Violet Shadows

35

"Huh?" Christine croaked, half-tired, half-terrified. Despite the tempting escape of sleep, her eyes craned to search the hospital room. Was this real? Violet's untouched hoodie still lingered on the hooks, and her copy of What Wish So Haunted still perished in the trash. "You're here..." Her tongue limped in drowsiness, but fear kept her awake.

"We really need to do vitals." One of the nurses supplied in apology, going on to monitor her heart rate and readjusting the oxygen mask unbeknownst that she had one on. "When I ask, I want you to move your eyes. Alright? Now move them up."

Christine did, even if her words produced a chill through her body. She was just in the Lower Banks—none of this made sense. But was she back. Permanently?

"Do we really have to do this now?" Dad's voice chimed out in its familiar gruff state. Christine could barely see him while being clambered by an army of nurses and Mom's pressing attention, grip never leaving. "She just woke up from surgery. She should be sleeping."

"We need to make sure everything is working properly especially after poking around in that brain of yours." The nurse winked at her, but Christine could hardly keep her heart on focusing when everything seemed to be careening. "The swelling is normal after a few days, but everything seems fine." The nurse told Dad. "We'll have to keep her for a few more days before sending her home."

"Home?" Christine sputtered now that anxiety was working against the tiredness. "You mean I'm not in Valltore?"

"Val—what?" The nurse asked, warm expression twisting into confusion. "Is that some sort of show I don't know about?"

"Forget what I just said," Christine said with feigned calmness, even if the heart monitors betrayed whatever facade pulled. This was real. Or a really good dream. She molded her voice to become stern, but her eyes flickered across the room in delirium. "Can I have a mirror?"

She was given one with little effort. "Dad," She said, emotions grating on the edge of madness. "It's me." Christine pulled at the brown eyes that were always unevenly open, something she'd always sour over when fussing over her appearances. At the thin eyebrows, free of any hair so similar to her lumpy head. At her mouth, the teeth she'd recognize after years of braces.

Dad blinked. "Are you expecting someone else?"

Mom snatched the mirror from her hand, heaving back the oxygen mask she carelessly pulled off to study her teeth. "Put that back on. You need it to breathe."

Christine's relief wasn't audible, slipping into the cusp of her words. "No, but I don't have red hair."

"Christine, you don't have hair. Period." Mom nervously glanced at her as if she was a creature to study, then at the nurses. "Is this normal after surgery?"

"I mean, I don't have red hair now but I did." At their stony looks, Christine twisted in her hospital bed with keen frustration towards the trash. "Over there! In that book. Can you, um, give it to me?"

Mom stood, walking over to the bin and picking up the copy once discarded. She frowned as she studied it over, eyeing the detailed cover with red and white whorls. "You mean the book you threw away?"

Christine reached for it like a child reaching for candy. She kept flailing until her insistence left Mom to drop it in her lap with a sigh, Dad frowning ."No," She shook her head, flipping through the pages. "The book Violet bought for me because the main character knows how to play the piano, just like me. But..." A frown crumpled over her face. "Why did they call it the heurne?"
    Nothing but questions leading to empty answer, she thought. Ignoring their troubled looks, Christine regarded the book with feverish curiosity to see if anything had changed. The feeling chased her from her scalp all the way down to her trembling fingers. Heart hammering, she turned towards the front flap of the book. And indeed, there it was.