EMPYREAN [ re-writing ]

02. OF A BEDRIDDEN ANGEL

       The tumultuous sound of the ambulances and police cars brought Lucifer on edge. After the two of them fell into the river and had Lucifer swum to the closest riverbank. The first responders, such as EMS responders and police officers, appeared, zealously helping Lucifer and the human girl.

Initially, Lucifer wanted to lash out and say, "no, thank you very much! I can help myself!" but he refrained. He knew he needed to act like a man that had just cheated death—which was ridiculous since Death wanted nothing to do with him after Lucifer pulled a little stunt and caused millions of deaths. The poor cloaked figure needed to work overtime because of him.

To Lucifer's absolute humiliation, the medics had forced him to lie on a stretcher and strapped him down—if the medics were weirded out by how strong this wounded accident victim was; they said nothing. This handsome blond-haired victim also was glaring murderously at them.

They carted Lucifer off to the waiting ambulance. He wriggled on his stretcher, his ethereal blue eyes scoured for the girl. Worried and afraid for her. There she was, being inspected by a male medic, still at the edge of the riverbank. She was pale and her lips blue. Her heart barely beating and she was tethering on the edge of oblivion. Lucifer felt a violent surge of protectiveness. All he wanted to do was go to her and shielded her from the dangers of the world.

He immediately squashed the thought. No, Lucifer, you buffoon, she's not Celestine. Don't get ahead of yourself.

The medics settled him down in the ambulance. The woman with twinkles in her brown eyes examined Lucifer. She looked strictly professional as she treated Lucifer's bleeding wound with a clean cloth. Putting pressure on her palm and covering up the fracture. But her fluttering heart betrayed her code of ethics and Lucifer could sense that, much to his frustration.

He sent her a frosty look that could make the sky snow instead of rain. Then the questions began their assault on Lucifer. It was purely for a medical procedure and a way to assess the victim's condition. But Lucifer was having none of that and so he feigned unconsciousness for the rest of the ride to the hospital. It was easy to avoid questioning when he pretended to be dead. After all, a dead man tells no tale, isn't it?

If Lucifer thought getting carried like a parcel on a stretcher was bad, he was about to get proven wrong at the hospital when they brought him to the surgery room. It was simply horrifying.

The nurses stripped him from his clothes. The attire that he had worn and never changed during his time at the Lost Sea; had been chucked away, and Lucifer muttered a silent eulogy for his clothes. The doctor prodded at every inch of his skin—it was an exaggeration of the truth—the doctor simply treated his wounds, but Lucifer was feeling dramatic at that moment.

He had to weave glamour around his body and physical appearance. He needed to resemble humans, in order to avoid the doctors and his retinue of nurses having heart attacks when they found out that he didn't exactly have a set of lungs or a beating heart.

When the doctor injected him with a healthy dose of anesthesia to sedate him, it took a mountain of willpower for Lucifer not to perk his head up and say, "boo! I'm still here with you guys in the land of consciousness!"

With that, Lucifer stayed unmoving and reluctantly allowed the humans to operate surgery on him when he clearly didn't need it. Not that the doctor particularly knew about it. He, the old doctor, had simply believed that this young man, who was bedridden on the hospital bed, was in critical condition. The poor lad didn't even respond to any stimulus and had lain still like a stiff corpse. The doctor needed and had to save him. He was sure the young man had a bright future ahead of him and it would be a tragedy if the young man succumb too soon.