White Halls

~Nariya Patel~

My steps grow shallow, influenced by the unsettling atmosphere of these halls that gradually encroach upon me. I find myself repeating a mantra in my head, urging, "Keep it together, Nari," as a self-directed scolding. Today marks the long-awaited moment when I will finally be liberated from the oppressive cast encasing my leg, a hindrance to my daily life for the past few weeks. Gratitude overwhelms me at the prospect of its removal.

In contrast to the previous occasion when the cast on my hand was removed, Dr. Jeon had personally visited our home for the procedure. However, this time around, I received word that she is engrossed in a case in another state. Consequently, we are compelled to make our way to the local hospital for the same purpose.

I dig my nails into the insides of my palms, moving with nimble steps down the white halls that seem to close in on me. The walls press in, and the acrid stench of cleaner burns the back of my throat. Indomitable faces of death swirl before my eyes, and a nightmarish memory flashes as I glance into no particular corner—a curled-up girl in the dead of night, her sobs blending with the sorrowful howls of distant dogs. The parent, her pillar of support and only hope, vanished in an instant that fateful night.

Many days prior, it was the same girl who walked these white halls, a forced smile on her face and an artificial glimmer of hope in her heart.

She curled her head between her legs, sobs echoing through the empty halls as she pleaded desperately, addressing anyone who might listen—the doctor, God, even the devil—for a miracle. Yet, in the cold reality, no one could resurrect a soul from the realms of the deceased. Life, so immensely significant for an individual, remained inconsequential in the vast expanse of the universe. As she wept, consumed by hopelessness, sorrow, and resentment, people around her continued in their own little spheres of happiness and miracles.

In the adjacent ward, the joyous cries of a newborn baby girl filled the air, a stark contrast to her mother's grief. Although the girl yearned to curse their happiness, staining it with her sadness, witnessing the miracle of life behind those doors rendered her speechless. Such was the paradoxical cruelty of life that, despite her anguish, she couldn't bring herself to cast shadows on the beauty of new beginnings.

On that day, she clung to a fragile wish, yearning for the possibility that an old life had somehow given rise to a new one—the eternal cycle of souls, the judgment of gods still vivid in her mind from the stories her grandmother had shared. The girl hoped against hope that her mother now resided in a realm adorned with gold and honey, surrounded by goodness. It became her sole source of solace.

Yet, amidst these aspirations, a small ember of resentment flickered in her heart. A resentful thought dared to insinuate that her mother had abandoned her, escaping to a blissful existence in the heavens, leaving her alone in this wretched place. The girl, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, let out a scream of agony, collapsing to the floor. She shook the cold body of her mother, desperate for a response, yearning for a connection that transcended the realms of life and death.

"Nari," a distant voice called out to me. "God shall never abandon you, Nari, for He is not a cruel one. It's us humans who can't fathom His ways." I recalled the words of my mother, some of the last she spoke to me. She hadn't been particularly religious throughout her life, but towards the end, it seemed as if she found solace and meaning in contemplating higher realms, fostering a newfound spiritual connection.

I would often counter with, "If that's true, then why take you away?" The question echoed my lingering sense of loss and the struggle to reconcile the concept of a benevolent deity with the painful reality of her absence.

"Nari, please," the distant voice drew nearer, a gentle coo accompanying fingers that intertwined with mine. Slowly, the world came into focus, and I realized we were already in the doctor's cabin. Seated, I felt Alexie by my side, attempting to soothe my uneven breathing. A peculiar sensation stirred within me, sending goosebumps across my skin. In a moment of disorientation, my hand shot out, grasping the man's face in front of me with unintentional force, still caught in the haze of trauma.

"You won't leave me, will you?" I implored, my frantic gaze locking with his widening eyes. In his silence, my bloodied palm traced a path from his cheek to his neck, leaving a trail of blood in its wake as my claws scratched his skin. His eyes remained fixed on mine, unwavering and unflinching. Startled by my own actions, my haze lifted momentarily, and I retracted my hand apologetically. A frown of worry creased my brows as I beheld the bloodied marks I had etched onto him.

Before I could voice my horror, his hand intercepted mine, guiding it back to the injury on his neck. I flinched, but he maintained a reassuring gaze, his eyes filled with love.

"I will never leave you," he declared, his words resolute. "I will come back fighting, even if I have to face Anubis."

His words left me gaping, each one resonating with sincerity and truth.

A knock disrupted our moment, and he gracefully retreated, concealing the blood on his face and neck with his arm. "I'll be back," he assured before striding out, leaving me alone with the incoming doctor.

"Miss Nariya, let's get started, shall we?" the doctor greeted with a warm smile, signaling the commencement of the cast removal process. Familiar with the procedure from a previous experience, I found myself more at ease this time. I reciprocated the doctor's smile, nodding in acknowledgment.

Guiding me to a seat, the doctor proceeded to prepare the necessary equipment with his assistant. As I sat there, a sudden sting in my palms drew my attention. Opening them, I realized the extent of how I had dug into my own flesh. Now that the initial adrenaline had worn off, my body finally registered the pain. I sighed, focusing on the doctor, reassuring myself that a minor injury like this was no significant obstacle.

~Alexie Ivanov~

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I scolded myself in a hushed tone, quick strides carrying me through the crowded hospital halls. I deftly swiped a medical first aid kit from a nearby cart as I headed towards the washroom. The weight of regret pressed upon me.

I berated myself for not noticing the signs earlier—the way she fidgeted with her fingers during the car ride, the unevenness of her breathing as we exited in the parking lot, her hazed walking as she approached the doctor's office. All the subtle cues were there, but I foolishly dismissed them as mere nervousness. I mean, who enjoys visiting a hospital? The pervasive stench of death and decay, masked by the overpowering scent of disinfectants, made it an inherently unpleasant experience.

Lightly pushing the door open, I took a cautious peek inside. Observing only two people at the water cooler area, I confidently made my way towards the disabled restroom. I acknowledged that using such facilities was not a commendable habit, but given the amount of smeared blood on me, I aimed to avoid unnecessary attention. Besides, this particular spot was typically deserted, even in a hospital setting. Once inside the single-person room, I secured the lock and confronted the dried blood on my face—my Nari's blood.

As we navigated through the white halls, a peculiar figure subtly trailed behind us, unmistakable in his lack of blending with the surroundings. Clad in a janitor's uniform, he persisted in following us from the parking lot to the fifth floor, where the doctor's office awaited. What amused me even more was his lack of foresight; individuals like him rarely bothered with proper research. This hospital, in particular, had separate parking and entrances for its employees, ensuring they remained inconspicuous unless on duty. If they were on duty, they would be stationed in the same area, not wandering aimlessly.

Adding to the comedy, the janitor-wannabe never bothered to enter the supply closet to obtain the accessory he was supposedly there to retrieve. Shaking my head, I couldn't help but think, "Amateurs."

It was too late when I noticed Nari's steel grip on herself, her nails digging into her own flesh, leaving a red streak flowing from it. "Nari," I called out, my worry evident, fearing that she had further harmed herself. However, the glazed look in her eyes told me she was far away, distant from the immediate surroundings. Then, it clicked—this place, this smell, these walls, all held a nightmarish memory for her.

I recalled my assignment in Vietnam when I received the news of Mrs. Patel's passing. It had devastated Mr. Patel, and at that moment, I wished to abandon the mission and console the grieving man. However, a thought, an agreement etched into my memory, had stopped me. What I had forgotten then was that it wasn't just Mr. Patel; his daughter, the lonely girl on the night of her mother's death, was also shattered from within.

I observed her reliving that horrid memory, coaxing her to release her grip. Yet, her sudden shift in demeanor caught me off guard. The obsessive demands she put forth, the intensity in her eyes—it revealed a side of her I had never anticipated. Oh, how wrong I was, and oh, how I reveled in that realization. She even took it a step further, drawing a reaction from me. I couldn't help but enjoy the sensation of her tiny claws on my skin. A dark chuckle escaped my lips as I admired the subtle markings left behind.

Acknowledging my sins towards her were not easily forgiven, I slowly reached out, caressing the burning wound on my skin. Closing my eyes momentarily, I took in a deep breath before delving further, making streaks of blood drip onto the counter. Satisfied with my self-inflicted punishment, I poured disinfectant on it, relishing the sting, and properly bandaged the wound.

Exiting the washroom swiftly, I made my way towards the doctor's office, hoping the pest trailing us would soon disappear. I couldn't deny the lurking knowledge within that both statements—his departure and my reluctance to punish him—would likely prove untrue.