The ambulance had rushed her and her father to the hospital. Mr. Hernandez had fortunately dialed 9-1-1 after the incident. It was an incident which Yvette did not understand in the slightest. She was supposed to be having a normal day. Her daddy was supposed to go to work, and then she was supposed to go back to her room and study her assignment for Mr. Gordon's class. Mommy was supposed to come home and make dinner.
Daddy wasn't supposed to get attacked by a monster. Even though the medics had told her to sit on the sidelines while they tended to her father, she managed to sneak her hand up along his, her tiny hand only obscuring a small section of the man's large hands.
Everything that had happened once they got to the hospital was a blur. Her father was rushed off, she was shuffled into the waiting room, and eventually she had fallen asleep on one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs.
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When she woke up, it was to the gentle nudging of a doctor. At least, he looked like a doctor. A young doctor with glasses, brown hair that was slicked back, and a long white coat. He was carrying a clipboard, with most likely the information on her father's arrival to the hospital. "Come with me..." he said in a well practiced voice.
Groggily, the girl stood herself up and walked next to him. Her deep purple eyes attempted to locate a name badge or something, but she couldn't find any. It wasn't exactly like she would be talking much. Yvette had always been a quiet girl.
The two walked in silence for a while until they were standing outside of a door. The man placed the clipboard on a nail hanging from the door, then gave his full attention to the girl. "You certainly don't talk a lot, child." The doctor laughed what seemed like a kind laugh before he began to explain the situation.
"You arrived here with Alan Weaver to the hospital this afternoon. He was severely injured and unconscious. I take it you are his daughter, since you look too young to be his wife." The man looked to the girl to see if his joke got any sort of reaction.
The girl seemed a bit too somber for her own good. She wasn't looking at him as he delivered all the information. Instead, her eyes were on the ground, as if they were too heavy to life any higher.
"You should stop looking so guilty," the doctor pointed out in a professional tone. "I mean, we all know you were the one who killed him."
For a moment, all the dark haired girl could hear was the sound of her heart beating harshly in her chest. Yet, she ventured to ask "W-what did you say?"
The doctor turned to her with a smile. "Yes, we weren't able to save him. He's behind this door, dead. And it is your fault. He was bleeding profusely from bite marks. And to be rather frank, you didn't do a good job cleaning yourself up, child."
Yvette looked down over her school uniform, and found blood all over it, staining it in patchy splotches of dark red. Her fingers even had blood on them, crusty and dried up under her nails. Had she really done this? Her voice trembled in fear as she confessed "I...I-i d-don't remember..."
This doctor seemed to have an answer for everything. He leaned down so the lenses in his glasses caught a certain glare which made it impossible to see his eyes. "Many killers suffer from temporary amnesia after they've committed the crime. I must confess, this is probably the most messy murder I've seen. You must have been thirsty for blood." Perhaps the most unsettling part about this scenario was the fact the nameless doctor was smiling the whole time.
Her eyes filled up with tears, the water flowing out heavily down her cheeks. In an almost desperate fashion, she tried to claw open the door. "Please, let me see him!" she cried out in her tiny voice.
"You really are a quiet one. My job is to put you down for your crimes, child! Hopefully you will be just as quiet as you are right now." The man quickly pulled out a needle from his pocket and literally jabbed it into the girl's neck. She could feel a strange throbbing sensation in her neck. Probably the liquid inside of the needle pumping into her vein.
The last thing she heard was "...that's a good girl..."
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"...that's a good girl..."
The voice was familiar. As Yvette's indigo eyes fluttered open, she found something very comforting there to greet her. As her eyes adjusted and focused in, she saw the ever gentle features of her mother there to greet her.
The dark haired woman once more repeated "That's a good girl, wake up Yvette."
Even with such a comfort as her mother there, the girl's eyes couldn't help but fill up with tears. "Mommy!" she whimpered out miserably as she wrapped her arms about her mommy's willowy shoulders.
The lady returned the hug, rubbing a hand along her daughter's back. All she could offer in comfort was one sentence. "Everything will be alright."
