These Streaks of Blood

23

Patty just stares at the boy. "What do you mean, useful?" she finally asks, then sucks in a huge breath of air. She's never felt so weak in her life. Even that one time she had the flu, she didn't feel this bad; she had had people around to help her, medicine available whenever she needed it, distractions and ways of entertainment... most of all, she'd had the assurance that she'd be just fine.  

She doesn't have that right now.

The boy watches her struggle to keep her eyes open. "I mean, I'm looking for Natalee, and her best friend may know something that I don't, something that will help me," he explains.

Patty thinks she narrows her eyes, but they may just be falling closed. "I don't know who you are. I don't want Natalee to get hurt. She's already in so much pain..." she murmurs, but trails off as her vision goes black.

*                                                                                          *                                                                                *

Ryffin mutters a curse under his breath and immediately bends down to cradle the human girl in his arms. A voice in the back of his head is screaming at him to drop her, to let her die, to kill her himself. That's his nature, that's who he is, who he's always been, and he's always been proud of that. 

But a more prominent voice speaks over that one, sentences overlapping each other in their haste to get through to him:

You're a murderer, and I want nothing to do with you.

I have more respect for you now. Don't make me lose it.

You kept me from killing her. Thank you.

And he knows that he has to save this girl, to make up for what happened to Emily. He can't let Natalee's best friend die, not after her sister, not when he can stop her premature demise from happening. Not to mention, he knows Galador is after him. Or else he's after Natalee, because of him. Ryffin can't stand knowing he's causing all this pain to come to her; so this time, he's going to stop it.

He teleports to the first city he thinks of: New York. A few people gasp and freeze when he pops up in the middle of a sidewalk, but most ignore him and keep walking. Either they weren't paying attention or they're late for work, not interested in the day's street performers.

Ryffin grabs someone's arm and asks them where the nearest hospital is. When they give an annoyed huff and reluctantly tell him the address, he poofs immediately, catching only a second of the man's stunned expression.

Ryffin lands right in front of the hospital's entrance and walks inside quickly. As he does so, he murmurs a few quick words under his breath, not wanting to waste time here. Consequently, the instant the woman at the desk sees him, and the unconscious girl he's holding in his arms, she picks up a phone and speaks into it with a clipped tone.  

She hangs up when he reaches the desk. "I've already called; the doctor will see her right away. Riley will lead you there," she says, gesturing towards a plump, dark-skinned woman with a clipboard.

Ryffin simply nods, unsurprised at their speedy reception, and follows Riley through a few hallways, until they reach a large white, sterilized room that smells much too heavily of sanitation and medicine.

Without a word, Ryffin lays Patty down on the cot. When he turns back around, an older man with medicinal tools in hand and a stethoscope around his neck is standing in the doorway, looking serious.

"What seems to be the problem today?" he asks kindly as he approaches the cot, analyzing the situation and automatically making use of his equipment, listening for a pulse and doing various other tests.