Phantasos by Robert Barnard Page B

paramedic’s advice. Benji sat in the rear of the ambulance, arms crossed, where there was hardly any room for him, and stayed silent until they arrived at the hospital.
    Benji sat outside of Alley’s room, waiting. Waiting for news, waiting for one of Alley’s parents to show up, waiting for anything. It was dreadful—not only because it was painfully boring, but because there was so much uncertainty.
    Lauren appeared at the end of the hallway. Her hair was a mess; her shirt and shorts were still wet with rain.
    “Well?” Benji asked.
    Lauren said, “I finally got through to them. My mom at least. She should be here in a bit.” She plopped down next to Benji, crossed her arms, and let out a long sigh. “Any news?”
    “You’ve only been gone five minutes—”
    “Jesus, Benji, was there any news or not?”
    “No.”
    Another sigh.
    “Not that they’d tell me anything, anyways. Everyone here is treating me like an obstacle they have to step over.”
    “Well, you’re not going anywhere, don’t worry. We’re all Alley has right now.” Lauren twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. “I just wish I knew what happened.”
    “Has anything like this happened to him before?” Benji said.
    “In different variations, of course. Sometimes bleeding, sometimes he just checks out. But never both at once. Never anything as bad as how he looked today.”
    “I should have stayed with him while he played his game,” Benji said.
    “I should have too,” Lauren said, and she shrugged. “How were we supposed to know? He was having a good day. I wonder if one of his new medicines caused it.”
    “He was babbling the whole ride over.”
    “I know.”
    “I’ve never seen him act that way before.”
    “Me neither,” Lauren said. “He wasn’t making any sense.” She curled up into her chair. “‘You’re not him.’ What the hell did he mean by that?”
    “Maybe he thought you were me, or, I don’t know,” Benji said. “Maybe he thought you were the paramedic.”
    “He looked scared, Benji.”
    “I know.”
    “I’ve known him his whole life. Through all of his problems. He’s never looked scared. ”
    “I know,” Benji said.
    “Benji?” Lauren said, weakly.
    “Yeah?”
    “I’m scared, too.”
    “So am I, Lauren. So am I.”
    And he held her hand.
    Less than twenty minutes passed before Mrs. Emerson arrived at the hospital. Benji saw her, a spitting image of Lauren in twenty years, come barreling down the hallway towards Alley’s room, a team of nurses chasing behind her.
    “Where is he, where is he, where is he?” she kept repeating, until finally one nurse managed to grab her by the sleeve.
    Mrs. Emerson recoiled, and slapped the nurse’s hand away. Benji realized she was still wearing her apron from the diner. She looked positively petrified.
    Mrs. Emerson exploded into Alley’s room, Benji, Lauren, and the team of nurse’s following behind her. A doctor stood next to her son’s bedside, filling out a long white form attached to a clipboard. Alley was sitting upright in bed, an IV dangling from his wrist, his face drained of all color, his lips pale and chapped.
    His mother fell beside his bed, wrapped an arm around him, squeezed him tight and kissed him hard on the cheek. “My Alley,” she said softly, “my little Alley, what happened?”
    “I’m fine, mom, really,” Alley said. “I’ve had some pudding, some orange juice. I feel fine. Let’s go home.”
    The doctor looked up from his clipboard, made eye contact with Mrs. Emerson, and shook his head. Not yet.
    “I presume you’re Alec’s mother,” the doctor said, walking to the other side of Alley’s gurney and extending a hand. “My name is Dr. Solomon.”
    Mrs. Emerson shook his hand.
    “Please,” he said. “Can we step outside and talk for a moment?”
    Mrs. Emerson nodded and stepped outside. Benji and Lauren followed, uninvited.
    “Mrs. Emerson, I’ve read your son’s file. I’m all caught up on his