Dead Friends Series (Book 2): Dead Friends Running

by Carlisle, Natalie

  “But he said—”

  “What he assumed to be the beginning symptoms of the virus were actually the symptoms of a severe concussion and internal bleeding as a result of a motor vehicle accident. He was brought in for emergency surgery for a ruptured spleen and has since been in recovery. He should be okay, as long as there aren’t any complications from the procedure and his head injury isn’t too severe.”

  Should be okay? I jumped up, his words hitting me like a ton of bricks. I had to get out of here. I had to go see Jason, now. Ruptured spleen? Ohmigod. It was worse than I imagined.

  Wires pulled in my arm and Nurse Sharon started scowling when I yanked my hand away. “Stop moving. I don’t know where you think you are going, but you need to sit still.”

  “I have to see him—I have to go… now!”

  Nurse Coney grasped my shoulder gently. “You can’t Dee.”

  “Yes, I can,” I demanded, nudging him off me. I whipped my hand away from Nurse Sharon too, and went for the IV line.

  “Stop it right now,” Nurse Sharon warned, but I ignored her, tears clouding my eyes, I struggled to figure out how to rip the IV out.

  That was my biggest mistake. My hesitation.

  In a matter of seconds something stung my leg. Startled, I looked down at my thigh. Nurse Sharon had jabbed a needle into my skin.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, in a voice that held no remorse. “But I warned you.”

  The room started to fade in and out, their masked faces blurring from my tear-filled eyes and my sudden drug-induced shot.

  I fought it for a moment, but I knew I wouldn’t win. The effects of the medication were instant, and I felt my body becoming slack, even if my mind was still racing.

  Last two things I heard before darkness consumed me was Nurse Coney saying, “Sharon, I don’t think that was necessary.”

  And her replying, “This will allow us to do everything we still need to do.”

  35

  Something was touching me. It took me a moment to figure out where the sensation was occurring. It was a soft, soothing stroke, repeating every other second across my left knuckles. I struggled to open my eyes, fluttering my eyelashes up and down, to see what it was. It took a few tries to fully regain focus. My head felt heavy, groggy.

  When I finally shifted my vision toward the culprit, I quickly realized that something was actually someone—my mother— and she was holding my hand, brushing her finger across my skin in a worried embrace.

  “Mom?” I jolted in surprise.

  Startled, she tightened her grip on my good hand. “Dee? Oh, honey, my sweetie pie,” she quickly blurted, realizing I was awake, she started to cry. “Are you okay? Are you in pain? Do you want me to get the nurse?”

  “Mom?” I yawned, still trying to gain my bearings. “What are you doing here?”

  The room was dimmer than before, someone had shut the light off beside my cot. The darker space was making it hard for me to wake up.

  “Your nurse called me and your father,” my mother answered, “we got here as fast as we could.”

  I racked my brain for memory. Nurse. Parents.

  Oh, right. I had been the one to tell them to call them. I turned my head, trying to peer over my mother to see my father, but I didn’t see anyone else. “Where’s dad?”

  She continued to hold my hand. “I sent him to go grab some coffee. He looked like he could use it.” She paused, sighing. “It’s been a long few days.”

  Long few days? At first I didn’t understand what she meant. Had I been out that long? But then almost in the same breathe everything from the previous couple days came rushing back to me at full speed. “Oh Mom,” I blurted, my eyes starting to sting when I looked at the dark circles under her eyes and the look of pure exhaustion on her face, and knowing I was the cause of that for running off to Pennsylvania without warning. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I just… I should have . . . oh God, I’m sorry.”

  “Shh—” she said, in a calming tone. “Not now. Right now, just worry about resting up.”

  “But aren’t you furious? You should be furious with me.”

  She squeezed my hand again. “Your health right now is all that matters. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.” Her voice was weary and thick with exhaustion, and I could tell she was fighting staying awake herself. But there was also something else. Something more she wasn’t saying.

  “Mom, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Go to sleep, honey. You need your rest.”

  “Is it Missy?” Maybe she heard something about her that I hadn’t and she didn’t want to tell me. “Was it her test results? Did she test positive for the virus?” For a split second I started to wonder if my mom even knew Missy was in the hospital as a patient too, maybe she hadn’t heard. After all, Missy wasn’t her daughter.

  “Melissa is going to be fine,” she replied, hesitantly. “Mrs. Frink texted me earlier. Test results came back negative. She doesn’t have the virus. Her mom is with her now.”

  “Oh, good,” I exhaled, feeling relieved. “That’s wonderful news.” I started to close my eyes, glad to know my best friend was going to be okay and I could relax now because my mother was with me too, but that moment was short-lived, and I snapped back awake. Something was still upsetting my mother, and if it wasn’t me or Melissa, that meant it was someone else.

  And just like that, I knew. Even before confirmation.

  “Spencer,” I said, no question in my voice. Her previous words about it being a long few days sounded in my head, playing back to me, in warning. “This is about him. What is it, Mom? What happened? Tell me.”

  A thousand scenarios started flashing across my mind.

  “Dee,” she began, in that adult I’m not going to tell her for her own good tone. I could just tell she didn’t plan on saying anything.

  “Please,” I begged, trying to keep it together, the images in my head were awful. “Just tell me, is he still alive?”

  Her immediate lack of response made my stomach twist in pain, and my throat constricted. I focused on the emotions playing across her face, waiting, praying.

  “He’s gone, Dee. I don’t know how, how…why,” she said, and started crying again, her words choking up. “But he’s gone. I’m so sorry.”

  Gone? Spencer was dead? I suddenly felt like I was going to hurl. Everything we’d been through to save him never mattered. I had run off on him without saying goodbye. He would never know the real reason I just left him alone in the hospital. He would never realize I was just trying to save him like I had been trying all along.

  His last words on my voicemail would be the last words he’d ever speak to me again. My mother’s words of disappointment hung over my head. She had been right. I would come to regret my decisions immensely.

  I was the worst friend ever.

  All Spencer wanted was us to be by his bedside, and we never made it back.

  We never got to save him.

  The sounds of my sobs synchronized with the sounds of my mother’s, as I fell into her hug, letting all my pent up emotions from the past two days out through tears I was no longer ashamed of crying.

  I cried until I eventually exhausted myself enough that I passed out in her arms.

  36

  “Well good morning, sleepy head,” a voice said, as I grudgingly opened my eyes because something brushed my arm.

  Nurse Coney was standing over me, replacing the fluids in my IV, his lab suit brushing across my skin. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Tired,” I groaned. My head was pounding too.

  “You’ve had a long night,” he pointed out, stepping away from my cot with an empty saline bag.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Where’s my mom?” Last I remember was falling asleep in her arms.

  I thought of Spencer in that instant, and it felt like something stabbed me directly through my stomach again.

  “I’m right here, honey,” she said, and I heard a chair scr
ap across the floor. I turned my head to find my mom coming up on the other side of my nurse. My father was beside her.

  “Morning,” he said, in a tight, strained voice. It was the first time he had spoken to me. His glasses looked silly perched over the mask fabric around his mouth. My mother reached for my hand to grasp it.

  “Morning,” I replied, trying to wet my palette with my own salvia. My tongue felt like sand paper. “So what’s the verdict? Can I leave here yet?” I didn’t dare glance at the clock, I was afraid to know how many hours I had left.

  “We need to run one more blood test,” Nurse Coney answered first. “As long as everything comes back negative and your sugar levels show improvement, you will be released.”

  “Terrific,” I grunted.

  Nurse Coney didn’t comment back.

  “Would you like some more ice chips?” my mother asked, glancing at my empty cup beside my bed.

  I nodded. Ice would help my cotton mouth.

  “Okay,” she let go of my hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  “No, you stay with her,” My father said, “I’ll get it.”

  As Nurse Coney went about drawing my blood, I asked him if he heard any more updates on Jason.

  He shook his head, apologized, took my blood and left.

  My mother, however, asked me what was wrong with Jason. I realized then I hadn’t had a chance to tell her he was in the hospital too.

  After filling her in, I asked her to go find out how he was doing, but she refused, something about not leaving my side until she learned my blood results.

  Spencer’s death was unspoken between us, but that’s what really concerned her. That there was still a chance I could be infected too and she didn’t want to leave me just in case.

  In case I died too.

  I finished my cup of ice, used the lavatory, freshened up, drummed my fingers restlessly against my thigh, and fiddled with my new cast on my arm. Then I counted the bruises and cuts healing on my legs. I wished away my headache, pinched the bridge of my nose trying to rid myself of my headache, and I talked about nothing in particular to my parents. It was about an hour and a half later before we finally got any answers.

  It still felt like time wasn’t moving at all.

  Finally, the door opened and Nurse Sharon came in, carrying another clipboard. “Everything came back great,” she said, cheerfully. “No virus. Sugar levels are normal. If you are up to it, you are free to go.”

  “Yes,” was all I said.

  She nodded, scribbling something on the board then excused herself.

  Two hours passed without another sign of her.

  So much for leaving, I thought.

  It was another twenty minutes before Nurse Coney showed up. “Hear you are jumping ship,” he greeted, humor in his voice. “Guess you’ll be wanting those IV’s out of your arm, eh?” He made his way across the room to me, and proceeded to prep me finally for departure.

  He had a long talk with my parents, then slipped away one last time to get the doctor. The doctor, who I remembered only seeing once the entire twenty-four hours I was stuck there, came in, checked my vitals, signed a release and left almost as quickly as he rushed in.

  However, this time when the door shut in his wake, I was permitted to go.

  I rushed my parents immediately out of the room, so I could get changed, and despite their protests at my impatience, they moved along, pulling the gown, mask and gloves off themselves, no doubt eager to be tossing those garments too.

  I pulled my blue-stained shorts on, then my blood-stained shirt next, and froze, remembering the bag under my cot that my mother said she brought.

  Clean clothes.

  She had brought clean, comfy clothes just in case I was there awhile.

  Pulling everything back off, actually cringing at the dirty material in my hands now, I quickly changed into sweatpants and a tank top.

  I grabbed my mother’s bag, probably one of the reasons she was fighting me on leaving the room because it was still there, and yanked open the door, welcoming the bright lights of the surrounding hospital floor.

  My parents were standing against the wall, waiting.

  Their gowns crumbled in their hands.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I ordered. “I want to go visit Missy and Jason.”

  My mother stared at me with her serious brown eyes, unmoving. I knew that look all too well. “Your father is going to drive your car home and you will be driving home with me. He has to get back to work early tomorrow morning, and I still have to drive him to your car which means I’m going to need you to show me where your car actually is. I spoke to Mrs. Frink. They are keeping Missy here a bit longer, but she should be home tomorrow night. I’ll let you talk to her then.”

  “But Mom—”

  “Don’t but Mom, me,” she retorted. “It’s time to come home.”

  “What about Jason?” I almost cried. Sure, I could talk to Missy soon, but what about my boyfriend. Who the heck knew when the next time I could see or talk to him? What if he was having complications from the surgery or the head injury? What if he died too? My throat got raw, and I fought the burning in my eyes. “Please Mom—Dad, I beg you, please let me just see him. Once. I have to see him. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “Dee, I just don’t—”

  “Please!”

  My father cupped my Mother on the shoulder, stopping her from saying another word. “She’s not running off, honey. She just wants to make sure he’s fine. A few minutes won’t make that much of a difference for our trip home.”

  She didn’t believe him, I could tell.

  “I won’t run off, if that’s what is worrying you. I swear! You can stand right outside his door. Heck even in his room if you want. Mom, please.”

  She peered up at my Father, realized she couldn’t argue with him then slowly nodded her head.

  I was about to thank her, when a familiar voice called my name, distracting me.

  I turned my head, surprised.

  Lewis was knelt down, right outside his door, tying his shoe laces. “Hey! Glad to see you are out too.”

  He was dressed in the same dirty clothes as yesterday, his sweat-stained baseball cap tossed lopsidedly on his head, like he dressed himself in a hurry, much like I had. The untied shoelaces further proved that.

  “Lewis, hi,” I said, offering him a strained smile. I handed my mom her bag, and then walked up to him, as he was standing.

  He startled me by giving me a hug. I wasn’t expecting it.

  “You looked like you could use it,” he prompted, when I started to feel awkward.

  “The walls are paper thin,” he added, as if trying to convince me. “I heard about everyone.” He didn’t say it, but by everyone I knew he meant one person in particular.

  Spencer.

  I lowered my gaze to the floor, crossing my arm tightly over my stomach. Every time I thought of him, my stomach tightened in sickening, nauseating way.

  Same thing for my last image of Jacob too.

  And when I thought of Jason, my heart raced and I felt breathless and dizzy, but in an anxious, worried ill way. That’s why I had to go see him.

  As if reading my thoughts, or perhaps he overheard me talking to my parents he asked, “Do you mind if I come with you to see Jason—or would you rather I visit Tony first?”

  I furrowed my brow. “Tony?” Crap. That’s right. He was here too.

  “Forget about him already?” He chuckled tightly.

  “What? No. Sorry.” Now I felt bad. “My mind is just all over the place. I’m sorry. I can’t think straight.”

  He sobered quickly. “I know.”

  “Have you heard anything on your friend? How is he?”

  Adjusting his hat on his head, he kind of shrugged. “As well as someone can be after shooting themselves I guess. I don’t know. ”

  “Right.” He glanced over my head. “So those your parents?”

  I nodded, turning on my heel.
“Yeah, come on I’ll introduce you. Then you can come with us to see Jason if you’d like.”

  He followed me to where they were still standing; questions of who Lewis was and why he had hugged me clear on their faces.

  “Mom…Dad,” I said, not really needing to grab their attention. “This is Lewis, Jason’s friend. He was with Melissa and me when we were brought in. And actually,” I added, for good measure, “He saved my life yesterday too.”

  The skepticism and surprise on their faces intensified.

  “I just own a diner and offered her a free meal, she makes it sound way more heroic than it is.” He nodded at them, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”

  When my Mom glanced at me, I further elaborated. “Hypoglycemic episode and I didn’t have any money on me.”

  “Oh, Dee,” she sighed, getting that concerned look in her eyes. “Thank you, Lewis. We are very grateful then.”

  My father tucked his balled up paper gown into the nook of his armpit, and started to reach for his back pocket. “Yes, very grateful In fact, let me at least repay you, how much was her meal?” He took out his wallet, opening it up, exposing a wad of cash.

  Lewis held up his palm. “Don’t even think it. I don’t need your money. In fact it’s her I should be thanking. Tell me, where did your daughter learn to shoot like that? It was crazy.”

  I suddenly fake coughed, my eyes rounding. Ohmigod. Please tell me he won’t tell my parents I shot someone… even if they had the virus. They wouldn’t understand.

  Shut up, I pleaded silently when Lewis looked at me funny. I get he was grateful for me shooting the guy in the knee caps to save him and Tony, but for crying out loud, keep it to yourself.

  “I’m sorry, I am not following,” My father said, placing his wallet and the money back into his pocket.

  Lewis went to say something and I did another round of fake coughing.

  My mom’s motherly instinct kicked in. “Are you okay, Dee? Do you need a drink or something?”

  “I’m fine,” I mumbled, tight-lipped and still trying to glare inconspicuously up at Lewis.