“ that’s very good. that’s it. ” the fact that she can recall ( and recite ) her name is a small comfort: at the very least, she’s mentally present. he turns away briefly, mutters something to one of the nurses dashing past, and then sets about examining her wounds as best he can. the gash on her leg will need stitches, there’s no doubt of that, and it’s likely she’ll need further stitching in half a dozen other places. he can’t see the wound itself, but there’s an alarming amount of blood caked along her jacket and shirt over the left shoulder. as he looks her over, he speaks, keeping his voice carefully level. “ you’re in a hospital, miss davis. my name is dr. henry jekyll — i’ll be taking care of you, all right? just try to breathe, darling. that’s it. can you take your jacket off for me, so i can get a look at that shoulder of yours? ”
she was probably safe. she’s so sure that she is. that she really is safe in a hospital, bleeding but alive. the sounds of the wendigos still echo in her head. it still throbs as she listens to the soft sounds of the hospital. everything is red with blood. she doesn’t know how many of them lived ( she hasn’t seen jess or matt since… since the lodge or the radio tower ). ❛ it’s fine. it doesn’t hurt.❜ her body tenses, a new rush of adrenaline kicking in.❛ the bite isn’t…❜ she trails off, unsure if she even WANTS to finish her sentence. fingers knot together, not moving to touch her jacket ( expose the wound that got a gun to her face ). they won’t believe her anyways. the cops didn’t believe them so why would he ?
