Already having a horrific idea of what this surprise could be, Spencer all but rushed out of his apartment, barely remembering to grab his keys off the kitchen counter. He jumped down the steps two at a time, a loud bang resounding in the apartment complex after each one he made. By the time he made it outside, he was already sweating profusely, letting out long, ragged breaths in a desperate need for air.
Even so, Spencer didn't stop for a second. He raced to his beat-up silver Honda Civic that rested only a few metres away, immediately trying to shove his keys into the car door as his hands shook violently from adrenaline. So lost in thought as he did so, considering every horrific scenario that could await him, he didn't notice the fact that he was not alone, not until a loud, nasally voice rang out from behind him.
"Heyya neighbour! What a fine evening it is, wouldn't you say?"
"Fucking hell!" Spencer shouted in alarm, startled into a near leap as he spun around, coming face to face with the smiling visage of his newest neighbour, Nathaniel.
Nathaniel was a man in his early thirties, with large, round glasses, baggy clothes, slicked-back, black hair, and a posture so poor it was as if he was trying to fold himself in half. It was so bad that despite his staggering height of over six feet, he appeared no taller than Spencer himself, who only stood at around five feet seven inches. He was someone Spencer had talked to only a couple of times in the past few weeks since he moved in, and he wasn't in the mood to increase that number now.
"Hey, Nathaniel. Sorry, but I'm in a bit of a rush right now." He said through clenched teeth as he turned back to his car, hoping Nathaniel would catch the clear dismissal in his tone and actions. Unfortunately, as he finally managed to open the car door, that didn't seem to be the case.
"Oh! I understand, don't you worry. I just wanted to ask about the bin situation. You see, I know we have the public recycling bins around the corner, but they appear to be generic recycling bins, and I was wondering if there were any that were more specific? You know, such as a bin just for cardboard or just for glass, etc."
"I really don't know Nathaniel," Spencer replied with barely concealed annoyance as he climbed into his car. Yet before he could shut the car door, uncaring about how rude he appeared, he noticed that Nathaniel had at some point taken a step forward, occupying and blocking the space needed to close said door.
"I see, that could be an issue. I wonder if I should write a letter to the local council about getting some for the apartments in the neighbourhood? I know Ms Crawley in apartment forty-eight believes we should, as she mentioned how…" He continued to ramble on, either too dense to read social cues or being purposefully obtuse. Either way, with everything that had been going on, Spencer was reaching the end of his tether.
"Nathaniel!" He shouted, interrupting the long-winded and painfully boring story he was being subjected to. "Look, I'm sorry, but I've really got to go. Can we talk about this another time?"
"Hmmm. Are you sure that's really for the best?" Nathaniel suddenly asked, with narrowed eyes, his lips tightly against one another. "I don't mean to pry, but I don't think it's safe for you to be on the road right now in your… condition. Why don't you go back inside and have a drive when you're nice and sober?"
Spencer just stared at Nathaniel in complete bewilderment, too stunned to speak. That was until he finally processed what he had heard, and the last sliver of his patience came to an end. "Fuck it," He muttered.
Instantly, he shut his car door closed with a violent bang, indifferent to the frantic dash Nathaniel had to make to avoid being hit. Without sparing him a second glance, Spencer inserted his keys and brought the car to life. Tires screeched as he reversed out of his parking spot, in such a rush that he clipped one of the surrounding vehicles. However, Spencer didn't care. His only goal as he sped away from Nathanial and the apartment complex was to get to the hospital as quickly as possible, which he promptly did.
What should have been a fifteen-minute journey wound up taking only ten, an achievement only made possible by a string of speeding violations and the red lights he'd blown through. Thankfully, for once, luck seemed to be on his side. Throughout the drive, Spencer saw no sign of the police, allowing him to manic pace all the way to the hospital. Once he arrived, he quickly parked up as close as he could, not giving a shit about how he took over two parking spots, before rushing to the front entrance.
The moment he entered, he was met with a large, white receptionist room, filled to the brim with the sick and injured. At that moment, as he manoeuvred his way past the mass of bodies in his way and headed to the front desk, the sense of foreboding he had constantly been feeling seemed to worsen. He had always hated hospitals. Spencer blamed it on his childhood and the countless times his dad had dragged him to one due to his frequent "accidents". Whenever he was in one, he always became overcome by anxiety and fear–feelings that currently only grew stronger as he started to suspect what the surprise waiting for him was.
By the time he finally reached the front of the line and stood before the young male receptionist at the desk, Spencer found his mouth as dry as sand. He tried to get the words out, to ask what he knew he needed to. Yet no matter how many times he tried, the words just wouldn't form. He was too scared, terrified that he would find his speculation to be true. And so, he simply stood there paralysed as an ice-cold chill overtook him and his stomach began to feel like lead.
"Hello, Sir? Is there something you need?" The receptionist asked cautiously, his eyes drifting towards the security guard a few metres away, who took a couple of steps closer upon noticing Spencer's ragged appearance.
Thankfully, before anything happened, after a few more tense seconds of silence, Spencer managed to find his voice. "Do you have anyone here under the name Gemma Wilson?" He asked in a cracking and quiet voice, finally speaking the name he'd been too afraid to say, terrified it might confirm the worst.
"Hmm, give me one second to check."
Spencer waited in tense silence, his legs feeling like lead and his head pounding so hard it felt like it was going to crack. He wondered what the hell was happening, how his supposedly ordinary day had suddenly turned into this living nightmare. He prayed for this to be all a dream, that he would awaken back home to his daughter safe and well, excited to tell him about her trip to the zoo with Gemma. Sadly, that fragile hope was shattered as the receptionist turned back toward him and spoke the words he had been dreading.
"We do have someone here with that name who just came in a couple of hours ago. Is that who you're looking for?" Spencer just nodded his head mutely, unable to trust his voice to answer.
"Ok, and before I give you her room number, what is your relationship to the patient?"
"I'm her brother-in-law." He managed to utter as the pounding in his head seemed to worsen.
"Ok, she's in room one hundred and twenty-seven. You just need to go down that corridor, then take a left and then a..."
Before the receptionist could even finish giving directions, Spencer was already sprinting down the corridor he'd pointed to. His eyes locked onto the engraved signs lining the walls, informing him where each room was located. He followed along, moving from hallway to hallway in a desperate search for Gemma's room, barging past anybody in his way. The only sound he could hear was that of his laboured breathing and the heavy thumping of his blood. Until finally, he came to a stop, having arrived at room one hundred and twenty-seven.
Spencer stood frozen, eyes transfixed on the wooden door ahead, which looked no different from the hundred he'd just passed. Yet despite its ordinary appearance, as he stared towards it, dread rose like bile in his chest while trepidation and fear assaulted his every nerve. It left him paralysed. No matter how hard he tried to move a shaky leg forward, his body refused to listen, his muscles taut in defiance.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't bear to reveal what he knew was waiting for him on the other side. Because he knew, the moment he did, there would be no turning back. He would be forced to admit that this was his reality, that everything that had happened so far was real, and that was simply a truth he wasn't yet ready to face. Unfortunately for Spencer, it seemed like the choice was out of his hands, as despite his inaction, he watched as the door opened by itself.
"Whoa! Sorry, love, you gave me a bit of a fright. Are you here to see Miss Wilson?" The middle-aged woman who had just opened the door asked.
Spencer didn't respond. He couldn't. His attention was locked on the far bed now visible through the doorway inside the room, where a figure lay, swathed almost entirely in bandages. The figure was so thoroughly concealed that only a couple of inches of skin could still be underneath. Yet even so, at the sight of the long, flowing brown curls which spilt out through the bandages, Spencer instantly knew who it was. Even though he so dearly wished that he didn't.
He stumbled forward towards her, stepping past the woman, who he assumed was some kind of doctor and who thankfully had decided to stay silent. The moment he made it to her bedside, he collapsed upon the wooden seat placed beside her, unable to keep his eyes off her prone and extremely bruised form. There he sat in complete silence as he tried to make some sort of sick sense out of everything that was happening.
"What… What happened?" He finally managed to utter after a minute of silence, doing his best to keep some semblance of control over his emotions. Something he wasn't successful in, if the look of pity directed his way was anything to go by.
The doctor first looked down at her clipboard before responding. "The first responders say she got into a major car accident on Grove Road, resulting in serious damage to her chest, back, neck, as well as particular damage to her cerebral cortex."
"... Is she going to be ok?"
"It's too soon to say." The doctor stated. "Truthfully, she's lucky to have survived. We've been able to stabilise the majority of her condition, but the problem is that the damage done to her brain was extensive. I'm afraid to say it has left her in a comatose state."
Hearing that Spencer had to do a double-take. "Wait, did you just say she's in a coma?"
"...I'm afraid so."
"Do you… Do you have any idea how long before, you know, she wakes up?"
"It's impossible to say." The doctor replied with a shake of her head. "It could be in a few days or in a few decades."
"Then what's the fucking point of you lot if you can't do a bloody thing to save her!" Spencer suddenly yelled as he jumped off the chair and faced the doctor, unable to keep a rein on his rising anger any longer.
Yet in the face of such anger, the nurse showed no reaction as she gazed at the rage and hurt-filled expression of Spencer in sympathy. "I'm truly sorry. I wish there was something we could do, but I'm afraid at this point, it's simply all up to her."
In the face of her serene demeanour, Spencer's anger quickly deflated, leaving him with only his sorrow and exhaustion as he slowly collapsed back onto the chair and turned back to Gemma. "I'm sorry. It's just… It's been a long day." He quietly muttered.
"I understand. I'll give you some time alone." And with that, after flashing a small smile his way, the doctor left the room, leaving Spencer alone with Gemma, accompanied only by the sound of beeping machines and distant voices in the hallway.
For minutes on end, Spencer didn't move, his face impassive and lifeless as he stared vacantly at the peaceful expression worn by Gemma. However, as time slowly dragged on, a crack soon appeared over the expressionless mask he wore. His eyes grew misty, his lips trembled, and his brow quivered as the dam holding back his grief finally burst open. In that instant, the turbulent emotions he had been carrying since he had first received the call from the kidnapper and learnt the fate of his daughter were released.
A strangled cry immediately tore through his throat, while rivers of tears streamed down his oily skin and patchy beard, dripping down onto the baggy hoodie and scuffed pair of jeans he wore. "God, what am I supposed to do?" He whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and raspy.
"I'm sure if it were you or Chloe, you would know what to do. You two were always the smart ones. Even way back when we were kids." Spencer said with a pained smile as he looked at Gemma. "I remember back whenever we got in trouble, you two would always find a way to escape, leaving me to deal with the fallout." At that, he let out a hollow laugh, remembering all the idiotic shit they used to get up to.
Unfortunately, he could only retreat into his memories for so long, a truth he had come to know better than anybody over the past two months. Thoughts of his daughter soon rushed to the forefront of his mind as his hand found its way to his most prized possession, a golden heart pendant that hung from his neck. It was a gift from Chloe many years ago when they had gotten married, something he hadn't taken off once since her sudden passing.
He gripped it tightly in his hand as he thought back to Lily and the call he had received. Questions spiralled through his mind. Was she injured? Had she been fed? Where was she being kept? However, amid the torrent of fears and uncertainties he held, one thought rose above the rest, heavy and unshakeable. It was all his fault.
"If only I had come along like you and Lily wanted." Spencer finally muttered to Gemma after minutes of silence, overwhelmed by guilt and regret. "Maybe I could have done something, stopped all this from happening. If only I weren't such a fucking failure of a father."
At that, Spencer fell silent, the heart-shaped pendant slipping from his fingers as his hands dropped to his knees in hollow despair. However, the silence was short-lived. A violent and raw scream tore from his throat, followed by a heavy bang as he smashed his fist into the wall beside him in a desperate bid to release the frustration, anger and helplessness he currently felt. Alas, all he managed to achieve was sending a cascade of white paint chips to the floor from the fist-sized imprint he left and a throbbing ache which shot up his arm.
"Fuck!" He groaned through clenched teeth, clutching his now bleeding and already bruised left hand.
It was then, as he watched blood slowly drip from his hand onto the marble floor, that for reasons he didn't know, he began to chuckle. He tried to stomp it down, to stifle it, but that only made it stronger, bolstering its volume until it transformed into a manic cackle. Even as tears streamed down his face, he couldn't stop. With his dishevelled appearance, Spencer was sure that if someone saw him, they would think he was insane, something that only made him laugh even harder.
However, eventually, after many minutes, the gravelly laughter he released finally came to an end, leaving Spencer gasping for air, his throat raw and burning. Yet, even though the laughter may have stopped, the tears definitely didn't. They continued to fall just as quickly as when he had started, now joined by a quiet sob that Spencer was unable to muffle, even with his face buried in his hands.
"God. What am I supposed to do?" He quietly muttered, hoping, praying for some kind of answer. An answer he would never receive.