Neon is the Colour of Vengeance (Flappers and False Gods)

AWAKENING

Hugo didn’t open his eyes at first when he awoke some time later. A bright light was blaring through his eyelids making them glow orange. What had happened? Where was he? And then he remembered. The memories of the limo crash came back to him along with the memories of why he had done it.

Hugo swallowed hard as he peeled his eyes open and took in his surroundings. He was in a medical centre and an expensive one at that. Medicorumn, if he was not much mistaken. Everything was white, from his bed sheets to the walls and the monitors that were taking his vitals. His right leg felt heavy. He pulled back the covers and saw it was encased in a white cast, ankle to groin.

“Damn,” he muttered.

“If you ask me, you got off lightly.”

Hugo nearly jumped out of his skin. Instinctively, he reached for his gun, but he wasn’t wearing a holster under his hospital gown. He hadn’t noticed Bobby sitting in a visitors chair next to the bedside cabinet.

“Jack’s dead. Some poor kid found him splattered on the pavement,” Bobby said blandly as they pulled their chair nearer to the bed. “I know it was you.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“You’re right. I don’t get what Jack has to do with any of this, but I know you killed him.”

“I’m tired. I was in a terrible accident and a dear friend fell to his death. Please leave.”

“Samuel came by earlier?—”

“He didn’t smother me in my sleep, so I guess you didn’t tell him.”

“Please don’t make me.” There was a genuine plea in their voice.

“I can’t just let this go.”

“Evan wanted you to leave the life, not be consumed by it. He didn’t want this for you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“It means that I had hope and now I have nothing.”

Bobby let out a sombre sigh, then got to their feet. “Sam’s paying for bone fusion. You’ll be back on your feet in a couple of weeks.” They touched Hugo’s forearm for the briefest of moments, then left.

Hugo watched them go, then, sure they had really gone, reached over to grab the clear plastic bag that sat on his rolling table. He fished around inside it for his jacket. It was bloodstained and dirtied like the rest of his clothes. He quickly found what he was looking for in the breast pocket. His list.

He grabbed a pen from the table and crossed out ‘Jack Li’ before stashing the paper under his pillow.

Two down.