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"DO YOU BELIEVE in God?"
Clara's eyes shot up to meet Nicholas' own. His abrupt questioned shattered the silence immuring the cabin, like a vicious bullet to frail glass. It was the first time he'd managed to speak coherently and faith, amongst all things, was what he asked of. Clara was both taken aback and bewildered. She couldn't help but falter for a fleeting moment, eyes glancing down at her lap as she tried to piece together a sufficient response. In an aimless attempt to lighten the bleak mood, she managed a small, "No need to start with the deathbed talk."
The corners of his solemn pout twitched into an attempted smile, a sharp breath trying its hardest to be a laugh. He shook his head slightly. "No," he weakly replied, "I'm just curious."
"Oh, well...," she trailed off, shoulders slumping with a deep exhale, "I mean, I went to church," she shrugged, "but I hardly ever paid attention. I guess I was just always... indifferent. But, you know, heaven sounds nice; I like the idea of God. I just... I don't know."
A subtle look of acknowledgment crossed his face. "I do," he confirmed with a small nod. "Thinking of heaven makes this whole thing less scary. I think it'll be beautiful. I can't even think of the words to describe the image I have in my head... When you have faith, your dying moments aren't so bad. It's like being a kid on Christmas Eve; you know what's coming, and you can't express how much you're anticipating it."
"You're not dying–"
"I know," he interjected. "Back there, I could have, though. And it would've been okay."
Not really. "I guess so," she replied in spite of her own thoughts. It fell quiet for a moment, her blank eyes finding interest in the wound on his shoulder. "How's your arm?" she asked dismally.
He hesitated, "Uh, I can't really move it much. I blame Lucas for that. Hurts a lot, too, but the headache's a lot worse."
"Yeah," she breathed out, a hand running through her hair as she shifted her weight slightly. "I don't know what he was thinking. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize for what he does," Nicholas asserted sternly, or as firmly as he could attempt. His voice still struggled to maintain itself and his throat felt like solid sandpaper. He could only quietly hope for a recovery. "He's gone now. It's fine."
She nodded after a small moment of stillness. Her thoughts had sailed to some faraway land in which she genuinely wondered where Lucas was, how he was doing– if he was even alive. She abhorred the worry that insidiously envenomed her mind, inch by inch.
She let out a deep sigh, secretly hoping her naive concern would lag behind, and began, "I was planning on going back out there today. I found a pamphlet for a hospital that I don't think is too far from here; I figured I would try to find some stuff there."
