Jeremy Strovinski stands in the darkened bathroom, staring at the mirror. His hands are on the sink as he requires its solid surface to hold on to. The rest of the room cannot be seen for the thick shadow that inhabits it, but this matters little to the lone occupant. His attention and full interest are directed forward and cannot be averted for anything.
The light coming through the filtered window behind him is just enough that it casts a darkened outline upon the reflecting surface. He doesn't like what he sees. The dark visage scares him, making him shiver. He reaches over and clicks on the light. Now he can see himself clearly, but he still doesn't much care for the person that stares back.
It has been a long, uphill battle against the depression that plagues Jeremy's mind. He cannot even recall a time in which he was not under the thumb of the dreaded and oft misunderstood disease of the brain. All he knows for certain is it all came to a head when he was but ten years old. And what was it that was so calamitous as to send him into so dark a place?
As a child, he would frequent a local canal that has been kept up, even to this day, by the local populace who prefer that such a feature be without the blemish of rubbish. It so happened that on a chilly morning, he walked the path on his way to school and was well past the spot when he heard something that seemed to be calling out to him.
Jeremy stopped dead in his tracks and listened closely. He could indeed hear something, many somethings, but he could not place it, though it felt familiar. He turned about and marched his way back to the open waterway, the surface of which had been frozen by the cold. Near to the riverbank, he found a pillowcase floating just below the ice.
He dipped lower and found that there was something wriggling inside. He knew he had to act or else all would be lost. He quickly looked about his person, but could find no stray implement to enact his plan. Defeated in this endeavor, he turns back around and places his hand on the ice. He pushes it multiple times, but finds no weakness. It is a solid obstacle that lies before him.
Jeremy wrestles with the issue before him and the consequence that will visit him when the voice of those without words call out to him from inside the makeshift sack. He throws all caution to the side, balls up his fist and slams it against the rock-hard sheet. Pain explodes through his hand and it feels as though several bones are broken.
He should have turned away then and there, to find a better option, but it was at this point that the cries grew louder and they were getting more muted with each passing second. He returned to the matter with a resolve that knew no bounds and smashed the ice again. There was no effect, but neither did he give up.
Over and over he smashes his fist and all it seems to do is paint the clear surface red. He could no longer feel his hand and it wasn't cold enough outside to have this effect. But none of that mattered anymore. All he knew, the only thought that burned through his mind is, he was chosen by God to save these unfortunates, else why would he come across them in the first place?
If this crisis of faith was not enough to sway Jeremy's opinion on the situation, he finds at last that his violence has borne fruit in the form of cracks in the hard substance. A miracle, he reasons and throws his full force into it. The ice gives and breaks away in a shower of crimson explosions and is washed away downstream.
Without thinking of himself for even an instant, he throws his unbroken hand into the water, takes up a handful of material and pulls it out. Exhausted, he falls onto his back and allows himself to just breathe. Free of the obstruction, he can clearly hear the sound of kittens mewing from within the confines of the sack.
No sooner does he hear this than he looks over to find several adorable, shaking, tiny cats pass through the opening and into the sunshine. They huddle round his body for the warmth he exudes and take to licking his face. This pleases the boy to no end who realizes now the reason for his sacrifice and he couldn't be happier.
But wait! These stray animals are near to freezing and likely need to see a vet immediately. He rolls over, collects them back into their previous prison and sets off for home with all possible speed. The world is empty save for the youngster who huffs and puffs as he runs with all his might to his house which lies naught but a mile away.
It is only when Jeremy arrives at the front walk that he remembers his parents, Sarah and Larry, are at work, which means no one is home and the door is locked. Having no key of his own, he is effectively locked out of the domicile. He sets himself down on the steps and tries to think. That's when he notices a sound he'd been hearing but ignoring at the same time.
"Mister Satarini," he bursts forth filled with renewed hope as he closes in on the lone man shoveling his walk.
"Hello there Jeremy," the shoveler, one Igor Satarini, addresses his well-acquainted neighbor and sets the shovel in a snowbank. "How have you..." That's when he notices the blood dripping from his right coat sleeve. He drops to a knee and gently takes hold of the appendage. "What have you been doing, my boy? Look what you've done to your hand." He observes the mangled ruin of flesh, but having no medical training has no idea what to do about it.
"That doesn't matter," Jeremy assures him as he unslings the bag and sets it gingerly upon the walk. "We have to get these kittens to the vet, or they could die."
Satarini nods. I understand, but," he starts in and only just acknowledges the sack of kittens.
"Please Mister Satarini," Jeremy cuts him off and maintains eye contact. "If we don't do something, they'll die." He starts to cry.
Satarini could have held his ground against anything, but a child's tears are one of his few weaknesses. "Alright, my boy," he concedes and takes hold of the sack. "Just come along with me."
The two climb into the heavily aged, yet well-cared-for, station wagon and are soon off down the road.
Jeremy huddles up in his seat with the sack receiving as much heat as he can give it, all the while he prays for swiftness and that they aren't too late. They pull into the parking lot of the vet clinic and drive to the front doors. Here they stop and for a moment all the duo can think to do is sit and breathe while their minds collect themselves.
"Let's go," the boy at last says and reaches for the door handle.
"Hold there, my boy," Satarini speaks out as he takes hold of the youth's shoulder. "You'd best leave this to me."
Jeremy means to fight back, but he sees the logic in the kindness of his neighbor. He nods and hands over the sack.
The boy watches from his place as Satarini carefully cradles the bundle and enters the facility thanks to the assistance of a couple leaving with their doberman, and hold the door for him. The grateful man tips his hat, moves inside and up to the receptionist desk. A short exchange is had and an orderly called forward who takes possession of the pillowcase and carries them it into the back.
The unburdened individual takes the time then to fill out some brief paperwork before tipping his hat and leaving. He reenters the vehicle which had been left running for the boy's comfort. "Now then," he says as he looks to his passenger. "Let's get you to the hospital, yes?"
Jeremy looks into the eyes of his benefactor. He very much wants to stay, but the conviction he sees there has him rethinking his position. "Yes sir," he responds with some enthusiasm and sits back in his seat.
The car jumps forward as they leave the lot and proceed with proper speed to the hospital. The boy is admitted without any delay once his injury has been exposed. He is then escorted by a pair of nurses who cut the sleeve off his coat and shirt. They then proceed to gently clean the mangled mess while avoiding any of the more problematic areas and hang an Intravenous bag.
What they can't understand, beyond how a boy his age would have so grievous an injury, is how he is so calm, only wincing every so often from contact to a sensitive area. All the while they bombard him with questions. How it happened? Who is the man that brought him in? Who is the president? Where are his parents? He answers each of them with subtle ease.
"We got the go ahead," one nurse says to the other as she listens to the device clipped to her shoulder. She takes a syringe from a nearby table and slides it into an opening in the plastic line. "This is going to make you sleepy, but it will help with the pain." She depresses the plunger.
Within moments the boy feels himself go lightheaded while an unseen force pulls at his consciousness. The last thing he sees is his mother enter in her nurse's uniform and gather him up as she hugged the stuffing out of him.
Jeremy is left adrift in his induced dreaming state and can't be certain what he see or feels. He just recalls seeing several fluffy heads falling through the air and reaches down where he finds a large ring of metal with a glowing, unbreakable bubble. This he uses to catch each one as they fall while they disappear into the outstretched film.
Each time a fuzzy cranium falls through they transform into a great golden dragon of diminutive size and furry body, but with wings capable of flight. These creatures zip about the enclosure and circle round and round their savior as they cast fire all around in a brilliant shower of spark and flame that dances within the dark.
All at once a strong wind kicks up that simultaneously grounds the avian, long haired creatures and picks up the fire which it drags further into the air. The current created swirls faster and faster drawing with it the flames that continue to burn and indeed intensify. As it is sculpted into a magnificent ball of burning gold that spins above the boy.
Jeremy is lost in the splendor of the giant bauble until this wonder turns to terror as it collapses from its invisible scaffolding. The direction is obvious, but the construct so massive that there is nowhere to run. As such, all he can do is drop to his knees and shield his head from the coming fierceness that will eat away at his body.
He feels the heat as it drops like a lead weight, but is then halted. He dares to look up and finds that his dragons have created a circle from tip of tail to mouth and are supporting the calamitous object from falling any further. Instead, they run along its edge using the spines on their back and wings to cut into it, sending sparks raining down from above that do no harm.
The boy sits up in bed and finds himself in a low lit hospital room with his mother, still in her nurse's uniform. Her body is stretched across his legs while she sits on a chair. He looks to his lap and sees a white sack which turns out to be crumpled bedsheets, but it reminds him of his mission. He crawls out of bed only just waking his exhausted parent.
The door opens. "Guess who's here?" a well-dressed man declares as he bursts into the room. "Oh, Jeremy, you're awake."
"We need to go dad," the newly awakened boy injects as he jumps from the bed.
This sudden violence fully awakens his mother who rises and stretches. "What time is it?" she asks groggily as she spies her husband. "I thought-"
"Mommy! Mommy!" Jeremy excitedly yips as he pulls on her arm while avoiding his bandaged hand. "We have to go! We have to go!"
His mother is rubbing her temples and reaching the end of her newly awakened sanity's tether.
"Hey buddy," his father picks up the ball, as it were, before it can bounce off his wife's head again and scoops up his boy. "Let's get you back to bed."
"No daddy!" Jeremy protests as he wriggles in the strong grip. "We have to see the kittens!"
His father stops. "Kittens? What Kittens?" he inquires before looking to his wife who simply shrugs.
"The ones God sent for me to save," Jeremy paints the briefest of explanations which only educated the already educated on the matter and stops squirming. "The ones I paid a price for." He holds out his hand.
"Is that what happened?" his mother breaks in as she forgets all her weariness. "The nurses were very vague on the matter. They said you kept mumbling something as you fell asleep."
"That's right mommy," Jeremy affirms and gives a nod. "Me and Mister Satarini took them to the vet because they had been in the water."
"Mister Satarini is involved?" his father queries and looks over his shoulder to his mother.
"Yes, he's the one that dropped him off," the off-duty nurse explains to him and gives a nod. "He was willing to wait as long as necessary, but I assured him that would not be necessary. I even offered to pay him for his trouble, but he told me that's just what good neighbors do for each other." She shifts her focus. "But Jeremy, we can't afford a vet bill, we're barely scraping by as it is."
"It's okay mommy," the boy returns and places a hand on both of theirs. "God will provide."
This stymies both of his parents but good. Anytime a situation seemed too far removed for proper remedy they would invoke the name of the lord and leave it all in his hands. All they can do is smile.
"The doctors say he can leave anytime he wakes up," his mother speaks up once she's found her voice and goes into nurse mode as she strips the bed before realizing this isn't her beat, as it were.
"That's a good idea," his father agrees with the action and chokes up on his son's weight which grows the longer he holds him. "Our insurance will only cover a day and the less they have to complain about the better."
So they all go home and thus begins the period of Jeremy learning to do everything with his left hand.
Despite the financial burden placed upon them they still pick up the kittens and pay the bill which Mister Satarini insists on paying half of and will not take no for an answer. And since his parents are required to dip into their meager savings they are quick to cave and accept the serendipitous donation which puts a dent in their debt.
The news, however, is not all good. There were six kittens in total and one of them has already died. It was at the bottom of the bag and so pushed down by its siblings that it choked on the pillowcase's material. As much as it breaks their collective heart to see a dead baby animal, in the back of their mind his parents are slightly relieved that its expiration was not tallied with the bill. A thought they immediately regret, but still harbor.
The staff have saved the body for them to see before it goes into the medical waste, but Jeremy insists on taking it home for a proper burial. The staff concedes when they see the conviction in his eyes and so hand over the bag as well as the carrier with five live, tiny cats inside. Jeremy eagerly takes on both burdens and will not hear of sharing the load.
"God entrusted them to me," the boy declares and looks to his prize.
All of the adults look to each other. They're a bit troubled by his words while still feeling a spark of hope.
"Come on champ," his father pipes up and chokes back a tear as he leads the way. "Let's get these little guys home."
"One moment Misses Strovinski," the head nurse calls to his mother as she recognizes a fellow medical professional by her disheveled uniform.
"Go ahead boys," the beleaguered woman calls out and waves them off. "I'll catch up." The boy and his father comply and she turns around. "Yes?"
"I just wanted to let you know," the head nurse confides with her while looking her dead in the eye. "We did all we could, and though we saved the majority of them, there was still extensive damage done to their tissue and organs from the exposure to the cold."
"You mean..." Misses Strovinski starts before her words fail her and she places a hand over her mouth as a single tear slides from her eye.
"I'm afraid so," the head nurse confirms the unspoken request and gives a grave nod. "You have to prepare your son for the worst." He hands her a small bag of cat food. "Here. We want you to have this, free of charge."
Misses Strovinski would have thanked him had she the voice to do so. Instead, all she can do is nod, turn away and return to her family.
So, the kittens are taken home and a little grave is dug for poor Europa, a name Jeremy insisted on giving before interring the tiny body to the Earth. It is a name he heard before in school, though he can't recall when or when, only that it sounded so pretty he should like to name something the same and this seemed as good a circumstance as any.
He even had names soon chosen for each of the new arrivals which only made his parents' collective heart sink. But they decided the harshness of reality would soon settle in and there was no need to hurry the process. So they indulged in the fantasy and showed nothing but smiles as they shed all their tears in private, alone with one another.
The one with the most energy was given the name Puck, from a cartoon that Jeremy once watched while being unaware that it was an adaptation of William Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream", geared toward children of course. This female loves to romp and play and never seems to tire or want to slow down.
The more affectionate of the surviving five was christened Love-bug, a playful moniker bestowed on the boy by his mother when he was a baby and has since grown out of, but is a perfect fit for the new recipient. It is a label that snugly fits the male who loves nothing more than to climb a person's chest and snuggle up against their neck.
To the climber and daredevil of the group, he bestowed the name Stallone, as he remembered passing a movie poster depicting a muscular man hanging almost upside down with the name from above plastered in big, red letters. And just like his namesake, he could be found hanging by only his front claws while shimmying up the tallest of obstacles.
The more finicky of the sextet was labeled Snicklefritz, not for any particular reason. Jeremy just remembered sitting in a waiting room and a little girl piped up with the name repeatedly and would not be silent, no matter the reward or punishment promised. The cat ended up being a female and the most scared of all of them. If you wanted to pet her you had to hold your hand as far from your body as possible and stay that way for an indeterminable amount of time, and there were no guarantees.
Last of all was the cat who was more like a dog in behavior and thus was saddled with Rex. He didn't follow commands like a proper puppy, but would roll over and play fetch for hours. He also had a cry that was most like a bark and was less inclined to groom himself or use a litter box. Instead, he insisted on using the yard.
Jeremy's parents did all they could to find homes for the kittens, but they could find no one willing who would also pay their share of the bill. In the meantime, they promised their son that he could keep them for the time being. This, of course, overjoyed the youth who spent much of his time playing with the little creatures, but it was not to last.
Within a year the remaining five kittens were deceased. It wasn't anything anyone did or did not do. Quite simply, the continued exposure to the cold during their formative years caused their internal organs to slowly die. This was a massive blow to the boy who had placed his full trust in God and believed that he would be delivered of any sorrow.
He even held onto his faith as they passed on one by one. Snicklefritz was the next to go. They found her stretched out in front of the water bowl. A week passed after the incident and Love-bug followed his sister when he was found behind the armoire during the weekly deep clean of the house.
The longest period that transpired without a death was two months and it was Rex who broke this boundary of time. He was discovered days after his death lying on the grate since that wasn't unusual for him. It wasn't until Puck tried to play with him and he didn't move that a further inspection was called for and the ugly truth revealed.
Jeremy's parents did all they could for their son, but what most bothered them was his unwavering optimism despite all the deaths. They soon learned the truth of his conviction, that so long as one of them remained it meant that his sacrifice was not in vain. For these were gifts given by God and he would not fall back on his unspoken promise.
Unfortunately, Puck was not far behind and Stallone as well. The most vibrant kittens who seemed to have energy for days, laid out as though not a smidge of that youthful vibrancy mattered. Just as cold as their siblings who possessed no such energy in all their days and neither of them would delight another soul as they all shared a growing plot in the backyard.
That was the final straw and Jeremy fell head first into a deep depression that consumed him from the inside out. He no longer tries to even be part of the outside world. He stops trying to excel at school. He only ever eats just enough to stay satisfied while spending most of his time sleeping in his room, in which he draws the curtains so it stays mostly dark.
His parents do all they can, but they are simply out of their depth. They had been advised to have him see a psychiatrist after his encounter with the ice, of which his hand never quite fully healed from, since he likely had mental issues, but there were two factors that kept this from happening within a timely fashion.
The first, they simply did not have the money or insurance to cover a lengthy process or subsequent medication that would be required.
Second, their son simply didn't seem as though he needed any counseling, a matter they would learn is not a good indicator of mental health as those prone to the disease do not usually exhibit symptoms till they are well and truly in its grip.
They make up for this oversight by throwing all the resources at their disposal, including financial, but as with any disease, once it takes hold there is little that can be done to cure it. All the same, what can be done is done and all as well as can be expected for those who have not but the minimalist of access to the medicinal arm of their town, despite the mother being a certified nurse.
All involved did all they could, no one wanted to see this boy suffer any more than he had to and everyone felt he had suffered enough. The issue lay with him being in one of two moods, either inconsolably sad, during which time he spoke only when directly spoken to, or he was a ball of furious anger that broke and smashed everything around him regardless of sentimental attachment and his room soon resembled a cell for its lack of decor.
During his sad times he would mostly mope about and constantly question why he was not strong enough to save the kittens. Why had he not broken the ice sooner? Was he too weak? Should he have left them for the next person who would surely have been far more competent and saved their lives without issue?
Then there was his bouts of anger in which he blamed God and cursed everyone involved for not being better than they were, especially himself. He would cut himself declaring he needed to get rid of the weakness that infested his body. It then became necessary to keep any and all edged instruments from his reach, to the point where even cutlery had to be locked up and kept careful count of.
However, time and therapy in the right balance, along with the optimum medicine has him recovering little by little. After a fashion, he starts to become like his old self again. No longer does he mope so much, or fly into furious anger, nor does he seek to cut himself anymore, so there's no need to keep things away from him and soon the locks, remain open.
But there was one topic that was avoided at all costs and even the professionals were careful to only prod the subject, that of God. Jeremy used to revere God and abide by his word. Everything that happened was part of his plan and we need only follow it to stay righteous and off the devil's path.
At first, that's exactly who the boy blamed for what happened. It was all down to the devil. Lucifer himself was the one who put the kittens in the water and made sure they fell under the ice. They would have been swept away too, but his guardian angel stepped in and brought them that much closer to salvation.
It was, he or she, he never figured out for certain, who showed him the way with little whispers in his ear that eventually alerted him to the plight of the unfortunate creatures. And it was he or she that instilled the necessary strength to see him break the ice and fetch the unfortunates from the freezing waters.
But the narrative changed over time and cemented this new iteration in his mind as the last cat went to its final resting place. Now, it was no longer Satan who put the cats under the water, but the very guardian angel as instructed by God himself. And to what end? To give hope to a boy who knew not he needed any, so it could be taken away.
All involved do what they can to reshape the story that plays on repeat, but no one can break through his stubbornness and his refusal to see it any other light. Even those professionals who are not religiously inclined still feel the need to change the narrative for the sake of the patient and deal with the ickiness later.
But all of that is in the past and since that time Jeremy has accepted the terrible event as is without feeling the need to attaching it to any higher power or authority. With these tools under his belt he is able to turn the tide in the war against his depression, but the enemy is about to launch a new tactic, one he is ill-prepared for.
His vision begins to distort, with shadows given by objects elongating, creating a kind of shadowy prison that makes him feel trapped inside. This is not a good sign and could be just the beginning of far worse if he doesn't step in and do something he will slip that much further back into the void of the illness and that is the last place he wishes to be.
Several shakes of his head allows Jeremy to clear his vision, but he can feel it leaning back to the uncomfortable position. With a hand on the sink, he steadies himself before taking hold and pulling open the mirror. Behind it is the medicine cabinet and he searches its contents for the pharmaceuticals he seeks.
The bottle stands out from the rest as it's the largest medication containing what he considers 'horse pills'. They are the rescue prescription to be used should he start to slip into the old mindset, which he had painstakingly climbed out of. Any further, and he's likely to return to that violent individual who nearly destroyed his life.
With one hand still firmly anchored to the sink, Jeremy takes hold of the container when darkness envelops his vision and he retreats his hand to the sink for leverage. He can see nothing but black outlines ringed in a dull, silver light. Using his intimate knowledge of the room, he reaches out and clicks the lightswitch, but nothing happens. Again and again he flips the switch, but it changes nothing.
He's getting scared and can feel a cold sweat break out all over his skin. The fear has such a hold of him that he can hear his breath as it becomes deeper while panic threatens to cut it off completely. He takes the moment to relax, raise his head and just be for the moment as he opens his eyes and finds them to still be dark.
Relying solely on memory, Jeremy feels his way using only his hands as he identifies the shelf upon which the desired medication sits. He is just reaching for it when a sudden spasm causes him to dislodge the small platform, spilling its contents into the sink below. They clatter all about as they mix with one another to create a mishmesh of spilt content.
Blindly, he forages about the pile in search of his relief, uncaring how much he disrupts the chaotic mess. Then he sees something that takes his entire notice. At the edge of his vision is a slight glint. He takes hold of the object and brings it close to his eye, ignoring entirely the newly formed cut on his thumb. It is all he can see as it seems to give off its own light.
The double-edged razor blade sparkles and like a flashlight, illuminates the darkness. It's a replacement, part of a set designed for the older style of men's shaving tools, that twist at the bottom. It is the kind his father uses. And it's this blade that becomes the only thing he cares about.
He runs his thumb down the sharp edge on purpose this time. He feels nothing, but creates a deeper cut. Blood oozes from the opening and runs down his wrist. He watches the droplets slide down his arm and wonder where they're in such a hurry to get to. It's amusing to say the least.
Sarah had left her house, drove all the way to her destination before remembering the crucial element she required. Her hand dives deep into her purse as a mental flash depicts the edge of the nightstand where the ballet ticket sits. She huffs, excuses herself from the line and heads to her car.
Gina will be sorely disappointed when the curtain rises and her best friend isn't seated in the front row, but she's certain she can make it back just before intermission. Besides which, what choice does she have? It's not as if they're going to let her in without a ticket simply for being friends with a girl in the lineup. Now if she was the headliner…
Traffic is lighter than it had been on the way over and the lights are mostly in Sarah's favor. As such, she is able to cut her driving time by a full fifteen minutes and is soon pulling up to her house and into the driveway which is mercifully clear of any vehicles so she can go right up to the house.
She practically leaps from the car as she brings it to a sudden halt and hurries her way up the rest of the drive. Her high heels click with every step and she struggles against her slinky, evening dress, trying to open her gait so she can extend her stride. Both bathed in green and making up a formal outfit that her body is unfamiliar with.
Sarah quickly unlocks and throws open the front door which she leaves ajar since there are no animals or small children to take advantage of the breach. She flips on the hallway light and takes the stairs as quickly as she can. All the while, her feet scream at her through the heels she's wearing as she wishes women's fashion would focus on comfort in footwear.
Another light and the way is properly illuminated to the bedroom she shares with her husband. She pops inside and her hand comes down with a triumphant smack as she holds aloft the ticket that is her prize. She holds steady as she brings her breath under control when a sudden thump seizes her attention. She slips the ticket into her purse before investigating.
The house is mostly dark, save for the few lights she had employed to navigate the hallway, but there's a light she had not been responsible for. It comes from beneath the communal bathroom door which sits to the other side of the upstairs hall. She takes hold of the handle, swallows at the lump in her throat, and turns it, uncertain of what lay in store.
The purse falls to the floor and is trodden upon for good measure, as Sarah drops to her knees and takes hold of the bleeding arm which oozes life giving blood all over the floor. It's creating a real mess, but household concerns are beyond her notice at this time as she fights to save the life of her son.
"Jeremy! Jeremy, can you hear me?!" the woman in ruined formal attire calls to the body lying there as she pops open her purse, pulls out the penlight and flashes it in his eyes as she holds open his eyelids.
The glazed eyes of the unfortunate simply stare ahead, giving no indication that there is any activity behind the still motion.
Upon the edge of desperation does Sarah stand, ready to fall headfirst into despair. This is her boy and he's standing at death's door. "Jeremy! Oh God, Jeremy!" Is all she can think to cry as her eyes fill with tears and she- Jeremy's mother seizes hold of her meandering thought, wipes the teardrops from her eyes and calls upon her nurse's training which fully kicks into gear.
She surveys the destruction with an immediate scan of the affected limb. She notes a twice cut thumb, one shallow, one deep. Minimal priority. A severe laceration down the right forearm, a deep cut causing copious blood loss. Highest priority. She takes immediate stock of her options and finds all but one useless at this point, that of a tourniquet.
Her hand flashes like lightning as Sarah renders aid to the best of her ability. She unclasps the purely decorative belt from around her waist and tightens it around the right bicep just above the elbow. She cinches down as tight as it will go, but it is simply not enough. Not a problem, as that is only one part of the lifesaving device.
She quickly scans the area and settles for a novelty backscratcher with crude cartoon of a man scratching his butt carved into the wood that is sitting on the edge of the tub. She slides the long, wooden object into the loop she creates by tucking the end of the belt into the tight band, careful to find the strongest point so it is less likely to break.
Tighter and tighter Sarah twists the silly, little itch reliever, until the blood stops flowing, then she secures it so it can't come undone by using the excess of the belt's reserves. She looks at her expensive watch and takes note of the time. Then she reaches into her purse and calls for an ambulance.
Larry has been from one meeting to the next all day, bouncing between so many different conference rooms that he's starting to feel as though they are the only kind of space the company offers anymore. The only thing keeping him going is the complimentary coffee spread, though he has to force himself to stay away from the pastries, which are stale anyway.
He's so sick and tired of the posturing and bowing and scraping all to make those who happen to have a few more initials behind their names feel special, and that the masses of funds that went into each letter was well worth it. But such are the pitfalls of an ad agency that is changing hands and wanting to put on a good show for the new boss.
Larry simply wants to go home and see his family whom he already sees so little of with all the campaigns he's been assigned to head up. No real power mind you, just a high enough position that the ax will not have to fall far if things don't go the way they are meant to, as according to his superiors of which there seem to be more than is necessary.
He's seated uncomfortably in a soft, office chair as he listens to the latest speaker give their personal origin story. It would seem that nearly every middle management officer comes from a squalid upbringing and found their means, the only part of the oration that is unique to each person, and thus the only entertaining bit, to pull themselves up by their bootstraps.
"Man, that bootstrap guy must be making a killing," Larry muses to himself while stifling a smile.
Then something most embarrassing happens. In the middle of the speech, just as the orator is finally getting to the point, someone's phone goes off. The speaker stops mid-sentence and everyone looks one to another to see who's stupid enough not to turn off their phone. The high-pitched chirping continues unabated, but the origin remains a mystery.
Larry looks up and down the table until he realizes everyone is staring at him. It takes a full three seconds for him to realize, he's the guilty party. Completely abashed, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws the noisy distraction before staring at the screen and snapping the device on. Yet another transgression in his world, but you never know when someone really needs to get a hold of you.
The call goes through instantly. "This isn't a good-" he starts to explain when he stops dead and just listens to the words only he can hear. "I'll be right there." He hurries out of the door while seemingly oblivious to those around him and keeps the phone to his ear.
Rain has started to fall, soaking poor Larry as he hustles across the lot to his car, which is in one of the more inconvenient parking places, but can only be expected of a junior executive, a title that sounds far more impressive than the actual power it conveys. As such, he has no choice but to sprint as quickly as his loafers will allow on the slick surface.
Had he been in his proper frame of mind, he would have taken his raincoat, which is hanging in his office, a glorified cubicle, and saved himself the soaking he now endures. As it is, his business suit is not designed to repel water, and instead drinks it, like a sponge. What's more, his shoes are also waterlogged and at any moment it feels as though they could have disintegrated entirely.
Such concerns do not even gain a proper registry with the frantic man who sits down in his little car and cuts right out of the parking lot. Unsurprisingly, traffic is made all the worse by the multitude of falling droplets as the blaze of headlights catch the miniature prisms and bounce the light all over, making it difficult to see, but not impossible.
Despite all this, Larry's foot hardly leaves the accelerator, as he weaves in and out of traffic while the other motorists herald his bravado with screeching horns. He pays little mind to the rude gestures that follow him as the sole occupancy of his mind is in finding the fastest route to the local hospital, a path he is somehow able to find and manages to arrive at the end of in one piece.
He rushes inside where he greets Sarah, his wife. She's standing in the reception area half soaked in a bloodstained, ruined evening gown. The two of them exchange embraces and she quickly brings him up to speed as he strips his outer layers and hangs them on a nearby chair. This displeases the staff that must clean up after him, but his mind cannot even focus on such trivialities.
The wait is unbearable and pulls so heavily on their mental state that they feel as though they might go crazy at any given moment. Neither of the two can sit still for a single instant. They are constantly up and down, pacing and talking and drinking coffee which isn't complimentary but cheap, and they both need something to occupy themselves.
They continue to walk about the waiting room, each of their steps proving more difficult than the last, but absolutely necessary. They are in such a stupor they barely register the cadre of people who waltz in and out of the immediate area, but leave little trace to their existing. It even gets to the point where it feels as though they didn't exist at all and were merely phantoms come to torment them and take up space.
This is their reality, the only one they have, and they must cope with it to the best of their ability while sanity hangs by a single thread that could very easily snap to the tension. This, there only lifeline, would leave them drowning in a sea of doubt that would surely swallow them whole without a thought to-
"Mister and Misses Strovinski," a voice from afar reaches them and collectively they turn to the nurse. "You may now see your son."
Jeremy's eyes open in a world of blaring light that surrounds every inch of him. He slowly comes to the realization that he is in an unfamiliar bed that smells heavily of disinfectant and antiseptic. He then becomes aware of a continuous beeping at a subtle level that can easily be dismissed and as the haze lifts from his eyes, he is able to identify a tube attached to his hand.
From these clues he's able to deduce that he's in a hospital room, as he knows what it feels like having been there many times before. He sits himself up and rubs at the back of his head as he only then becomes aware of someone else in the room. It's a nurse, likely there for suicide watch, and he puts up the book he's reading as he rises.
This confuses Jeremy to no end. Suicide?! He wasn't trying to commit suicide, was he? He searches his memory. He was in the bathroom when he suffered an attack and then, then… He can't recall. The only detail that stands out is that of light and dark water. He knows that in the details lies the truth, it's all just jumbled up. If only-
The door clicks open before him with a sound as heavy as a hammer against a bell. So, forceful is the sound that he has to hold his head. A pair of people who are ringing with fuzziness spring into the room and hug him with all their might as they speak to him with kind, gentle words that they hope will ease his burden.
Through the haze still clouding his eyes, Jeremy stares at the two people, who feel familiar, gathered to one side of his bed. They continue to speak to him, but it sounds as though he's underwater. Not a single word can penetrate the fluid wall that blocks most audibility, even that of the nurse who confers with these strange, no, recognizable if only for the outline, people.
Jeremy feels himself being pulled backward as he slips further and further beneath the rising tide that grows in his head. He should feel terrified, but it feels so warm, so peaceful, how could he possibly deny its welcome embrace? He's losing the fight and he knows it, but it is quickly becoming a conflict he does not wish to win.
The doctors have done all they could, but there's only so much medical science can achieve. His illness is just too strong to contend with, too all encompassing to ever truly gain a lasting victory against. It's just too much to expect of him to want to carry on indefinitely. It simpy isn't fair to ask more of him.
Death, death is the inevitable. One day he will lie his head down for the last time. Why not make that time now? Why not give in to the destiny that awaits all living things? It won't take but to let himself go as though a lead weight and fall backward. This he complies with and can feel the gravity of the situation pull upon him. It is over.
"Come back to us son," Jeremy hears a voice break through the barrier. "We need you." It echoes again and again in his head, though it was spoken only once. "We need you."
This isn't about him anymore. This isn't his story to apply a bitter-sweet ending to. This is about his family, of which he is a part. This about what he would leave behind if he left them for good.
Jeremy feels as though underwater and the weight of it is crushing him. He won't give up! No more pity party, this is about survival. He claws his way through the liquid and gains purchase as he swims against the current which takes every bit of muscle and strength he has at his disposal and even some he never knew he had.
He can feel the weight get smaller and the pull less fierce, while directly above him he can see the surface and freedom. He need only reach out just a bit further than he normally can and he will be free of this living nightmare. Such are the things he assures himself of again and again, but just as before the enemy is clever and employs a new tactic.
All at once a flash of light ahead of him breaks through the water and draws near. Despite being underwater, as it were, Jeremy sheds a few tears. Europa had come back to him and swims before his eyes. No sooner does this occur than Stallone shows up and Rex, while Puck and Love-Bug, finally it is Snicklefritz's turn to make an entrance.
Every one of these cuddly kittens, now grown into fully mature cats, snuggle about his person as they swim up to him and move with the fluidity normally only seen in aquatic creatures. They circle all around the master's person, creating a diverse array of shapes and figures that leave a trail of light behind them which slowly dies away to return to the tepid blue.
Jeremy couldn't have been happier if he tried. This is what he wanted all along. This is what had been denied him. This is… Only then does he notice that he is being drawn closer to the oblivion he fought so hard to break free of. He can't let himself be pulled back, not after fighting so hard to get away.
He looks to each of his phantom pets and gives them a squeeze in turn before pushing away with all his might to the surface that now stands that much further away. He doesn't look back as he hasn't the luxury to do so, but if he had he would have seen each of these, his friends, stop and wave goodbye before turning back to the dark depths where only they provide the light.
The water breaks from around his body and Jeremy feels himself sputtering to catch his breath, which he's able to do by simply relaxing and allowing his lungs to do their job. And as he does so he can feel the block in his ears melt away and slip down his head and neck before evaporating into the ether.
He can now hear the words spoken by the parties concerned to which he smiles. "I'm not going anywhere," he parts his lips and says with a weak voice as he leans into their embrace.
They weep and hold each other tightly. Everything is going to be alright. Because whatever hardships are to come, they would face them together, come hell or high water.