Fake Me To Church

Chapter 11.1 - Old Case Files

- STEVEN -

"Sir, honestly, it's no trouble to get the doctor in here to have a look at you as well."

"I'm fine. I swear," I said to a nurse draped in white as the two of us stood in the hallway outside Dylan's room. "Look, please just make sure he's okay."

On the ride to the hospital, I'd swathed the stab wound on my inner thigh with my gray sweatshirt, and the nurse wouldn't quit asking me if I was alright. I appreciated it—really, I did. But I was so scared that Dylan might be hurt...or worse.

"Well, your friend is stabilized," the nurse assured me. "We were able to stop the bleeding, and he should be conscious any moment. We'll notify you as soon as he wakes." She smiled gently, flipped several pages folded over her clipboard, and strode down the hall.

I stared after her for a moment, then stuffed my hands into my pockets with a sigh. I leaned back against the wall, cocked my head upward. This had been one crazy day.

Who were they? I couldn't get my mind off that blond I'd seen—or the devil-faced creep who'd tried to kill me. The wound on my inner thigh began throbbing again just at the thought of the two of them.

"Breathe, Steven," I mused to myself. "Just breathe."

"S...Steven?" a low moan escaped Dylan's hospital room. "Steven, is that you?"

"Dylan?" I exhaled, my eyes growing wide. I spun around and ran inside the room. "Dylan, you're awake!?" I ran to the bed, grasped his shoulder and stared down at him. "H—how are you feeling? Are you hurt? Can I get you something? I..." My mind was racing. Was he okay? Was he scared? Had he seen something before he was attacked? Had he seen someone?

"Whoa, dude, slow down," Dylan's groggy voice begged as he raised his palms to rub his eyes. "Steven, what's going on?"

"Dylan, it's...you were attacked, and...I found you there, lying on the floor, and—I thought you were dead, or, or dying, or—" I paused, my voice trailing off as sporadic thoughts were punctuated with throaty gasps; I must have sounded like a lunatic. "Dylan, please, just tell me you're alright."

I stood, silent, unable to move. In hindsight, I guess it was stupid for me to be freaking out so much. The nurse said Dylan was stable, that they'd stopped the bleeding and everything was fine. But being there, staring at my best friend as he looked weaker than ever, I was scared—I was terrified.

He nodded his head after a few seconds. "I'm...I'm okay, bud," he managed.

I exhaled a sigh of relief. "Thank God," I breathed, smiling for the first time since I'd made it to the emergency room.

The soft beat of footsteps sounded outside the door, the twist of the knob clicking through the air.

I turned, watched as the door crept open, faced our visitor. "Ahmed?" My fists clenched instinctively. "What're you doing here?"

He held up his phone. "I got the group message you sent the team about Dylan," he answered lowly. "Just wanted to make sure he was okay."

I crossed my arms.

Ahmed reached inside his backpack and pulled out a white paper bag splotched through with grease. "I swung by Steak 'N' Shake and got you this," he addressed Dylan only, refusing to even glance my way. "I figured you could use a bite to eat."

I watched Dylan's eyes grow wide.

"Dude, no way!" he exclaimed joyfully. "Steak 'N' Shake's my favorite!"

Ahmed smiled and walked closer to the bed, food in hand.

I grabbed his arm the moment he got within three feet of me and shoved him back before he could make it to Dylan. "Back up," I spat. "The doctor said no food until all the tests are done."