Chapter 13
726 Words
Morning crept slowly into the room, soft and pale, filtering through the half-drawn blinds in thin golden stripes.
Dust motes drifted gently in the light, floating like tiny flecks of snow suspended in the still air. The quiet hum of machines filled the space—steady, unbroken, almost too calm for the weight the room carried.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Each sound echoed with clinical precision, the rhythm of borrowed time.
The hospital room itself was simple: pale walls, a single metal chair pulled close to the bedside, a folded blanket draped over its back from a night someone hadn’t slept in.
The faint scent of antiseptic mixed with the lingering smell of strong coffee that had gone cold hours ago.
Somewhere down the hall, a cart rolled past, its wheels squeaking softly, but inside this room, everything felt suspended—caught between hope and fear, between holding on and letting go.
Marcus sat slumped in the chair beside her bed, elbows on his knees, fingers intertwined so tightly his knuckles were pale. He had been awake long before the sun rose, long before the nurses changed shifts. His eyes—red at the rims and heavy with exhaustion—didn’t drift far from Evelyn’s face.
She lay so still. Too still.
A nurse stepped in, the door sighing quietly behind her. She greeted Marcus with a soft nod before turning toward the monitor. Her brows drew together slightly as she scanned the readings.
“Morning,” Marcus murmured, voice low and hoarse.
“Morning,” she replied gently. “I’m just doing your girlfriend’s early check.”
Her fingers tapped lightly across the machine, adjusting the display. The glow from the monitor reflected on her face—enough for Marcus to notice the way her expression stiffened.
He sat up straighter. “Is something wrong?”
She hesitated, not wanting to alarm him. “Not wrong… just unusual.”
She leaned closer, studying the waveform.
“Her brain activity isn’t flat or fading. It’s…” She paused again, searching for the right word. “…active. Very active.”
Marcus swallowed. “Active is good, right?”
“It can be,” she assured quickly, though the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her. “I’m going to call Dr. Harren to take a look. Don’t worry yet.”
Yet.
The word landed in Marcus’s chest like a stone.
The nurse stepped out, leaving the door slightly open. Marcus looked back at Evelyn, at the stillness of her hands resting atop the blanket. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t respond—not even when he squeezed lightly.
“Evelyn,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”
His voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so selfish. I shouldn’t have—”
But he didn’t finish. The words felt too heavy to drag out.
Footsteps approached. Dr. Harren entered with the nurse beside him, flipping through the printed results she had handed him. His eyes scanned them with quick precision before he looked up at the monitor himself. His frown deepened.
“This isn’t a typical coma pattern,” he muttered.
“What does that mean?” Marcus asked quickly.
Dr. Harren didn’t answer immediately. He adjusted a setting, brought up a different graph. The nurse leaned forward, equally curious.
“Her brain waves are synchronized,” the doctor finally said. “Not random, not chaotic. It’s almost…” He shook his head. “Structured.”
“Structured how?” Marcus asked.
“Like she’s dreaming,” the doctor replied, “but in a way we don’t normally see.
There’s coherence here, and intensity. This shouldn’t be possible in a coma state.”
Marcus’s throat tightened. “Then what is happening?”
“I’m not sure.” Harren straightened. “But I know someone who might be.”
The nurse blinked. “You’re calling him?”
“We don’t have a choice.”
He removed his glasses, letting out a careful breath. “This case fits the… unconventional field he works in.”
Marcus felt a cold ripple move through him.
“Who is he?”
“Dr. Alven Rowe,” the doctor answered. “He specializes in abnormal neural behavior. Fringe phenomena. Rare coma structures. He’s… unconventional.” He gave Marcus a small, apologetic smile. “But if anyone can understand this, it’s him.”
- Writer
