole drifted off a to the land we all know and love, he watched his mother turn into the dark haired woman, who had a wide smile across her purple lips.
“Dr. Bellcough,” the woman called, once Cole was completely out, “could you please patch Mr. Harrison up and move Dr. Treaty’s body to the morgue?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Dr. Bellcough said and began to finish what the late Garfield Treaty failed to complete.