Ellis Grant glanced up towards the flickering white light, it had been playing up for days now and the more she looked it, the more it infuriated her. She’d been in the facility for longer than she cared to remember, in fact she had lost count of the number of days long ago. Her days, which were once filled with warm sunlight and the fresh air of the outdoors, were now regimented and gruelling, filled with artificial light and the sterile scent of hospital corridors.
“Elle…” Owen Grady’s voice tore Ellis’ attention from the flickering light and she stared at him blankly. She didn’t speak much these days, in fact she did very little. “Please…” Owen pleaded, “…just try.”
If she could’ve found it in herself, Ellis would have laughed. Try she thought. As though it were that simple. As though she hadn’t been trying since the moment they brought her out of the coma that they had kept her in for weeks. She’d done her trying, and she’d gotten precisely nowhere.
The two of them stared at each other intensely for short while before eventually Owen sighed and stood up, turning away from Ellis and walking towards the window on the opposite side of the room. He left her in her wheelchair at the end of the parallel walking bars that had been her nemesis for the past couple of weeks and looked out towards the entrance gates. When he caught sight of a figure, heading towards the large wrought iron gates Owen smirked. Heading towards the rehabilitation centre was a tall, thin, man with greying hair. He was dressed entirely in black: black shirt, black trousers, black socks, black shoes, and walked with an air of self confidence like nothing Owen had ever seen before. He neared the building, a sarcastic grim reaper, there to pull Ellis from the slump she presently found herself in.