Owen's mood had improved since then, and by the time he was biking home from work, he felt almost as if nothing was wrong.

Almost. The pain of Jessica was still there, yet now it felt dulled, replaced by the determination and courage glowing inside him. A new determination to save Jessica. A new courage to believe that he could.

That was when he received the call.

Owen had begun biking back when the phone buzzed in his pocket, nearly throwing him off-balance. 

In any other circumstances, he would've ignored it, hardly caring about whatever nonsense the telemarketers had scripted. But this time, with Jessica still fresh in his mind, he instantly stopped in his tracks, checking to see who was calling.

Using one arm to make sure the bicycle wouldn't fall over, Owen's mouth twisted in distaste as he watched three words appear over his phone screen, Agarlan Emergency Services. Endless possibilities bombarded him - Jessica was dead, or Jessica was alive and well, Jessica could be saved, or Jessica's future was unsure - and with a touch of impatience, he accepted the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

There was a pause on the other side of the line, and then a calm voice began, "This is Mr. Milano, correct?"

Owen nodded, realized that the caller couldn't see him, and then prayed that nobody was watching as he replied, "Yes, that's me."

The voice paused again, and the fear stirring inside of Owen suddenly began to grow, a wolf that once again began to shake free of its chains. And he fought to restrain it. "We're sorry to inform you, Mr. Milano, that your daughter, Jessica, is..." there was a final pause, causing him to clench his teeth. It wasn't so hard to get on with it! Or did they want him to suffer in agony, waiting for an answer? "...Well, we have both good news and bad news. The good news is that your daughter has stopped with the spasm attacks."

A wave of relief went through Owen. Maybe I was wrong about all of this, then? But fear told him something else. No, there's something else that I haven't heard yet.

"That bad news is that your daughter isn't cured either. Far from cured, actually. The spasms have stopped, but her body temperature and blood pressure is still troublingly high. I think you should go see for yourself, Mr. Milano. Your daughter is in the hospital on Gardermount Street, Room Twenty-Four."

Gears spun in Owen's mind. "I think I'll do that then. Er, thank you." Not waiting for an answer, he hung up, getting back up on his bike.

It seemed he had to take a different route this time, nevertheless still a route that he recognized from before. Either way, they still all followed with the trend of slush-badly maintained and slush-covered paths, with cracks in the sidewalks and more signposts missing than present. 

Agarlan was not all like this. And since the first time Owen had seen the downtown, he knew that it was not a matter of poor economy or interferences that caused the decaying quality of the city, but simply that the government didn't care. Didn't care about anything outside of the downtown, where not a single corner or alleyway would leave a speck of dust. Where parks were perfected even beyond nature's capabilities, while only withering flowers grew elsewhere. Where buildings reached to the clouds, with glowing lights and pompous bulk, while any other building was slowly falling apart and rotting. Where all the talk of Agarlan came from, and where all the tourists went to, oblivious that beyond the facade of the city was a broken place.

See the Colosseum of Nailin, they said! See the Golden Tower, the Shining Fountains! Ignorant families would enter the downtown amazed, and leave without regrets. Perhaps they would even see the Divide, a large forest that separated most of the downtown from the rest of the city, but no further than that. Almost as if the Divide was deliberately positioned there, a mocking message that separated those elite from the common citizens. Or to the eyes of the government, the peasants. If they don't help with the sights, then what good are they doing there? Owen could almost imagine the government thinking such a thing. Yes, everything to benefit them. The sights, the wonders... they aren't for other's enjoyment, are they? No, only a fool would think that. Nobody would be willing to help somebody else without any gain for themselves.

Owen wasn't sure who has was referring to as he locked his bike in front of the hospital. Memories began to course over him - memories of Ben, once again resurfacing, a somber feeling overtaking everything else that he felt. This is where I last saw Ben. He was already dead by then, but I hoped... I prayed that they would find some way to still save him. I hoped - a foolish, pointless hope, a foolish, pointless mistake. Hope led me nowhere, only led to a worse disappointment. A worse defeat.

The two automatic doors sliding open as he walked in, Owen scanned his surroundings. White, chipped walls pointed to a receptionist, a blank expression on her face as she sat behind a wide desk. Fluorescent lights momentarily blinding him as he walked towards her, Owen felt a strange chill go down his spine. As if the ghosts of the dead were watching him in this haunted place, shaming him because of Ben, with Ben himself in the lead of the crowd. Passing an intersection, Owen almost jumped as he saw something pass through the nearby hallway - a little boy, wearing a blue-and-yellow striped shirt and brown shorts. The last thing that Ben wore to the baseball game before he... he... Owen blinked. No, nobody was there. And the last person who would be there was Ben.

"How may I help you today, sir?" Snapping out of his trance, Owen stared at the receptionist in front of him, realizing that he had stopped right in his tracks. That's already twice today that I've looked like an idiot.

"I, ah... I'm looking for Room Twenty-Four."

The receptionist stood up from her chair. "Name, please?"

"Owen Milano."

She clicked her tongue. "Ah, it's you. Follow me." Walking past Owen and her desk, she led him down the hallway that he had been staring at before. "Our doctors and nurses are rather... curious, about your daughter's symptoms, and they've been rather talkative about it too. I say that without any intention of offense, sir." Owen nodded, yet his eyes were fixed on each of the rooms, as if Ben was actually in one of them. No, it's not possible.

But it was the impossibility of it all that truly frightened him. The impossibility, the unexplained, something so unbelievable, yet at the same time, so real in his mind. No.

"...I think the doctors would do a better job at explaining it, though. I couldn't even understand half of what they were saying." The receptionist gave a quick laugh and stopped in front of a room, with the numbers twenty-four marked beside the entrance. "Go on."

Swallowing, Owen forced Ben out of his mind as he walked into the room, where the first thing he noticed was Jessica, lying there on a blue cot with strange machines tied to her. The machines unnerved Owen - watching a jagged line run across a black screen, or a dial that spun feverously to the right. Yet there was nothing worse than seeing Jessica herself, face pale and muscles tensed, as if she was struggling to fight an unbearable, overwhelming pain.

Owen only noticed another man in the corner, seated beside a computer, when the man cleared his throat, looking at him. "I'm assuming that Rylee already told you about your daughter's condition over the phone call?" Owen nodded.

"Don't worry about it. She likes to exaggerate a lot, but usually it's not that bad." The man tried to give a comforting smile, yet Owen could hardly believe it. Then why did you call me here? "I'm assuming that you'd like to hear the details?"

Owen raised an eyebrow. If anything, he would've wished that none of this had ever happened, save having to know why exactly his daughter was suffering the way she was! But now... I suppose it's for the better now, isn't it? Pausing, Owen gave a reluctant nod.

The man momentarily turned to look at his computer again, skimming through the rows and rows of technical jargon that was displayed on the screen. Sighing and adjusting his glasses, he explained, "Your daughter stopped spasming around this morning, gradually. However, her body temperature and blood pressure continues to be rising-" A poor choice of words, Owen thought, "-To the point where if it keeps on going, she'll die. Being overloaded, in a way. Not to mention that the risk of heart attack or stroke is also likely in her present condition."

Owen chewed his lip. "I... I'm assuming you can't cure it at the moment?"

The man nodded, briefly closing his eyes. "I... I'm afraid that all we can do at the moment is hope that she cures on her own. I'm sorry." Ha! He knew just as well as Owen a simple way to cure Jessica with souls. Oh yes, it was expensive and all, yet the scale between money and a life seemed twisted in such a way that Owen hated. You're no different from the others, are you? Well, I suppose I can't blame you either.

After all, who would you be to rebel against human nature?

Walking over to Jessica's bed, Owen ignored the man as he looked at his daughter, a sympathetic feeling washing over him as he studied her never-ceasing expression of agony.

"Jessica..." Owen hesitated, searching for words as his daughter weakly tilted her head to face him. 

"Dad." A pleading look shone in Jessica's eyes. "You... you said that if I rested, then I would be okay, right?"

Owen sighed and lowered his head. "I- You'll be alright either way, Jessica. I promise." A pang of guilt went through him as he saw Jessica's expression shift, from one of fear to confidence. Of trust. I promised. Owen forced himself to smile. "I promise, Jessica."

"I love you, dad." Jessica smiled back, and then winced again as a jolt of pain went through her. Yet past the initial shock, the confidence on her face remained. "It still hurts, dad. It still burns, but... I'll be safe, won't I?"

Owen's smile slipped, but he still nodded. "Yes, you'll be safe. I love you too, Jessica."

Owen began to leave the room when the voice of the man returned, asking, "Uh, you wouldn't mind if I asked you a quick question, would you?"

Turning to look at the man, he gave a hopeless shrug. "Sure."

"This might sound kind of strange, but..." the man glanced at his computer. "...Did you ever use a soul on your daughter? Like, an extra soul?"

Owen flinched, and then hoped that the man didn't notice a moment later. What does he mean by that? He couldn't have possibly known about James, could he? And even if he doesn't, I don't look like the kind that would have an excess soul either, would I? Shaking his head and hoping it came off confidant enough, Owen replied, "No. I wish, though." And I do wish.

The man gave an odd look. "I see. Then... have a nice day, Mr. Milano." 

Owen gave a bitter chuckle and left, only bothering to look back at Jessica one more time before turning away. It was almost adding insult to injury, the way the man said it! Almost as if the entire conversation was all a long insult, mocking him with knowledge that he wish he never knew!

But at least something good came out of it. Perhaps it was only a dead lead, but something told Owen that the man's final question was not something simply out of curiosity.

And now he was curious too.

About James.