Temptation [A Young Writer's Prize Submission]

Hospital

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.

Matthew 26: 41

"Check her vitals again."

The voice, slow and hypnotic in my ears, grabbed my awareness, pulling me out of the unknown darkness where I was imprisoned.

I felt the polystyrene nightgown the nurses had put me in; felt the grainy cotton mattress underneath me. Something beeped at my side, rhythmic, steady, but irritatingly loud. Now I had this voice to listen to; a voice that negated all the horrible sensations I'd had up till this moment.

It was a voice that was coated in sin and wickedness - I knew that instinctively - but it was hypnotic, gentle. It made me feel good; safe, secure, comfortable.

If I could have turned my head or lifted my hand, I would have tried to bring the owner of that voice closer to me - to cure the evil burning inside me, to bring a greater sense of security.

"She's perfectly stable," the doctor tried to comfort the owner of that voice, but in vain: I was the one awash with irritation. "She's progressing far better; far more quickly than expected for someone in her condition."

"Then why isn't she waking up?"

The demand was met with grim silence.

"If you've done," he spoke through gritted teeth, "what I think you've done, then you had better have a very, very good explanation."

There was a quick shuffling of papers before the doctor answered; "Miss Falle was admitted with a fractured skull and cerebral contusion."

"Son of a bitch," despite the harsh words, I was desperate to hear more of that voice. But there was sudden pressure at my temples, distracting me. I flinched, reliving the pain from Azrael's touch, but this was gentler, healing. I felt this pressure relieve some of the tightness inside my head, and I began to relax.

"It was suggested," the doctor spoke, little more than background noise, "that for her comfort, she should be placed into an induced coma, until she recovers." He spoke quickly, betraying his nervousness, and a flapping sound ensued as he held out a piece of paper. The touch at my temples disappeared and I almost cried out as a jolt of pain struck my head.

"We had her parents sign the consent form," the doctor assured him, anxiously.

"You idiot," the paper was crumpled up in his palm. "You absolute moron; do you have any idea how easy you've made it?! Why not just paint a giant target on her forehead? Maybe she'll actually die this time. She'd be dead already if I wasn't here!"

"I don't appreciate your tone," the doctor sounded shaken, but he was trying to remain authoritative. "This hospital is doing all it can to..."

"Do. Better."

The voice was dark, followed by the sound of angry footsteps as he strode out. I felt strangely unsettled, as though he'd taken a piece of me with him.

Then two fingers dug into my inner wrist, signalling the next thing to happen to me. The monitor had begun beeping faster, no doubt in direct consequence to my heart racing at the sound of the voice.I felt heady, exhilarated; desirous - and the machine had picked up on it.

The new medicine dripped into my system, feeling like ice-cold water running into my veins, bringing with it drowsiness and heaviness. I fell back into unconsciousness without complaint.