The first thing he registered was the strong smell of disinfectants, which was never pleasant.
The second was pain, not agonizing at first, but a kind of slow throbbing ache that got to you, slowly chipping away at your willpower, driving you mad.
When he opened his eyes, Hunter found himself propped upon a white hospital bed like some kind of mannequin on display.
His neck was stiff and sore from the whiplash, a cervical collar making any turn of his head a deliberate effort.
Around his chest was a tight bandage wrapped so tightly that it constricted his breathing.
Each attempt at a deep breath brought about a sharp pain that pricked his senses, 'I guess I broke my rib,' he thought. But that was not all.
Both his legs were suspended in heavy casts, rendering them immobile, and the faint, foggy headache that pulsed behind his eyes made the bright light of the hospital room feel like an assault.
"BUZZ!"
Suddenly the phone on his bedside table rang, alerting him to its presence. He didn't recognize it, but he figured that his assistant had gotten him a new one.
"Argh!" Hunter groaned as the simple act of twisting his torso sent a lightning bolt of pain from his ribs when he tried to reach for it.
As though hearing his cry, a young nurse with a kind, tired smile appeared at the doorway. "Let me get that for you, Mr. Hunter," she said softly while picking up the phone. "Patient Hunter's room... Yes, he's awake, but he's a bit... indisposed. One moment." She held the phone to his ear.
"Hunter?" The voice on the other end was familiar, laced with a mixture of worry and exasperation... It was mostly exasperation.
He'd recognize that disapproving tone anywhere. "Doris," he grunted, his voice rough.
"What in the blue hell happened?" she demanded. "I got a call from the city police saying you got into a car accident!!"
Hunter closed his eyes at those words, the memory a jarring collage of screeching tires, shattering glass, and the sickening crunch of metal, but none of that hurt him more than one thing.
'My Lin Baroga,' Hunter thought, his eyes narrowed to slits at the thought of his vehicle being wrecked.
'I'll make you pay, Carla,' he balled his fist, steadying his breath.
"I'm talking to you. Did you get a stroke or something?" Doris's annoyed voice cut through the other end.
"It's a long story. Not one for the phone," Hunter spoke with a groan, having breathed too deeply.
At the sound of his groan, the tone of Doris's voice reduced, each word laced with worry, "Are you alright? How bad is it?"
"Minor stuff. Whiplash. A few cracks. Nothing that'll keep me down." He spoke, trying to sound dismissive, but a wince betrayed him as he shifted his weight for comfort.
"What I need is for you to work on my discharge. I can't do anything lying here," he added, but immediately felt a chill run down his spine.
There was suddenly a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line; hell, he could practically feel her anger simmering through the phone until.
"Minor?" Doris's voice dropped, losing its calm and becoming louder. "You think broken legs and ribs are fucking minor? Hunter, you absolute fool. Let me tell you what 'minor' looks like in a crash like that. The doctor just read me your report, and all I can see is a list of everything that went right."
She took a sharp breath, her words starting to come faster, sharper, like shards of ice.
"Your ribs broke. Best case. That means your seatbelt fucking worked. If it hadn't, your chest would have slammed into the steering column and your sternum would have shattered, driving bone splinters into your heart. You have a concussion. Best case. That means the airbag didn't fail and your head didn't hit the A-pillar. If it had, we wouldn't be having this conversation; the coroner would. Your legs are broken. Best case. It means the front crumple zone did its job and collapsed in the right sequence, diverting energy away from your spine. If it hadn't, that engine block would be in your lap, and you'd be looking at a surgeon telling you you'll never walk again, if you were even conscious to hear it-"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm lucky to be alive. I got it," Hunter sighed, cutting her short. "But I've got to catch the person that did this to me, that demonic voodoo bitch-"
"Y-" Doris wanted to yell at him but cut herself when she processed what he said, "Caused? Voodoo? Wait, you mean Carla somehow caused your accident?"
"You must be a treat at party games," Hunter sighed, his voice grave. "The fact that she wasn't found in the car with me means she's still out there, and with her abilities, she'd be really difficult to find... The only lead I have right now is that kid, Valen."
"You're right," Doris mused. "I have news for you though. Should I start with more important or less important?"
"Less important," Hunter answered, his voice calm. "Also, what did the government say about Carla? An event like that would be impossible to cover up; there has to be an official statement."
"They claimed it was a bio weapon, but we both know that's not true, Hunter. With the bits and pieces we've gathered I'm starting to think there's more to it," Doris sighed. "I won't throw theories around since I know how much you hate it, but you were with her before the accident, what do you think?"
"Hmm," Hunter hummed, ignoring the stinging pain that followed, "I think we have to pull our heads out of our asses and make precautions against the supernatural."
"I'm thinking the same, and what I've found only reinforces that thought," Doris spoke.
"Well, don't keep me in suspense, shoot," Hunter urged her to speak, causing Doris to chuckle.
"Well, for the less important news, nothing came of my research into that Valen kid. He's normal, too normal, even his taste in porn is cliché," Doris sighed, a hint of disappointment in her tone.
Hunter remained quiet, listening as she went on, "Then, for the more important news, it's concerning the recording you sent me."
"What about it?" Hunter asked, shifting his weight once more.
"Well, at first it looked normal, but something about the way King was tapping pissed me off," Doris began, her words earning her a nod of agreement from Hunter.
"Well, I isolated the sound so I could listen to the original recording in peace, one thing led to another, and I played the original recording. It sounded familiar, yada yada yada, and in the end, I figured out that it was Morse code."
"WHAT!"
Hunter sat up despite the agonizing pain, his voice coming in a forced grunt, "What does it mean?"
"It just repeats three words over and over again," she spoke, her voice grim. "Demon. Please. Help."