Angels and Rain

I stretched myself out on the white linen sheet and breathed in the clean sterile smell of pollen mixed with some kind of cleaning fluid. The light filtered red through my eyelids, less intense that before.

Before…

I opened my eyes to stare up at a pure white ceiling with a crack, badly patched up with Polyfiller,
running the breadth of the room, ending just before my head. I could hear the gentle murmur of people
talking in low voices, or maybe that was just me, and the rustle of bedsheets as their occupiers
fidgeted about their business. With a slight groan, I lifted myself into a crumpled, but technically
upright, position. All at once the dizziness returned. My head resumed its fandabidozo impressiano of
a large rock with hair sitting rather annoyingly on my neck and the white noise of the room started to
become a banshee scream, echoing in my ears. I flung out an arm (The one that wasn’t covered top
to bottom in metre-thick bandaging) to stop myself falling backwards, but crashed back into my
pillows all the same.

“How are you feeling now miss...” The nurse glanced, with an annoying smile that made me want to
kick her from here to next Wednesday at approximately four O’clock in the afternoon, at the chart at the
end of my bed, “Ryves?”

“Like crap with added bits of crappiness.” I murmured, failing to notice that she’d just appeared out of
seemingly thin air.

“Ah well, the drug takes a good twelve hours to wear off completely. You should be here for at least
another two if my maths is anything to go by.”

I looked at her as she held out her hand to shake mine.

“Welcome to the BC.”

I just went back to sleep.

“You have an admirer.”

I looked up to see the same nurse standing at the end of my bed holding a large bunch of purple grapes. “You again!” I was unfortunately unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

“Yes, me again.” She out the grapes in a blue glass bowl by the side of my bed.

“Why are you here?”

“I work here, actually.” Her voice sounded sharp.

“What am I doing here?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe it was the fact that you were bought up here unconscious at eleven last night with
a piece of glass the size of Dawn French’s arse embedded in your hand.” She turned on her heel and
buggered off down the ward to some twit waving a spoon about.

God, she was sarcastic.

Still.

Oh, what to do, what to do.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but hospitals are so boring. It’s all so clean and tidy-widy that I doubted a
dustmite couldn’t get past without being stopped, questioned, thrown in into quarantine and
questioned again before being chucked out on its arse.

Oh, for the love of Tuesday, would that idiot let go of that damn spoon! Surely he couldn’t be that
attached to it.

Ooops. My mistake.

He appeared to be stuck to it.

So, for the record he was very attached to it indeed.

I shut my eyes and tried to remember what happened last night. The only thing that sprang instantly to
mind was that vampire force on the back of my neck. There had been a vampire, I knew that.

The dark haired one... was good looking in his own way, but no way near beautiful. His girlfriend
looked too... human, too alive. She had blood.

The Goth. The one with the snakebites and pale skin.

It had to be him.

But his eyes were amber.

Vampires have green.

There’s only one thing I know of that has amber eyes...

He couldn’t be one of them.

Unless he was hiding it very well.

There was also an aching familiarity about his face. Not the features so much, but the bone structure,
the skin tone.

Then it struck me.

He looked almost exactly like Feadie.

I lay on my pillows, my hair fanned around me in long, black rat’s tails. Feadie was dead.

The magenta haired, sarcastic nurse bumped into her mini-me and they started conferring about
something no doubt evil. I noticed also, with my keen eyes, that they kept glancing over in my direction.
Then the taller, bitchier one came over to me. ‘Oh cheesecakes’ I thought, trying to stop saying ‘God’
so often ( had a hunch that that’s why he had chosen to ignore me), ‘what now? Did I breathe
incorrectly?’

“You have a visitor.” She told me when she reached my bed. “Should I send him in?”

I looked at her vacantly.

“Shall I send him in?” She repeated, rolling her eyes slightly.

“Erm, no, no. I’ll get up.”

I swung my legs out of bed and saw with surprise I was wearing pair of stripy pyjama’s.

“Okay, who undressed me?”

“One of our nurses.”

“Why?! My God, guys, bed rape!”

“What you were wearing was sodden. It’s been washed during the night and should be ready to be
picked up in an hour or so.”

“Okaaay...”

“There was two pound twenty in your skirt pocket,” she continued, “it’s here. Your shoes are also in the
wash, so you’ll have to use ballet slippers for a bit until they can be picked up.”

I stared at her.

“Are you going to leave? I’m sorry, but Mr. Dylanger is one of the senior management team here and
we do have other patients that need beds, you know.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” I got out of the bed, somewhat reluctant to leave the clean sheets alone.

“I’ll send your clothes round to Mr Dylanger’s office later on. If you could bring the pyjama’s back when
you’re finished with them?”

“Yeah, course.” I said, slipping on a pair of black silk ballet shoes that were sitting by my bed. They
were a bit big, but better than nothing.

“You better keep your change on you.” She pointed to a few coins sitting by the grapes. I did a quick
all-over body search for some pockets, failed, and popped them into my shoe, attracting an odd look
from the nurse.

“You got a better idea?” I asked her, “it’s either that or my mouth.”

She nodded in an ‘Okaaaays then... Ben, get Bedlam on the phone, tell them to get here with a
straightjacket and a bloody big sedative as soon as poss’ kind of way. “Alright, erm, go to the end of
the ward, turn left down the corridor and he’s on one of the chairs down there.” She turned to leave. It
was now or never.

“Okay, before you go...”

“What?”

“Right, this is going to sound odd...”

“So get on with it.”

“Okay,” I took a deep breath. “Okay, right. Are there any vampires here?”

To my surprise, she laughed.

“Yeah, course. About thirty, I think.”

Oh great, she’s taking the piss.

“Really?”

“Yes.” From the tone of her voice, it was impossible to tell whether or not she was being sarcastic.

I decided to change the subject.

“Right... left and down corridor?”

“Yes. He’s waiting for you there. He says you’ll recognise him.”

“Okay.” I turned on my silken heel and padded almost noiselessly down the white tiled floor. My hands
felt oddly heavy. Hardly surprising, they’d taken a bit of a beating in the past two days. I reached the chairs that she’d described to see the man from last night, the pretty Gothic one, decorated to show only black and white sitting there with a plate of scrambled eggs.

The vampire.

Craaaaaap....

“Jazzy Jammies, Laynia!” His bloodless face lit up when he saw me. “You came!”
I stood there awkwardly as he embraced me in a huge hug, as if he was greeting a long lost friend. I closed my eyes, expecting to suddenly be hit with a throbbing pain at the base of my skull.
There remained a numb void.

Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit.

I was being hugged by a vampire and nothing was happening. I felt a wave of panic wash over me. What if it wasn’t working? Why wasn’t it working?

He stopped squishing my vital organs me and shot me an accusing glance. “You’re clinking. Why?”

Clinking? Oh, yeah, right. Clinking. “I’ve got a few quid in my shoe.” I told him.

His glance gained an ‘Are you quite sane?’ edge to it. “Okay, I’ll take your word for that. But still, I can’t
believe you came! Sit down, sit down...” He sat down on one of the blue fabric chairs and looked up at
me, expecting me to do the same thing.

So I did.

“I haven’t seen you for so long!” He cried. “Valentiene made you breakfast. Don’t look at it like that,
she’s an excellent cook. So what have you been doing with yourself?”

I stared at him in what I hoped was a ‘You-have-to-be-out-of-your-head-on-acid-who-do-you-think-
I-am?’ look on my face. His face just fell.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“No, mate, can’t say I do.”

He looked crestfallen.

“Remind me.” I closed my eyes and leaned back on the chair.

“Okay.” He sighed. “Okay, right... Summer 2005. You and my brother were away camping. While you
were asleep, I hung Blair Witch stickmen round your tent?”

I opened one eye. “Astaway Kavatowski?”

“No, he helped.”

A small, sly grin spread across my face.

“Phoenix Dylanger.”

“Yes!” He let out a small squeak and launched himself at me.

“I knew you looked like a Dylanger!” I told the top of his fluffy black head.

“Helaynia, I’m so pleased to see you! I couldn’t believe it when Rowan dragged you in last night!” He
untangled himself from me and looked up to meet my eyes. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, I’m fine. Nixy, get off me please, I think you may have crushed my spleen.”

“Sorry” He jumped back onto his own seat, flipping stray strands of hair out of his face, still looking
eager. He reminded me of a puppy on a caffeine high. Not that I’d ever seen a puppy with a caffeine
high, but I imagined it would act in a pretty similar way to Phoenix now. Minus the yipping.

“Are you sure he didn’t harm you? I’d be surprised if he did, but you know...”

“Phoenix, shut up.”

Actually, yipping included.

He smiled at me. “Your hair’s getting long,” he said, fingering a strand of my wild black ringlets. I could
see he was enjoying this.

“Yes, I ideally want to grow it past my waist, but, you know,” I shrugged, “hair just can’t behave itself
these days. I really need to wash it actually. I’ll have dreads soon.”

He laughed. “You should meet Rya Angleford. Hers must come down to the floor if she ever lets out of
that bun.” He now switched his manic and slightly scary grin to looking pensive. “Actually, I think you
may have. Who was treating you?”

“I dunno...”

“Describe her.”

“Erm, smallish, slightly taller than me though, not that that’s hard, magenta hair...”

“Yeah, that’s Rya.”

“Really? Funny old bugger, isn’t she?”

“Oh, she’s not that bad really. Comes across stand-offish, you just need to get used to her.”

“I’ll need to give her a lot of getting used to if her split personality is anything to go by.”

There was a bit of silence.

“You’ve gone Goth.” I told him, blatantly changing the subject. Duh! State the obvious, why don’t I?
Come to think of it, his eyes had also changed colour. He had had heterochromia. Their familiar warm
hazel and light blue/lavendery colour had now been replaced with a hot, burning amber. I decided not
to mention this.

“Yeah,” he rubbed a heavily kohl-lined eye with a his black nailed hand, “It’s just an experiment really.
It reflects what I feel.”

“Suits you!”

“Seriously?” He touched one of his high cheekbones softly.

“Course!”

But then, Phoenix was so beautiful. Everything made him look otherworldly.

He smiled at me with his black, pierced lips again, his gaze averting his gaze to the corner of the
doorframe opposite us.

“Phoenix?”

“Yus?”

“Phoenix?” I brushed is hand lightly. He jumped like I’d electrocuted him.

“Yes?”

“S’okay. Phoenix, are you alright? You’re very quiet.”

“Do you even know why we’re here?”

I wanted to say yes, I did, to come up with something completely intelligent and unusual that would
knock him off his feet.

But, come on, I was me.

“Layna, I need to show you something.” His voice was barely audible and, without another word, got
out of his seat.

“Phoenix?” I looked quizzically after him.

“Follow me, Hel.”

“Nix?” Only then did the thought strike me-‘Did he know his little brother, whom he was so close to, is
dead? Has anyone told him? Oh God, Will I have to be that person? Will I have to be the one
responsible for breaking his heart?’

A small, selfish part of me wanted to keep it secret. Keep Feadie mine. Maybe, maybe if no-one else
knew, he’d only be dead to me. If no-one else knew, they wouldn’t try to steal him in death as well as
in life. Phoenix had had him for nineteen years already. Oh shit, this is childish and wrong. Phoenix
loved Feads. They were closer than close. But he has it know something to want to show me
something else, if that makes sense. Unless he just felt like giving me a tour of the hospital.

I got to my feet and tailed him down the winding corridors, now knowing how a rabbit felt and
wondering how our dear friends the lapins didn’t get lost. Maybe they have little balls of string built into
them that prevent them getting lost, or wool or... Shut up brain!

“This may come as a bit of a shock to you” he warned me, squirting some kind of hand sanitizer
onto his outstretched palm. I copied him in doing so, half expecting That Nurse (Rya apparently) to
appear over my shoulder and ask me what I was doing. The heavily alcohol liquid soaked through my
bandage, stinging my cut and turning the gauze an interesting shade of green.

“Hel, what have you done to your hand?”

“It’s nothing.” My hand shot up my now pinstriped sleeve. “Honestly. Just a scratch.”

“Are you sure?” He took my arm and drew back the sleeve and took my bandaged hand in his. “It’s
gone green!”

“No, that’s just the soap. Don’t worry Phoenix.” I felt a tightness in my throat. I have to tell him.
“Phoenix,” began, taking a deep breath, “there’s something you need to know...” I began.

“No-one’s sure what happened yet, they’re appealing for witnesses, anyone that thinks they might
know what happened. I felt so guilty leaving him behind like that.” He interrupted me, head hanging.

Had someone told him about Feadie then? Didn’t I need to? Despite the obvious seriousness of the
situation, I felt a very small thrill that I wouldn’t be responsible for basically destroying his life.

“You know already, don’t you?” I murmured. He looked up at me, suddenly looking much older than
the twenty-something he was. I looked at the door of the ICU Unit.

“Why are we here, Phoe?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down? You’ll probably find this a bit upsetting...”

“Phoenix?”

“Sit down, Layna.”

I looked up at him in a slightly surprised way that I feared made me look like a squirrel. Phoenix never
spoke like that. “Nix, what’s wrong?”

“Can I help you?” Spoke a voice from my shoulder. I looked round and nearly took out a blue haired
woman standing beside me, looking concerned. I dithered and pointed Phoenixwards.

“Ah, Mr Dylanger. You’re here to see Feardorcha I take it.”

Feardorcha. It seemed so weird to hear him called by his real name. Feadie has always been Feadie
to me. But he was here?

Of course.

The Chapel of Rest.

Her voice softened instantly. “You can go through. She nodded at me. “And you.”

“Phoenix smiled half heartedly at her. “Thanks Zillah.”

“Two-one-six-eight.” She winked at him.

Phoenix smiled again, a very forced one, this time, popped the code into the door and went through. I
followed suit.

The only time I’ve ever been in a hospital was to watch my grandmother die in front of me. I was ten.
The ward smelt strongly of disinfectant and, for some reason, lemons. I covered my nose with my sleeve to try and block the stench out. “Phoenix, what’s going on?” I asked, through my arm, which, trust me, wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

He stayed silent. Time for drastic action on my part.

“I refuse to move further until I know what’s going on.”

Okay, that’s about as drastic as I get.

He pulled back the curtain on the nearest bed. “Now you do.”