The St. Jude's intensive care ward smelled of industrial lavender and death. For Gabriel, it was a cathedral of torture. Every beep of the heart monitor was a needle in his brain; every squeak of a nurse's rubber-soled shoes was a scream.
He lay in the bed, a roadmap of white plaster and metal pins. Leo had done more than break bones; he had dismantled Gabriel's autonomy. His jaw was wired shut, his right leg was suspended in a traction rig, and three of his ribs were held together by surgical tape.
The door creaked open, and the silence he craved was shattered.
"Daddy!"
Lily ran into the room, her pigtails lopsided, her yellow dress a blur of "noisy" color against the clinical white of the ward. Behind her followed Mrs. Gable, the elderly neighbor who smelled of mothballs and confusion.
Lily stopped at the edge of the bed, her eyes wide. She didn't see a monster; she saw her hero. But the hero was covered in bruises the color of rotted plums.
"What happened to you, Gabriel?" Mrs. Gable whispered, her voice trembling. "The police said you fell... but a fall doesn't do this. You look like you were run over by a train."
Gabriel couldn't speak through the wires in his jaw. He could only produce a low, wet gurgle. He looked at Lily, trying to project the "Sweet Father" mask, but the pain was too sharp.
"It's okay, Lily," Mrs. Gable said, pulling the girl back. "The doctors are fixing him. He just needs to be quiet for a while."
Quiet. Gabriel's eyes flared. He looked at his daughter and saw her curiosity turning into fear. She was starting to realize that the world wasn't as silent as he had promised. As they were ushered out, Gabriel felt a cold, hollow vacuum in his chest. He was no longer the protector. He was the victim.
The door hadn't even fully closed before the "Noise" returned.
"Good morning, Sunshine! Or should I say... Mr. Five-Thousand-Dollar-Man?"
Nurse Beatrice burst into the room. she was a hurricane of vibrant energy. She wore bright purple scrubs covered in cartoon sunflowers, and her hair was tied back with a neon-pink scrunchie. She was exactly the kind of woman Gabriel spent his nights "purifying."
"Time for your sponge bath and a fresh bag of IV fluids!" she chirped, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls. "You know, the doctors are calling you a miracle. Most people don't survive a 'fall' from a bridge onto their face. You must have a guardian angel watching over you!"
She laughed—a loud, hearty cackle that made Gabriel's wired jaw ache.
"Why so glum, Chums? I've got a joke for you! What do you call a man with no shins? Tony!"
She doubled over at her own joke, her hand slapping her thigh. Gabriel stared at her, his eyes burning with a dark, concentrated loathing. He was trapped. He couldn't move his arms to reach for her throat; he couldn't speak to tell her to shut up. He was forced to endure her "Sunshine" for three days.
Every time she hummed a pop song while changing his bandages, Gabriel's mind replayed the way he had silenced Ayiesha. He used the memory as a shield, a way to keep his sanity while Beatrice yapped about her boyfriend's truck and her favorite baking shows.
Just wait, Gabriel thought, the "Monster" inside him coiling like a spring. The silence is coming for you, Beatrice. I just need to stand.