Chapter 2—Hospital
"Wake up! Wake up!"
Ryle jolted awake.
A middle-aged woman clad in a shirt dress was clenching his shoulders hard. He noticed his surroundings—he was lying on his bed, drenched in sweat.
Burning pain shot up from his palms. Ryle winced and shot upright.
"How did you get these burns?" The woman yelled as she glanced at Ryle's black, charred, and cracked palms.
'Burns… No.' His eyes locked onto his wounds. 'This happened in the dream… so why are they here?'
His breath hitched as his heart pounded hard.
A chill ran down his spine.
"You were sweating, so I woke you. But this… how did this happen?" His mom's eyes focused on the injuries.
She stopped her hands mid-motion as she instinctively wanted to pull them closer to check.
'No wonder. I really could have died if that demon killed me in the dream,' Ryle mused, recalling his own words.
'I'll die if I die here.' His breath stalled for a moment.
His mom shook his shoulder, but Ryle didn't respond.
"Ryle!" His mom's scream brought some calm. "Don't worry. Mom is with you."
She picked up her phone and dialed. "911!"
"Emergency services. Any problem?"
"Hello…" she said, gripping her forehead.
Ryle tried to clench his fists. 'It hurts,' he grunted, his hands trembling.
His mom patted his shoulder. "It's gonna be fine," she said, putting down her phone.
"Does it hurt?" his mom asked, rushing out of the room.
"It's fine," Ryle replied, placing the backs of his palms on the bed.
His mom returned holding white gauze and tied it loosely around his palms. "Just a few minutes—they'll be here soon," she said, sitting near him.
"You're strong. Mom's here," she added softly, wiping his forehead with another piece of gauze.
Ryle sighed. "I'm not afraid."
"Then why is your heart racing?" she retorted. "Don't forget how you stood up even after breaking your leg," she comforted, hugging him. "It's just another injury, that's all."
'How is this possible? Is it the dream?' she thought. 'I'm hearing about people waking up with injuries… but the government keeps dismissing it.'
She bit her lip. 'Then why does it keep happening?... And to my son.'
Ryle knitted his brows. 'This world isn't normal… something is wrong. And someone is hiding it.'
"It's gonna be just like this," his mom opened a photo on her smartphone.
Ryle glanced at it. A seven-year-old kid was held by a young woman in her arms.
The kid's right leg was bent into an irregular shape, wrapped in bandages, yet the kid just showed a peace sign with a grin.
He'd broken his leg once—and kept moving. Pain never stopped him for long.
---
The ambulance arrived.
Ryle tried to stand up, hearing a faint buzzing in his ears.
His body trembled, and he fell back onto the bed.
'I'm exhausted… I ran in the dream.'
'Even exhaustion carried over… Then what else did?'
"It's okay," his mom encouraged him as she and a young man in a white coat helped him up, one on each side. With their help, he slowly walked out of his house.
He got onto the stretcher, lay down, and the young man pushed it into the ambulance.
---
Within an hour, he was taken to Bright Medcore Hospital, pushed straight to the ICU, and shifted to room 14-C.
His clothes were changed to a hospital uniform. A young nurse entered shortly after.
"It's not just the burns," she said. "Your body is also exhausted."
"80/50," she said. "Do you feel dizzy? Any vision changes?"
"A bit dim, but okay," Ryle replied.
"A little blood, please," the nurse smiled, drawing Ryle's blood with a syringe.
Neither Ryle nor his mom objected.
After the syringe had filled, the nurse glanced at the blood once.
Her grip weakened.
The syringe slipped, hit the ground, and shattered.
Crack!
It splattered blood across the floor.
Ryle's eyes widened.
His blood was glowing purple. Deep and rich. The room felt colder.
Just for a moment—then it faded.
The nurse's gaze was locked on the blood.
"Is something wrong?" Ryle's mom grabbed the nurse's arm. "You're sweating."
The nurse flicked her eyes to the door.
"Those burns are severe," she said softly, stepping back from Ryle's mom. "It shook me when I took a close look. He'll need a skin graft."
'She saw it.' Ryle kept staring at the floor.
'In the dream, my bones were visible,' he thought. A fourth-degree burn in the dream—now third-degree in reality.
"Skin graft? Will it be painful?" his mom questioned.
"Don't worry," the nurse replied hurriedly. "Doctor Jasper will make sure this kid's hands work like before."
She moved quietly toward the door.
"Hope so," his mom nodded, her eyes a little dim.
---
A few minutes later—Thud! Thud!
An old man with long white hair, clean-shaven, clad in a long white coat with sleeves rolled up, entered the room.
Ryle's mom stood up. "Are you—?"
"I'm Doctor Jasper," he said. "And you are?"
"Sera. This is my son, Caden Ryle."
The doctor nodded and glanced at Ryle's hands. "These are some serious burns." He took a file and a pen from the corner table. "How did he get these injuries?"
Both focused on Ryle, who furrowed his brows.
"I went to sleep after studying, like usual, but…" Ryle swallowed as the image of the other him flashed in his vision. His voice stammered. "I met something in a dream and…"
The doctor's eyes widened—then froze. File and pen dropped from his hands.
Thud!
His body stiffened. He stumbled back a step—as if he had heard something he shouldn't have.
The doctor's fingers twitched.
"Dream…"
"A dream injury… again…"
No one spoke. The room fell silent.
Not normal silence. Heavy. Suffocating.