28 Hours 52 Minutes
Wednesday 3:14 p.m.
“Ivy! Ivy!” A faint voice pierces the quietness. “Ivy! Can you hear me? Wake up!”
The voice grows a little more defined, a little closer. There’s a high-pitched, shrill sound far away. It’s getting louder. My eyes are closed, but I sense someone near my face. Distant voices are becoming more distinct.
“Ivy, wake up. Please, wake up,” the voice begs. I know his voice. “Ivy, open your eyes, please, open your eyes.”
Someone’s stroking my forehead. I open my eyes just a sliver, then press them closed. The light is so bright. I squint and blink multiple times. A few minutes pass, and I open my eyes again, just long enough to see an image near my face. It’s a person, but their face is blurry.
“Open your eyes, Ivy. Look at me. It’s Detective Benson. Please open your eyes.”
My lids feel so heavy, but I force them open again. Through small slits, I see brown eyes close to my face, gazing at me. The man’s silver hair falls forward, the waves framing his face. He smiles.
Magically, the face morphs into the image of a man with curly blonde hair; his eyes are no longer soft and brown but small and icy blue. Tears encircle the blue, but he holds them back, drops his chin, and looks away.
A second later, lifting his head, he stares into my eyes, leans forward, and whispers next to my ear. What? What is he saying? The words make no sense.
“It’s not what you think,” he mutters quickly. “She made me.”
I feel like I know this person, but… who is he? I don’t understand. His voice is raspy, quavering; his breathing rapid and shallow. The blue-eyed man vanishes as quickly as he appeared, vaporizing into the white-powdered sky.
“Ivy,” the soft voice says again. “I’m right here. The ambulance is here. We’re going to the hospital.”
Opening my eyes a little more, I see Detective Benson kneeling beside me and realize I’m lying flat on the ground, cold and wet. The detective’s jacket lies over me, its color changing from black to white as the falling snowflakes collect on it. A man with a green hat moves closer, and the white haze of the sky changes to bright blue when he places his umbrella above my upper body, shielding me from the cold snow showering down from the sky.
Faces gather all around, each one looking down at me. Some are fuzzy and contorted, moving in and out. The people close to me look huge, and the ones far away are tiny, like cartoon characters. Am I in a fun house or on some kind of drug? Nothing seems real.
I notice a man at the back of the crowd. He looks familiar—the man with icy blue eyes and a scraggly beard. His eyes dart around like he’s uncomfortable, his movements nervous, jumpy. He’s the same guy who was talking to me a minute ago, whispering in my ear.
Raising my arm, I tell the detective, “Look,” and point to the man, but I can’t get my words out fast enough. The man glances around as he backs up and disappears into the crowd.
“Are we at the carnival?” I ask, confused by the illusions and my impaired perception.
The detective smiles a sigh of relief that I’m awake. “No, kid, we’re not at the carnival. You fell and hit your head again. The ambulance is here. We’re going to the hospital.”
I’m unsure what he’s talking about, but I know he’s caring for me. My attempt to smile at the detective is more of a wince in response to the pain in my head. I hope the detective understands. He’s so sweet; it’s a shame he’s so old.
The EMTs place me on the stretcher and lift me into the ambulance. The detective climbs in with me. My eyes open just enough to see the commotion all around, then close as I focus on Detective Benson’s comforting words, “I’m here, kid. You’ll be okay. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”