The Call
"Hello?"
Fay was Arthur's twin sister. Her voice was unsteady, breaking under the weight of something Gwen couldn't yet comprehend.
"Gwen… hi? Something terrible just happened. Something bad…" Fay's words came out in fragmented sobs. "Arthur… he's… he was involved in an accident."
Gwen froze mid-breath, the phone almost slipping from her hand. Her chest constricted, her heart stuttering as if it had forgotten how to beat.
"What did you just say?" Her voice shook, barely audible.
"His car… it was hit. We're at the hospital… please… you need to come."
Fay's words tumbled out, raw with panic.
"What hospital?" Gwen asked.
"It's St. Stephen Hospital. Please… come as fast as you can."
The world tipped sideways. Her mind raced, each second stretching painfully long. She could feel her pulse hammering in her ears, could hear only the distant rumble of thunder starting to roll across the sky outside her apartment. Panic curled in her stomach like icy fingers.
Gwen's eyes flicked to the gift box on the table—small, carefully wrapped, waiting for a moment she had almost dared to claim. Now it seemed to mock her, sitting untouched as her heart threatened to shatter.
Gwen's heart pounded so violently she could barely catch her breath. "Luna!" she shouted, her voice hoarse and trembling, slicing through the quiet of the apartment. "Wake up! We have to go… it's Arthur!"
Luna stirred, eyes fluttering open in confusion. Fear immediately spread across her face as she took in Gwen's pale, frantic expression. Words failed her, but she understood instantly.
Rain hissed against the windows, falling in a steady, endless sheet. In a blur of motion, they threw on whatever clothes they could find and rushed out the door, sprinting through the downpour toward the car, hearts hammering, hope flickering like fragile candlelight.
Rain fell in thick, relentless sheets, blurring the streetlights into streaks of gold and silver. Gwen's hands trembled as she tried to fit the key into the ignition, missing twice before finally steadying herself. Her chest felt too tight to breathe.
"Luna…" she whispered, her voice unsteady, as if saying her name might anchor her.
Luna's eyes widened instantly. "What? Gwen… what happened?"
Gwen's chest tightened, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
"Fay… Fay called. She said there was an accident… his car—he's hurt. I—I don't know… I just… we have to get to the hospital now."
Luna's face paled, but she didn't hesitate.
"Move," she said gently, already reaching for the keys.
Gwen slipped out of the driver's seat, her hands falling from the wheel. Luna took her place behind it. Moving as though underwater, Gwen circled the car and sank into the passenger seat, trembling, hollow. Luna's steady hands gripped the wheel, her jaw set, as she glanced at her best friend. "I've got you," she said softly, almost to herself, but Gwen heard the reassurance.
The engine roared to life, tires hissing as they hit the slick asphalt. Gwen's mind spun, a whirlwind of panic and disbelief. Every flash of lightning seared Arthur's face into her vision—his laugh, the brush of his thumb against hers, the warmth of his kiss. Every clap of thunder sent a shiver racing down her spine. She pressed her forehead to the passenger window, trying to keep the rising panic at bay, muttering fragments of his name under her breath.
"Gwen… breathe," Luna said gently, her voice cutting through the storm. "I'm driving. Just hold on."
But holding on felt impossible. Gwen's stomach churned with dread, every heartbeat echoing the insistent drum of the rain. She gripped the edge of her seat as they navigated the slick streets, her thoughts a chaotic storm matching the one outside. The hospital had never felt farther away.
By the time they reached St. Stephen, rain plastered their clothes to their bodies, soaking hair clinging in damp strands to their faces and necks. Water dripped from their sleeves, pooling on the tiled entrance, but they hardly noticed. Every step toward the doors felt urgent, desperate, like running could somehow outrun the dread in Gwen's chest.
The automatic doors slid open, revealing the cold, antiseptic air of the emergency room. It smelled faintly of bleach and medicine—sterile, unyielding. The polished floor reflected the harsh fluorescent lights, and each echo of their shoes sounded impossibly loud in the tense, hushed space.
Near the reception desk, Fay, their younger sister Elaine, and Arthur's parents were gathered. His mother trembled violently in his father's arms, her fingers clutching his shirt as though it could hold back the world's cruelty. Fay's face was pale, eyes rimmed red, mouth pressed into a thin line, and Gwen felt her own chest tighten at the sight.
Fay bolted toward her, arms out—but words failed them both. Gwen could see the same terror mirrored in Fay's wide eyes, the unspoken warning lurking in the quiet: something was terribly, irrevocably wrong.
Gwen moved forward, soaked and shivering, her boots squeaking on the wet floor. The trauma unit doors loomed ahead, cold and unyielding, her stomach twisting with each step.
The double doors swung open, and a doctor in green scrubs stepped through, exhaustion etched into his face. His eyes met hers, already carrying the weight of what he had to say.
"Are you the family of Arthur Scott?" His voice was low, careful.
Arthur's father nodded, trembling.
"I'm so sorry. We did everything we could… but the impact was too severe. His injuries were catastrophic. Arthur Scott… was pronounced dead."
The words hit Gwen like a boulder. The hospital sounds—the alarms, the rolling gurneys—blurred and faded.
CRACK! Thunder shook the windows. Rain hammered against the glass, drumming in time with her racing heartbeat.
Gwen's knees buckled. The world tipped sideways, spinning, cold and merciless. She sank onto the polished hospital floor, shivering, soaked, and trembling, every breath ragged and uneven.
Her hands clawed at her chest as if trying to hold in the pain, but it only spread, uncontainable, raw, and suffocating. The sterile smell of antiseptic burned her senses, the distant hum of monitors and alarms fading into a hollow echo.
She pressed her face to her arms, seeking some anchor in the chaos, but there was none. Arthur… he was gone. The thought hit her with a physical weight, like the storm itself had been funneled into her chest, breaking her from the inside out.
The room blurred, the rain outside intensified, and all Gwen could do was sob, each shuddering breath a desperate, futile attempt to hold onto a world that no longer made sense. She collapsed.
Morning After the Storm
It was already the morning of the next day. Gwen surfaced slowly, the white ceiling of the hospital room swimming into focus. A low, persistent beeping filled the air—the only sound anchoring her to this waking nightmare. Her head throbbed, and a heavy, suffocating blanket of exhaustion weighed down every limb, dragging her into a fragile awareness.
She turned her head slowly, taking in the room. Sitting beside the bed, Luna had dozed off, her hand resting near Gwen's. Her friend's face was etched with worry, exhaustion, and the raw, quiet pain only someone who truly cared could carry.
For a brief, almost cruel moment, Gwen felt disoriented. Why was she here? Had she just been shopping, laughing in the boutique, holding the perfect dress in her hands? Had she fainted from excitement?
Then it all came rushing back—the frantic drive, the pounding rain, the blurred, crowded hospital hallway, the doctor's flat, terrible words, and the sound of thunder outside—Arthur.
Denial shattered completely.
A guttural, wrenching sound tore from her chest. She cried—not gently, but violently, a torrent of grief that wracked her entire body. Luna stirred instantly, rising and pulling Gwen close, holding her as if the strength of her arms could hold back the world's cruelty.
"It wasn't a dream," Gwen choked out, her words raw and ragged against Luna's shoulder. "It was real… Arthur is gone."
Luna said nothing, only tightened her hold, letting the room bear witness to the devastation, the weight of a life suddenly and irrevocably broken.
A soft, deliberate knock came at the door. Elyan, Gwen's older brother, stepped inside, his face lined with worry. He had received a frantic call from Luna during the night and had rushed over immediately. Seeing Gwen asleep and exhausted from shock, he had stayed close, helping the Scott family with the initial arrangements, making sure every detail was handled even as his own chest ached with grief.
"Hey, Gwenie," Elyan said softly, stepping into the room, his eyes wary as he took in her trembling form.
"Big brother," she cried, her voice breaking, tears spilling freely. "Big bro… he's gone. I'll never see him again." She clung to him desperately, shaking, as sobs wracked her body, echoing through the quiet hospital room.
Elyan held her close, pressing a hand to her back, his own body taut with grief.
"I know, Gwen… I know," he murmured, his voice low, careful, like he was trying to shield her from a storm he couldn't stop.
He took a breath, steadying himself. "I need to tell you… about what happened."
She flinched, but didn't pull away. Her whole body was braced for the pain to come.
"I found out how the accident happened," Elyan said quietly, his voice strained. "A car ran a red light and slammed into him."
He swallowed, forcing himself to continue. "He was driving home when it happened. The impact was severe."
His fingers closed gently around hers. "It was over in seconds."
Gwen's knees went weak. Her mouth opened, but no sound came—only the trembling gasp of disbelief.
"Since you've been asleep all night," Elyan continued gently, "I helped the Scotts with the arrangements. The funeral… it's set for three days from now."
"They've already… arranged it?" she whispered, pressing lightly against his chest, eyes wide with disbelief. "It's only been hours! Why… why are they moving so fast?"
Elyan's jaw tightened, a shadow of pain flickering across his face. "I… I assume it's because of the condition of his body," he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. "But quick burials like this… they're normal. It still gives everyone a chance to grieve properly, to come to terms with the reality that Arthur… is gone." A tear slid down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, trying to remain a steady presence for her.
Her sobs intensified, raw, jagged, as the weight of the world pressed down. Her heart ached with the unbearable emptiness left in Arthur's absence, and every thought of the life they had planned together shattered like glass.