The nurse and doctor eyed us carefully, her lips pressed into a thin, uneasy line. They looked like they wanted to say something else, but instead just nodded and scribbled our names on the visitor form. We were led into signing three forms in total and out of the room and into the hallway.
I glanced at Jeremy. He already had one hand resting on his pocket, where the dagger sat ready. His mouth was set, his jaw tight. For once, he wasn't trying to be funny.
"Okay," I whispered, more to myself. "Okay, okay."
The security guard beside us knocked once, leaned forward to press the intercom button just outside the room.
"This is Officer Wendell. I'm here with the acquaintances of the patient, Raphael O. George. Permission to enter?"
The static crackled before a voice replied through the speaker. It was a female nurse. "Permission granted. But keep your visit short. He's stable—but sedated."
Sedated.
That word stuck in my head. With a beep, the door clicked open slowly and the officer urged us into the room and closed the door behind us once we were fully in. My head spun behind as the locks to the doors were activated. "This is shit, men."
Raphael lay on the hospital bed, hooked up to IV lines and a heart monitor that beeped steadily. His arms were strapped down with a tight rope alongside his legs. He wasn't moving only lying down there with his eyes tight shut.
His skin looked paler than usual. Lips dry. There was dried blood under one nostril, and his fingers were twitching, ever so slightly.
Jeremy exhaled shakily. "He's okay…"
But I didn't move forward. Something felt… off.
That wasn't how he breathed. Raphael snored like a dying tractor after a night out. This breathing? It was soft. Too soft. Like he wasn't trying to breathe at all—like his body was doing it without him.
I slowly stepped closer, my heartbeat rising. Jeremy followed, quiet for once.
I leaned in.
"Raphael?" I whispered. "It's us. It's Arthur and Jeremy. Can you hear me?"
No response.
But then—
His eyes fluttered as it normally did when he wakes up from a long tiring night. I took a step back instinctively.
His eyes didn't open fully. Just enough for me to see the whites. Except—they weren't white.
They were red.
Blood-red. And not just the veins. The whole eye.
Jeremy cursed and reached for the dagger, but I grabbed his arm.
"Wait," I hissed. "He's not moving. He's not attacking. Maybe it's a reaction to whatever's happening in his body—maybe we don't need to—" Raphael's head suddenly snapped in our direction.
I jumped back so fast I nearly hit the wall.
His body jerked once, like he'd been shocked, then fell still again.
The machine monitoring his pulse went flat for a second—then spiked back into rhythm.
"Dude," Jeremy muttered, gripping the dagger tight. "He saw us. I swear he saw us."
"I know."
"I have to kill this zomfied Raphael. Raphael is long dead, it's just the crazy virus in his body. Dude, let me do this!"
I didn't stop him this time.
Because part of me… wasn't so sure he was wrong.
Jeremy launched forward, dagger angled just right to hit straight at Raphael's heart. He reached the side of the bed, raised the dagger—his arms tense, ready to drive it down.
Then Raphael's eyes snapped open. Blood-red. Wide. Awake.
Jeremy froze mid-strike.
And then
"Jer?" Raphael croaked, his voice hoarse, disoriented. "What… you doing with that knife?"
The dagger clattered to the tiled floor and Jeremy staggered back as if he'd been the one stabbed. I exhaled so hard I nearly folded over, pressing a hand to my chest.
"Oh thank God," I gasped. "We came to see you, bruh. We thought—dude, we thought you were a zombie or something."
Jeremy let out a weak laugh, but it cracked halfway. "You had red eyes, man. Red freakin' eyes. That's not normal. That's not 'I have a cold' territory. That's '28 Days Later' nightmare fuel."
Raphael blinked slowly, then glanced down at the tight straps around his arms and legs. "Guys… what the hell is going on? Why am I tied to this bed like a psychopath?"
I rubbed a hand down my face. "That's… complicated."
Jeremy crouched to pick up the dagger, tucked it away like he'd just pulled a fire alarm for no reason. "You don't remember anything?"
Raphael closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again—slower this time, the red hue dimming just a bit. "I… remember getting sick. Fever. Headaches. Then my nose started bleeding, and I passed out. Everything after that is fuzzy."
Jeremy and I shared a look.
"You, uh…" I started cautiously. "Bit a nurse, apparently."
"I what?!"
"Just the arm," Jeremy added quickly, holding up his hands. "Didn't break skin. But yeah, they said you went full demon in the ER. Screamed like a banshee and thrashed hard enough to crack a wall."
Raphael's face turned pale for real now. "Holy hell, I did that?"
"You've been on sedation." I said. "But the news is already running with 'unknown virus' theories. There are literally reporters outside right now with microphones talking about possible patient zero. That's you, dude."
Raphael stared at the ceiling, stunned.
Then slowly turned to Jeremy.
"You were really gonna stab me, huh?"
Jeremy looked guilty. "Yeah."
"I hate you."
"That's fair."
"Also… thanks for not stabbing me." Raphael tilted his head to the other side, taking note of the tightly shut window. "Guys… my chest hurts. Like, burns." I turned toward the monitor. The heart rate had started spiking again.
And that red glow was creeping back into his eyes. He began convulsing, his body shaking as he tried to untie himself off the ropes. Jeremy picked up the knife, his eyes showing fear as he looked at me.
Raphael's chest heaved, his breaths turning ragged and shallow. The heart monitor let out a shrill warning beep as his pulse skyrocketed. The red in his eyes wasn't dimming anymore—it was intensifying.
"Arthur!" Jeremy shouted, backing toward me, the knife trembling in his grip. "He's losing it again!"
"What are you waiting for?" I yelled, eyes locked on Raphael's twitching form. "Stab him, Jeremy! Do it before—before he turns!"
"I can't!" Jeremy snapped, shaking his head. "You heard him, man! He was talking! That was Raphael! What if—what if this is just part of the virus messing with him? What if he can still come back?"
The veins in Raphael's arms bulged now, dark and unnatural. His fingers clawed at the restraints, yanking against the thick leather straps with inhuman force. Foam bubbled at the corners of his lips. His eyes—those red, seething eyes—locked onto Jeremy.
Then he spoke again, his voice restrained. "What is happening to me, Arthur?"
My breath caught. My knuckles tightened around the base of the hospital bed as I stepped forward.
"You won't feel any pain again, Raph," I said softly, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. "No zombie afterlife. No soul trapped in some writhing body. We kill you before that happens. It's the only way."
Raphael's body twitched again, jerking hard against the ropes.
"You're not you anymore, bro. You're infected with… whatever the hell this is. Something we don't understand. But it's taking over. Please—just let us end it before it fully does."
His lip trembled. His eyes shimmered, even under the glowing red.
"I can still be healed, right?" he rasped, his voice cracking. "I—I don't want to die. I just started seeing Shelly last week. You know how long I've wanted to ask her out. She said yes, man. She said yes. I can't die now."
He turned to Jeremy, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, Jer. Arthur. You know how much she means to me."
Jeremy froze.
His breathing was sharp and loud.
I saw it in his face—the hesitation. The heartbreak. The fear.
But mostly the guilt.
And I knew what was coming even before he said it.
Jeremy dropped the dagger to the floor with a metallic clatter and took a step back, shaking his head.
"I can't," he said, his voice hollow. "I can't kill Raphael. I just… can't. You do it."
I stared at him like he'd just handed me a live grenade.
"You shithead," I spat. "Give me the knife!"
I bent down, snatched it off the floor, and turned back to Raphael, who was now thrashing so hard the entire bed began to rattle.
I raised the dagger.
His eyes locked on mine.
And then it happened.
A snap from within his chest. His joints popped like popcorn—his elbows contorting, jaw unhinging. A sound like bones breaking in reverse echoed through the room.
"RAPHAEL!" I screamed, rushing forward.
His eyes went wide—and burst.
Splat!
Blood exploded from his sockets like ruptured balloons, spraying the walls, floor, Jeremy—everything.
But not me.
Not a single drop hit me.
Jeremy stumbled back, horror etched into every inch of his face. "Oh my God—"
Raphael's body went limp for a split second.
Then it arched.
A growl erupted from deep inside his throat, as he launched forward but was restrained by the rope. Whatever we were looking at wasn't Raphael anymore!
"I'm sorry."
And then I drove the knife down.
Straight into his heart.
He let out one last sound—half scream, half growl—and then everything went still.
The heart monitor flatlined.
His eyes, those red, glowing eyes, dimmed.
I stood there, still clutching the hilt of the dagger buried in his chest, unable to move.
Jeremy was on the floor, back against the wall, wide-eyed and covered in blood. "You did it…" he whispered. "Jesus, you actually did it."
"May his soul rest in peace..."