The Day Hope was Murdered

8. Homebound

// Chapter 8: Homebound \\

After Amanda asked me about writing on the tissue, I wordlessly handed it to her while she read it over looking up only to ask questions such as 'how do you know Oliver didn't kill Hope?' or 'you were really serious about not taking those pills, huh?'

By this point, we had went over everything and were on the same page. Surprisingly she's on board with my plan of finding Howard.

Amanda came up with that name. Her words after I explained the situation were "how (h)ard can it be to find him?" and thus Howard was born. Needless to say I'm full of relief, especially because I can leave this ominous hospital tomorrow morning.

Life is good. For the first time months, I'm actually happy. Amanda even brought my laptop and we're currently binge watching Netflix. We settled on Pretty Little Liars, because Amanda claims that watching the search for 'A' will help us in our search for Howard. So far, I don't think it'll help much with that, but at least it's taking my mind off of things.

--

I don't even know how many episodes we had watched but at some point in the marathon, I must've dozed off. Looking around the room now, it's abandoned. The only presence in the room besides me are the first rays of the sun of poking through the window. They wrap me in their warmth and for a moment I forget everything. I forget about where I am and how I got here. I forget about what I have set out to do once I leave this ominous hospital room. I don't realize that the stress will crush me as a winepress crushes grapes. I forget about Hope.

And for once, I'm happy. No nevermind, not happy, but something else. I can't put it to words. But I don't have this heavy burden in my chest that I'm doing the wrong thing. I feel nothing besides peace.

I bask in this peace until the sun has completed its journey out of the shadows. It seems as if I too have come out of the shadows, when everything comes back to me.

My obliviousness has subsided and I remember Hope and Howard once again. Thankfully, the peace is still there. To grab onto it before it escapes from me, I reach over to the bedside table for another napkin and start to scrawl.

In the past, I've wondered if I was born for a purpose. I can remember when we went to church, people were always preaching about how everyone has their own purpose given to them by God. The pastor would always say that we were all born on this earth to fulfill something. Whether or not we knew what it was then, God would reveal that something to us at some point. Over the years that we were church-goers there, he would talk about each individual's purpose every so often, and every time he did, he would bring up his story. A drug dealer at the lowest of lows turned to a pastor who founded a successful church. A church that I once called home. Whenever he would preach this, he called on us to seek out our purpose. I searched high and low, but I could never find mine. Consequently, up until now, I just assumed I didn't have one. But after hearing Oliver's story and the news from the doctor, I think I've finally solved the puzzle. I was sent here to avenge Hope.

I stop writing, the clarity of everything smacking me in the face. And I realize . . . I realize that I'm at peace with my decision. There is no doubt in my mind about my purpose. No matter what obstacles come my way, I will solve the mystery of Hope's murder.

Even if doing so kills me.

--

Knock. Knock.

"Come in!" I yell as loud as my voice allows.

The door slowly opens and a head peaks through. A body and feet follow and soon, a lady is standing before my bed. By the white slacks on her, I conclude that she's another nurse. "Hey, honey. How are you feeling?"