Chapter 3: ch2

　　Mrs. Elwood tapped her fingers on the steering wheel anxiously. "Damn road construction! No one can move this evening. I'm afraid it's going to be a long drive." She reached into the pile of odds and ends in the glove compartment and found a few long-shelved candies, "Want a piece?"

　　Jonathan shook his head, "No, I don't think so."

　　Mrs. Elwood smiled faintly and gave him a quick pat on the arm. She was petite, probably only four and a half feet tall, with blonde hair pouring down to her waist. She needed to sit on a cushion to see in front of the steering wheel, and the brakes and throttle had been specially modified to get her foot on the pedal. The first time Jonathan rode in the car she drove, he had been made nervous by these unusual devices. But that was many years ago. Now he knew that Mrs. Elwood drove fast and steady: never underestimate a woman.

　　"I was watching the news before you came," she said, chewing thoughtfully on a toffee, "and a boy your age disappeared on a school excursion. Right there in Trafalgar Square. And in broad daylight! His parents must be frantic."

　　Jonathan grunted. He wanted to turn the radio on, but he knew Mrs. Elwood wanted to talk to him, to try to make him feel better. Whenever his dad was sick, Jonathan always struggled with how he should behave. He feels like everyone is hoping, or even wanting, to see him bawling in anxiety. But AlainStarling has been sick so many times, and waiting in the well-ventilated hospital corridors has taken up so much of Jonathan's time, that he really doesn't have the strength to generate any more feelings. This was just ...... something going on.

　　"How did you find out about Dad?" He asked.

　　"I saw the ambulance drive by my front window and immediately had a bad feeling, so I went out to look and found it parked outside your house." She sighed, "Oh, I'm so ashamed of myself, Jonathan. I thought he was going to be better lately. But he seems to be back to his old self."

 

　　Jonathan shrugged his shoulders. He really didn't know what his dad's "old self" looked like. For as long as he could remember, Alan had been distant and aloof from him. But Jonathan knew that Mrs. Elwood had known Dad for a long time, long enough for all of Dad's other friends to be gone. Maybe he was different then than he is now.

　　But she was right about one thing. Dad had been sick for some time. Everyone explained the cause by different names: neighbors described it as "insanity" or "seizures"; doctors threw out a bunch of long, complicated medical terms to disguise the fact that they didn't know what was wrong; the kids at Jonathan's school simply said he was crazy. The kids at Jonathan's school simply say he's crazy. Jonathan, for his part, prefers to use the word his dad murmured in his ear during one of his rare moments of clarity. Darkness, son. I can feel that darkness ......

　　The car in front of him moved slowly. Mrs. Elwood smiled again and patted Jonathan's arm, "Everything's going to be fine, you know. Want to turn the radio on?"

　　Jonathan nodded, and they didn't speak to each other again until they arrived at the hospital.

　　StChristopher'sHospital sits just west of downtown, near HydePark. A high wall separates it from the outside world, like a medieval monastery. It is intended for the chronically ill and mentally ill: there are no Accident & Emergency wards. Although the narrow corridors also smelled of disinfectant, no different from any other hospital, there was a strange, other-worldly atmosphere about the place. The car just drove through the archway and into the parking lot when Jonathan felt it: the air was full of despair.

 

　　The night flowed down swiftly, and Jonathan felt a few raindrops fall on his head as soon as he stepped out of the car. He walked through the automatic doors and into the hospital. There was no general reception here, not a soul in sight, but Jonathan didn't hesitate, striding into the nearest corridor. Turning left, then right again ...... he walked under a strip of flashing lights and around another cleaner who was waxing the floor. Mrs. Elwood trotted along behind him, trying to catch up.

　　"Are you sure you're going the right way?" She gasped, "We've come a long way."

　　"I'm sure," he replied quietly, not turning around.

　　"Then of course. I'm so sorry. But can we at least walk a little slower? My legs are that much shorter than yours."

　　Jonathan smiled for the first time that day, "No problem, let's go slower."

　　Pushing open the heavy door at the end of the hallway, they were suddenly outside again. It was a small courtyard with benches clustered around a fine wooden pavilion and lush potted greenery dotting the landscape. Jonathan figured the visitors could relax here, but there was no escaping the fact that they were staying in the hospital. Nurses pushed trolleys back and forth, wheels clattering on the uneven ground, and a pair of rubber surgical gloves were dropped on the floor in front of them.

　　In the corner of the courtyard, an intake area was circled with yellow lines on the asphalt. In the distance, out of sight, there is a small and dirty side room. The Victorian brick walls were in tatters, covered with soot and grime, and the rows of windows were all blocked. Water dripped from the gutters and formed a small puddle in the doorway. Dad was now lying in this side room, which Jonathan had last seen more than a year ago.

 

　　Mrs. Elwood looked at Jonathan thoughtfully, "I'd forgotten how awful it is here," she said.

　　"I wish I could forget."

　　"Would you like me to go in first?"

　　Jonathan nodded.

　　She walked over and pushed the door open. The hospital had clearly made an effort to make the interior of the off-site lobby more modern for reception: the desk had a few plastic chairs, a water cooler and a glass fluorescent screen, but the atmosphere was still dismal. There were three people flipping through magazines in silence, sitting there waiting. None of them looked up as Mrs. Elwood walked to the reception desk to speak to the nurse.

　　"Hello, we're here to see Alan Starling."

　　The nurse pouted and checked her folder. "Yes ...... I'm afraid we don't allow visitors into the off-site room at this time. It's a bit ...... messy in there."

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　　"Are you sure about that? We've come a long way from here."

　　"I'm sorry. I can't be of much help."

　　The nurse looked up and suddenly saw Jonathan through the glass, "Oh, it's you."

　　"I wanted to see my dad," he said.

　　The nurse hesitated, weighing the situation. Finally she compromised, "You can go up there, but you only have ten minutes. He's in RoomSeven."

　　The corridor upstairs was colder and more eerie than the reception area. Jonathan stepped into a large ward with a vaulted roof. The lights were on, but the light was too weak to illuminate the room. Shadows raged in the corners of the room and near the high roof. The vast majority of the patients were lying on their respective beds, moaning silently; but there were a few wandering around in smocks. A gnarled man grabbed Jonathan's arm as he walked by and hissed in his ear.

　　"He'll be here as soon as night comes, you know. When no one can see him. When it's dark. He took Griffin last night, but it could have been any one of us. You have to help us!"

　　His eyes were dripping with tears, and his voice was tinged with infinite desperation. Jonathan cautiously broke his grip and took a few steps away, "I'm sorry, I can't help you." The man sobbed and slapped his hands against his chest. Two caretakers ran past Jonathan, trying to stop him. Jonathan led Mrs. Elwood away from the chaos and out of the ward. "Poor people," she said, "it's horrible to go mad like they did."

　　The patients in the next ward were even louder, and shouts and cries echoed throughout the room. Several men standing around were talking vaguely about something in a language Jonathan didn't understand. One man pounded his fists loudly against the whitewashed walls, while another sat on the edge of the bed, swaying his body back and forth and mumbling. Jonathan passed by, he suddenly raised his head, his face written with horror.

　　When entering the long, quiet corridor, Jonathan could not help but sigh with relief. The hospital staff had long known enough about Alan to send him directly to some single room in the most remote part of the hospital. Room number seven was the penultimate room in this corridor. There were pitiful sobs coming from behind the door of the next room, but Alan's room was quiet. Jonathan took a deep breath and walked in.

　　Room seven was small, with only a few pieces of furniture that could not be less. The air smelled musty, and the only source of light was the small lamp on the bedside table. Alan Starling, arms and legs spread out, lying on the bed like a dead body. His skin was pale and glistening with sweat. His face was contorted, his mouth wide open, a thin stream of saliva running down his chin. He ignored his son.

 

　　"All right, Dad," Jonathan said, cheering up. Truthfully, it had been years since his dad's "dark" appearance had scared him. When he was young, there was a time when he was almost afraid to look at Alan, but now he had seen him too many times.

　　"Hello, Alan," Mrs. Elwood said bravely, a little nervous.

　　"How are you, Daddy?" Jonathan pulled a chair up to the bed, "You look fine. Mind you I've seen you look worse." Alan Starling didn't move a muscle. Jonathan wiped the saliva off his face with his sleeve, "It's kind of bad," he muttered in a small voice.

　　"How are you feeling, Alan?" Mrs. Elwood asked.

　　There was no answer. His eyes were glued to the ceiling. It was hard to even tell if he was still breathing.

　　"So, do you want to hear something new about me?" Jonathan tried, "Uh, what have I been doing lately? A few weeks ago, I got suspended. They caught me sitting idly in Regent's Park during school hours. I'm sorry about that. I would have told you, but we rarely talk and it doesn't make much sense. They said they'd kick me out if there was any more trouble, but I don't think they will. Anyway, it's not like the GCSEs are much use."

　　"Jonathan," Mrs. Elwood said gently, "you know, you shouldn't talk about those things at this time, it would just upset Alan."

　　Jonathan did not answer. Perhaps this was the most he had spoken to his father in a year or more. At home, the two of them often avoided each other, only occasionally running into each other in the kitchen or on the stairs. Jonathan believed his dad loved him somewhere deep inside, but he was convinced he didn't know how to express it. At the moment, with Alan lying silently beside him, it was easier to say it instead.

　　"So I'll save them the trouble and quit school voluntarily. Go travel for a while and see the world. I can get a job abroad - at no cost to you. I think it would be good for me. What do you think?"

　　He knew Dad wouldn't say anything, but he had to try. Jonathan and Mrs. Elwood took turns talking to Alan, searching their minds for topics that might elicit a reaction. After a few minutes wasted, the nurse knocked on the door with an apologetic, "I'm sorry, but you really have to go. The patients will be settling in soon."

 

　　They were ready to leave. Seeing that Mrs. Elwood had her back turned, Jonathan gave his dad a curt pat on the arm and hurried out of the ward.

　　As they walked out into the hallway, a scream erupted from room eight.

　　"I felt it!" A dull voice cried, "He's coming to get me!"

　　Jonathan winced and walked down the stairs.

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