Peter Pan and the War of Evils

Chapter One

The children knew better than to protest and started to get up from their seats, wheeling their I.V.s and other attachments down the hall, calling over their 'thank you's and 'bye's.

Stella observed their progress for a second before frowning at the open window above the short table that held drawers of dried out markers and half-used crayons, "Kaytee, I thought I said not to open this window anymore." She scorned the Storyteller, marching over to shut the scoundrel of a fresh air source. "The seasons are turning, the children don't have the immune systems to catch a cold, you know this."

Kaytee, the now sheepish storyteller, hung her head, "I'm sorry Ms. Stella, but they just love smelling the leaves and they weren't cutting the grass today, so David's allergies weren't going to act up-"

Stella held up her hand and smiled the same patient smile all nurses know when used to being around children, "I understand, Kaytee. But please, not when it gets colder?"

Kaytee hesitated, but nodded. She turned to go, but stopped when Stella said, "Ah, a moment more?"

She turned and Stella gestured to the bench Kaytee had been sitting on to spin her web of tales. They sat down, and Stella took one of Kaytee's hands into her own.

"Kaytee, dear, I know you've noticed the lack of a certain young man," Stella began, her blue eyes darted down, and back up. Kaytee knew they were contacts, you could see the ring of brown around the edges. It was unnerving. It off set the blue of her scrubs.

"Unfortunately," Stella cleared her throat, and looked back down, "Sammy had a turn for the worst last night. I wasn't there, but I know we did everything in our power to try and save him, but he died."

The vent above them blew cold air, sending a shiver down Kaytee's spine. Maintenance mustn't have gotten the memo that the 'seasons are turning'. She blinked rapidly five times, paused, then three times more before removing her hand from Stella's.

The nurse began to say more, then stopped herself, and tried again: "If you want, we have a grief counselor I can take you to. She's very nice, she spoke with Sammy's parents not too long ago. And of course, if who have any questions, any at all, please don't hesitate to ask me. I know how close you two were..." She trailed off, unsure what else to say.

Kaytee cleared her throat, grabbed her bag from underneath the bench and stood. "Thank you, Ms. Stella, but I'm okay, really. I'm glad he isn't suff-" her voice broke and she shook her head, "I'm glad he isn't suffering anymore. Thank you for telling me. I've got to get back now."

Hastily, and without really feeling herself walking, she stumbled for the elevator and then took the stairs instead. She was unable to stand the sting of the antiseptic in the air or the metallic voice coming through the intercoms 'paging Doctor Carter to the third floor, room...'. She didn't wave to the receptionist on her way out; it was Peggy today, and she was eating her egg salad sandwhich, reserved only for Wednesdays. She neglected to holler 'bye' to Tony the janitor, who was emptying the bin next to the exit doors. All of this seemed unusual to both Peggy and Tony, who were used to seeing Kaytee at this time of the day, and equally felt concern for the poor girl whose usually sunny disposition seemed gray today. They would ask her about it next time they saw her(if there was going to be a next time).

She ended up again on a bench, not too far from the hospital, not really intending to sit down, but doing so nonetheless. Grief makes you unable to move sometimes. It makes you unable to feel the sun. Which means it also makes you unable to feel when a shadow lands across your shoulders. Unable to feel the gaze from above, hidden on the branches of the tree you're resting under.