FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The sickly green double-doors of the hospital swung open, clearing a path for the distressed woman. Uma Eriksson moved quickly, dashing through, her heart heavy with worry; it beat harshly, matching the sharp clack of her heels on the smooth floor. Her attire was remarkably smart for the environment she found herself careening through: black suit and matching accessories. She glanced at the many medics tending to patients, escorting them into rooms, checking pulses...

It just had to happen now. Just when things were changing. If there existed powers greater than Man, they played a cruel game.

The emergency department loomed large, wrapping around her and stoking a sense of extreme claustrophobia. Uma turned a corner, looking for the nearest free person to ask for directions. A rushed conversation with the first available friendly face meted out her course of action. Guided by pointed gestures — however fleeting, as their makers were needed elsewhere — she went left...then right...then right again...until the corridor opened up. Among the scrubs of doctors and nurses as they flitted to-and-fro she caught a glimpse of signage telling her this was the place. This was where he'd been sent.

Donnie.

She needed to find her son.

Her dominant hand ached. A cramp had developed. The memory of signing on the dotted line, the eager eyes of the realtor prying open her soul to delve deep into her wants and needs...returned in a wave of cold hard reality, slamming into her chest with the force of a bullet. This was happening, this was real. If only it weren't. If only...

Uma stepped forward, carrying herself into the large open ward. Tapping the shoulder of a nearby male doctor busy washing his hands, she spoke for the first time since her morning meeting.

“I'm looking f-for my son: Donald Eriksson. He's seventeen. He was brought in a few hours ago."

The man gave her a tired look, and grumbled a response: “check with the nurse over there," he nodded in the direction of a young-looking woman with a gaggle of orderlies in tow, “she'll have the patient list for this ward."

“Thank you," she said, her voice faltering.

“Hope he's okay." The doctor offered some parting words of comfort to the concerned mother, but Uma was already leaving him. Seeing that her mind was on other (urgent) things, he knew not to take it as an insult.

She approached the nurse and quizzed her. The brow-beaten woman nodded her head in the direction of her son's hospital bed. A curtain shielded him from prying eyes. “Heard what happened," she said, “nasty business." The nurse softened her tone. “Are you okay?"

“I'm fine. I'll be fine. Need to see him."

“Then let me take you to him." With a glance back at those attending she went to escort the worried mother, silent commands left for her colleagues. Her hands took Uma's and guided her, every step a passing age as they drew closer to her son's bed.

“The police have already been," the nurse said as they walked.

“H-how did it happen!?"

“From what I heard when they took their report...after the attack someone found him. A more decent stranger than the ones who stuck him up — he called the emergency services, then stood by your son's side 'til the ambulance came."

Uma let out a faint cry. The nurse felt her grip tighten. Leading her through a crowd, pushing past countless others, they kept moving. Uma's thoughts were scattered, frayed like the strands of hair she was so very close to ripping out at the roots. No more anchored in calmness. The vision of her boy hurt, and the assholes who did it, burned itself into her mind. Nameless, faceless, violent blurs sweeping over the cowed figure of her son. The worst sort.

“Is he here? The gentleman you mentioned? I'd like to thank him."

“Sorry but he left."

“Oh." Uma pondered the random act of kindness, committed by someone she'll never meet. Despite the gravity of the situation she was grateful some people still acted human.

Is there anyone with him? Anyone at all?

* * *

“Mom's here." Jacob released the green curtain hiding them from the rest of the ward and turned to his siblings. Michael and Cynthia were sitting beside their unconscious brother on wonky chairs that rattled whenever they shifted their weight. They paid him no notice.

Jacob was the oldest of the family's four children. At twenty he was often given the mantle of responsibility when their parents weren't available, and that is exactly what happened today. Much to his siblings' chagrin. The elder Eriksson glimpsed his mother through the falling curtain as it shrouded them from view. She was distraught, and he knew nothing could mend such broken feelings except time. But it was a whole 'nother thing to experience that process first-hand. “Aren't you listening? I said mom's here."

“We know," Michael sternly replied. “Heard it the first time."

Jacob grimaced. “Then won't you get up off your asses and get ready to see her!?"

“Jacob," Cynthia groaned, “leave Mikey alone. It's all happened so fast!" Their brother's attack wasn't even half a day old and emotions were running as high as when the news first reached them. Michael had retreated into his usual quiet self — sullen to outsiders, and no-one bar his close family and friends could read him right. He didn't rise from his chair. Cynthia did, however, picking herself up and brushing her mid-length skirt. She crossed her arms and locked eyes with Jacob.

“Is she far?"

Jacob peeled back the curtain again, scanning for their mom. “She's on her way, nurse is bringing her," he explained, his voice distant. His gaze lingered.

“C'mon Mikey, up you go..." Cynthia came over to her brother and hoisted him upright. Michael grumbled but followed her lead. He was the middle child — at least before Donnie had entered the scene. Despite a fourth sibling, Michael remained the stereotypical in-betweener. The misfit. Not as brash or headstrong as Jacob, nor as intense or outgoing as Cynthia. Then again, Donnie ruined that dynamic with his kind and sweet-natured demeanour, but who could argue with another soft-hearted addition to the 'not-an-asshole' club that very obviously lacked Jacob as a member?

Their differences in personality were matched by physical appearance. Apart from hair and eye colour, which was a fifty-fifty split of their father's brown/brown and mother's blonde/blue; heights, builds, and facial appearances all varied. Jacob was the tall, stocky, athletic one. Broad 'n' brawny. Michael bore a slimmer, swimmer's build. He had a more rounded face than Jacob's. Cynthia was the spitting image of her mother; same blue eyes and blonde hair — a clear marker of the family's Scandinavian heritage — and her figure was less noticeable when it came to curves, unlike Uma. Finally, Donnie rounded out the set with a slender presence and shared his sister's blond hair and blue irises. Skinnier than the rest.

Familial chemistry aside, any chance of seeing their normal everyday interactions was vanishingly small since this morning, when the police came to their home. With mom away, Jacob was left to stomach the news, and arrived at the hospital to see his injured brother before anyone else. Michael and Cynthia both heard it from Jacob after an emotionally wracking phone call. Two hours passed before they could reach their mother.

And speaking of mom: as Uma walked closer and closer she cursed the decision to set her phone to 'silent'.

* * *

Reaching out and swiping open the curtain, Uma was confronted with her son Donnie's unconscious form. Very few marks or bruises advertised his beating. But the wounds were there, deep and scarring — both physically and mentally. And they'd last a while.

She looked around.

Oh thank God they made it!

Jacob, Cynthia, and Michael gathered around him. They stood staring at her forlornly. Uma shared their sadness. This mess couldn't have come at a worst time...preparing to move...stress...anger...problems with her marriage, and the shameful sense of betrayal she carried — both from the actions of her husband, and the sin it led her to...

No! Now is not the time! She breathed, a pregnant pause in the air. Uma remained still, her eyes darting between children. Jacob-Michael-Donnie-Cynthia-Jacob-Donnie-Cynthia-Michael-Donnie...Donnie...

Donnie.

Seeing each of them surrounding their brother with concern written 'cross their faces she felt a swell of pride, that despite their trials as a family they came together when it was most needed.

Everything went quiet. The nurse who had accompanied Uma gave her hand a squeeze, sharing a comforting look with the distressed mother before departing.

“Mom!" Cynthia exclaimed, excitedly leaping into her mother's arms. Jacob and Michael also moved close to greet her properly, albeit less energetically.

“Hey sweetie," Uma said, voice muffled through her daughter's jacket. For better or worse, the girl shared her mom's fashion sense. Uma saw a younger version of herself embracing her. Past meeting the present in a warming embrace. “You okay?" she asked as she broke the hug. It was an important question. Cynthia and Donnie were like two peas in a pod. They did damn near everything together, right down to the same sports and activities. Uma reckoned seeing Donnie in this state must be awfully hard on her.

Cynthia waved away her concern: “I'm fine mom. I'm good."

“That's what I wanna hear," her mother sighed, “we'll get through this—"

“Hey mom," her sons said in unison, their voices competing to be heard. Jacob's carried a dense, macho timbre; while Michael spoke softly and with measured control of his volume, which he did at the risk of being crowded out of their mutual hello.

“Hey boys," she smiled as she left Cynthia to join Michael and Jacob. Their turn for a hug.

“C'mere!" Jacob wrapped his arms around his mother. Unusually stoic for a guy like him. She sensed a shift from his usual pig-headed self. A small change, but it was there. Though he spent his time teasing Michael, annoying the hell out of the poor teen, Donnie was always spared his aggravations. The attack had driven away his usual attitude. Today he was not a jock...almost...

“That nurse take you all the way here? She's kinda pretty."

“Mind outta the gutter son."

“I'm making an innocent observation."

“Quit it Jacob! Our brother's been mugged. Mom doesn't need to hear your shitty opinions on girls." Michael questioned Jacob's sense of time and place with a pointed snarl.

“It's just small talk bro. Just wanna joke around...keep myself sane. Besides, no-one can compete with our lovely mom." Jacob brushed her hair, his gentle touch glancing off her smooth skin. His brother and sister groaned; the guy ran his mouth often, coming out with the stupidest remarks for a given situation. Uma glared at him, her sharp gaze like a pair of venomous daggers piercing his heart. Jacob coughed and stopped talking, aware of his misstep. Unwilling to be the cause of an argument, he simply held her close.

Michael said little else, his time at Donnie's side eating away at him. The events of the day left him sluggish, so it took time to pick himself up and start functioning again. After watching Jacob steal the limelight he dove between them — prying his older brother from their mom. “Dude," he said, “don't squash her like that. Mom's not in a good place right now."

“Sorry Mikey," Jacob grinned, “got lost in my thoughts."

“Well, no-one's buying the 'serious and caring' act are we?" Michael turned to his mother. “Mom—"

“Shush you two. No arguments — I'm having none of it! Now that we've said hello, it's good to see you. All of you..." Uma exhaled, her voice wavering. Clearing her throat, she moved alongside her comatose son. “...here with..."

Donnie.

“...Donnie."

Uma sniffed.

“Who got here first?"

“I did." Jacob drifted back to her side. A keen eye could tell his attention was split, torn between the emotional impact of his brother's current state and casual side-glances at his mother, wondering how she felt — and what could he do to help. His voice similarly danced around, jumping from tone to tone. Despite his apprehensiveness, he resembled a strong pillar the family could rally 'round in the absence of their dad. Standing beside his mom he was a clear foot taller than her, with a broad-chested build like his father used to have, before 'broad-chested' began its slow decline into 'barrel-chested'. Which reminded her...

“Did you call your father?"

“Mikey did," he said, gesturing at his brother, “he rang an hour ago. Dad said he was on his way."

Okay. Good. We can have everybody here. Everybody by his side.

“Thanks."

Uma proceeded to hear the full story from her kids. The doctors said it was a light coma, which came with a decent chance of recovery. When he recovered was another question. Could be days, could be weeks. Apart from the comatose state his physical wounds would heal quickly. She was relieved to hear that — as relieved as one could be right now. Michael and Cynthia butted in to add detail, but Jacob was the one who'd took charge, asking the doctors lots of questions (and relaying them to her now), which left Uma unsure of how she felt. On one hand: he was mature enough to act properly when it was called for; on the other...unwanted memories drowned whatever slight tingle of admiration she felt for him.

“It's done...we're moving, right?"

Uma nodded.

“Better late than never," Michael sighed.

“Maybe we shouldn't have put it off so much..." Cynthia's sentence faded into silence as she stared at the floor.

“Nonono!" Uma hurriedly exclaimed. “Please don't start doubting! That'll only jinx us." She didn't believe that, but it didn't hurt to be superstitious at the time.

Michael and Jacob consoled her while Cynthia sat back down alongside Donnie. The young woman stroked her brother's hair affectionately, and mumbled a faint platitude, unsure if her intended target heard it: “no matter what, mom, we'll be better off. We'll make it." Cynthia felt a tear descend as she watched Donnie breathe, trapped in calm. “This isn't the first trouble we've run into..."

* * *

The day grew late, and there was no sign of their father yet.

Uma asked — respectfully, given the charged emotions in their part of the ward — to be alone with her son. Her children dispersed, leaving her alone with Donnie. The worried mother within her burst through in a fierce gasp. She gripped her son's hand and squeezed, in vain hope of seeing him wake. Uma stopped. Her breathing stabilised and she loosened her grip. Easy, easy, she told herself, slow breathing, keep it slow and calm...

She shut her eyes tightly, then opened them. Donnie lay still.

I wished for things to change. The words came fast. Filling her mind. I wanted to get us out of this town...live in a better neighbourhood. The realtor, the deed, the sale...Uma wished it'd come sooner.

“I think I screwed up my wish. Somehow. Someone out there, someone up above got the order of things mixed up," she chuckled, whispering in a low voice. “But it'll be made right," she declared to Donnie's dormant ears, “I know it. Tomorrow, and the days following, I'll be here for you sweetie!"

Michael, Cynthia, and Jacob were good to stay with him, but Uma knew they couldn't hang around forever. There were jobs and distractions that needed tending to. But she could be here. She could stay with her son and wait. It would be nice to spend time, holding his hand. Waiting for him to heal.

There were things she best kept her distance from. Things that'd happened this past month made her feel responsible — that this was a tiny slice of karma for recent events. No, she corrected herself, then...he...would feel it too. I don't think—

Uma shook her head.

“And you rest, okay? You keep yourself strong..." A mother's love burned in her soul. “I promise life will get better."

She lay her head on his chest. Donnie's breathing was difficult to sense. She felt it though, when she focused on nothing else.

I'll do anything to see you wake up.