dââ
âYouâre not my dad!â I cried. âStop saying youâre my dad!â
He stopped, and I could see from his face that he was taken aback. He cleared his throat. âDoctor,â he said. âIâm your doctor.â
Something tingled at the base of my skull. It nestled back there, an itch I couldnât quite scratch.
âWhat?â I said. âWhat are you talking about? What are you trying to do?â
âYou received a severe head trauma, Kyle,â he continued. âThere was serious bleeding in your brain and we believed there was a very good chance you were going to die. We had no choice but to operate. Afterwards we induced coma, in order to allow the brain to recover.â
The word came out of me all by itself. âComa? What... what do you mean âcomaâ?â
âYou have been asleep for almost a month, Kyle.â
âWhat...? No, I havenât. No. Iâve... Iâve...â
âYou were lucky. We almost lost you several times.â He finally smiled. It was a smile of relief. âBut you pulled through. Youâre a real fighter.â
âPulled⦠pulled through?â I mumbled.
âYour mother is waiting outside,â said Doc Mortis. It was the first time heâd spoken since entering the room, and I noticed immediately that his accent was gone. âWould you like to see her?â
âMy... my mum?â I said. The inside of my head was reeling like a roulette wheel. âMy mumâs dead.â
Again that pen, scribbling on the clipboard. My dad â my doctor? â patted me on the arm. I flinched and drew back, but he didnât seem to notice. âYouâve been dreaming, Kyle,â he said. âItâs very common. Your mumâs fine.â He nodded to Doc Mortis, who smiled at me, then scuttled off towards the door.
My dad turned back to me. âHeâll go fetch your mum.â
âWhat is all this?â I demanded. âThis isnât a hospital.â
âWhat makes you say that?â
I tugged on the wires sticking to my chest. âWell, these arenât attached to anything for starters.â
A puzzled frown furrowed his brow. âYes, they are,â he said. âTheyâre all attached to these.â He gestured to an empty space beside the bed. âMonitoring equipment mostly, for keeping track of how youâre doing.â
âAre you mental?â I scowled. âThereâs nothing there.â
He stared at me, and there was that expression of concern again. âYes, Kyle. There is. Look. Itâs all right here.â
And suddenly he was right. I could see them there â three little screens all blinking and flashing their reams and reams of data. Two were built into a tall narrow trolley; the other was attached to a metal pole. A clear bag hung at the top of the pole. Liquid dripped along a tube that I now realised was inserted into the back of my hand.
I made a grab for the tape that held the tube in place, but my dad put a gentle hand against my head and held it there until I stopped struggling.
âRelax,â he said. âLike I say, youâve been through a lot. All these reactions are understandable. All this must come as a shock.â
I watched the liquid trickling down the tube. âTrust me,â I croaked. âYou have no idea.â
The door opened and Doc Mortis poked his head round the frame. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
âOne moment,â said my dad. He turned back to me. âYour mum is waiting to see you,â he said. âBut before I bring her in, I need to be confident youâre OK. You can⦠You can see the equipment now, right?â
I looked over to the screens that hadnât been there a few moments ago, and gave a slow nod of my head. âYes.â
âAnd what about the rest of the room? What can you see, Kyle?â
The rest of the room was
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