Prompt#17: Not Quite Right

Word Count: 745 of 750 MAX
DAY 17 Prompt: Not Quite Right

         The hospital doors barely opened in time as Donnie twisted his torso to fit through at a dead run. His phone started buzzing again but he didn’t bother answering it. He’d see Sharon in a matter of minutes.

         “Oh God, hold the elevator!” he screamed.

         Someone was kind enough to reach out and push on the closing doors. Donnie slid into the elevator, managing to stop before colliding with the few occupants. “Thank you, thank you,” he said to everyone. “Fifth floor please.”

         An old man reached out and steadied Donnie. “I sure hope everything’s okay son, but you need to be careful. You look like you're about to have a heart attack.”

         “I’m good, thanks.” Donnie flashed a tired smile as his breathing slowed and by the time the elevator reached the fifth floor he was calm.

         The doors opened to reveal the same scene he’d been looking at every day for the last two weeks. However, this time when the doors parted, the nurse at the desk looked up and smiled.

         “Mr. Matthews. Congratulations. Your wife is already here.”

         “Thanks Mary. She’s been calling me non stop since Walter woke up.” He headed down the hallway, his legs picking up speed the closer he got to room 232. He opened the door and entered.

         “Don’t turn the lights on.” Sharon stood on the other side of the bed, close to the curtained windows. “He says the light hurts his eyes.”

         Donnie stepped over to his son who was sitting up quietly in bed, staring at him. “He buddy.” He tried to control his voice, emotion threatening to overflow out of him. “How are you feeling?”

         Walter tilted his head, reminding Donnie of a dog hearing a strange noise. He glanced over at Sharon but she wasn’t looking; her eyes were fixed on their son.

         “Hello father.” His words sounded hollow, dry.

         “Jesus Walt, would you like some water or juice or something? You sound parched.”

         “I’m fine father. When can we go home?” Flat and monotone.

         “The doctor has to give his approval Walter.” Sharon’s sudden voice made him jump.

         “Soon enough buddy. Don’t you worry. Hey Sharon. Let’s go get him a glass of water okay?” He reached out and gently took her arm. He pulled it, forcing her towards him. “Come on. We’ll be right back Walt.”

         “Good-bye father.”

         “Hey now, none of that. We’ll be back in just a second.”

         He ushered Sharon out the door and they walked in silence to the end of the hall, away from everyone.

         “What the hell is going on Sharon? Why’s he acting like that?”

         “I don’t know Donnie. Something’s not right. I look at him and I’m scared. He scares me.”

         Donnie reached out, placing his hands on her shoulders. He felt her shaking. “Jesus honey, its okay. He’s going to be okay.”

         “Is he? Is that our Walter in there?”

         Donnie looked over his shoulder at room 232. “Father Harrison said this could happen remember? He said to be prepared for anything if…once he woke up. For Christ’s sake Sharon!” He gave her a little shake. “Walter woke up. That’s a miracle in itself.”

         His wife pulled away, pressing up against the wall. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s Walter.”

         Donnie looked at Sharon with disbelief then anger. “What the hell is wrong with you? That’s our Walter in there!” He turned and stormed back to the room. The first thing he realized was the curtains had been pulled back from the window. The second thing he noticed was the window being open. Then he saw the bed at the same time the smell hit him.

         His son was no longer in bed. There was an indentation indicating the spot where he’d been sitting. Walter had obviously messed the bed, a large wet stain soaked the sheets, black excrement smeared across to the edge where he’d slid over and gotten up.

         “Walter?” He flicked the bathroom light on, expecting to see his son on the toilet, embarrassed. It was unoccupied. “Walter!” He yelled the name as he stumbled to the window. There was no ledge, nothing for his son to climb out onto. He saw more feces on the windowsill. “God, no!”

         He leaned out, tears welling in his eyes as he tried to prepare for the nightmare. But there was nothing. No body, no blood…nothing. He realized Sharon was right, their nightmare hadn’t ended after all.