Four Months
Part Eighteen
Joanne wasn't sure of how she had gotten there, but she awoke to find herself in a hard plastic chair in the waiting room of a hospital. She sat up and looked around her. It was late, she could tell that much. The room was quiet, and she saw no one she knew.
"Mom?" she whispered. The only other people in the room were an old woman who was reading a magazine and a nurse behind the desk who was reading something else. Nervously, Joanne stood up and approached the nurse at the desk.
"Excuse me," she asked as politely as possible. She had to stand on tip-toes in order to see over the counter. "Could you tell me where my mother is?"
"Sure, hon," the woman replied. She stood up and walked around to the front of the desk. "Come with me." She snapped a piece of bubble gum between her teeth as she walked.
Joanne followed the nurse down the white, sterile hallways. After what seemed like an eternity of walking, she arrived at a room.
"Here ya are, hun," the woman told her as she opened the door.
Joanne entered the room with a bit of nervousness. She didn't know what she was doing in the hospital -who was sick or hurt. So it was great surprise that caused her to gasp with shock when she saw her brother lying on the bed looking very pale indeed.
"Mom?" she asked.
"What kinda favor?" Mike demanded.
Mari didn't respond with words. Instead she waved her arm in a theatrical display and Mike and Peter both found themselves dressed in black pants and black t-shirts.
"I need you to find out the rightful owner of that stone," she informed them. Mike looked down and noticed he was still holding the object, which by now had stopped glowing.
"Huh?"
"Do you remember the notice that was in the chest with the it?" Mari asked. Mike and Peter both nodded.
"When the owner of the stone reaches the rightful age, it has to be returned to them," Peter recalled.
"But what's the rightful age?" Mike asked.
"And how are we supposed to know who the owner is?" Peter asked.
For an answer, Mari again waved her hand. This time, another piece of paper appeared in Peter's hand.
"I have selected you two because you are the most closely related to the chosen ones. That paper explains what you must do."
"Who are these chosen ones?" Mike spoke up.
"I don't know. I only know that you are the closest to them. That is all." With no other word, she waved her hand again, and Mike and Peter found themselves in the hotel parking lot, still dressed all in black.
"Wait a minute," Mike called out, but there was no response.
Peter and he exchanged glances. "I think we'll need help," both stated in unison.
Nicole looked down at her children. She had convinced Joanne to get some sleep, though after much persuasion. Thomas wasn't looking any better and she was getting worried. She heaved a sigh, wishing she knew how to contact Peter. But she had no idea where he was at the moment, and she had no other way of contacting him. If only Davy was here. But Davy was with Peter, wherever that was supposed to be.
Last night had been the last concert, she remembered, but that didn't mean they'd be home right away. It could be a few more days. She looked down at Thomas again and swallowed back tears. She hadn't been alone in a long while; now was the last time she wanted to be separated from Peter.
Davy dragged himself out of bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. A glance at the clock told him it was only nine in the morning. But for some reason there was a persistent knocking at the door.
"What do you want?" he grumbled towards the door as he stumbled across the room.
Micky stood on the other side. "Hey, you gonna eat?" he asked, looking entirely too cheerful for so early in the morning.
"Wha-?"
"Free continental breakfast, man," Micky replied. "It ends in fifteen minutes. You gonna eat or not?"
Davy groaned and nodded. "Yeah, sure," he mumbled. "Breakfast, right." He turned and headed back into the room. Micky followed and sat down on the bed to wait.
"Are you okay?" Micky asked. "You look kinda out of it today."
"Yeah," Davy replied as he buried his head in his suitcase searching for a pair of pants. "Just tired."
"We got a decent night's sleep," Micky replied logically. "You sure it isn't something more?"
Davy shrugged as he pulled on a pair of pants. He glanced at the shirt he had chosen and tried to decide whether or not to wear it.
"Anything bugging you?"
Davy pulled the shirt over his head, muffling his response. "I don't think so," he answered. He frowned to himself as he turned to examine himself in the mirror. "Maybe subconsciously."
"Subconsciously?" Micky asked.
"Yeah," Davy replied as he ran a comb through his hair. "Maybe there's something subliminally wrong, like with somebody else, and I'm just not sensing it."
Micky looked confused.
"I mean something that I'm sensing but I don't know about," Davy tried to clarify. Micky didn't look any less confused. "Nevah mind," he sighed.
Micky shrugged. "You eating?" he asked for what Davy figured must have been the fifth time in the last five minutes.
"Yeah, I'm coming," Davy replied. He slipped on a pair of shoes and stepped out of the hotel room. "Man, I'm so glad this is over and we can go home," he sighed.
