(LIMITLESS) CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: BAD NEWS

Beep-beep-beep.

With a series of mental jerks and nods, the world came back to Taylor in pieces. Her eyes, heavy and rusty, creaked open a fraction at the repetitive beeping of her surroundings. They were drawn to the slivers of harsh, white-gold light clipping through the blinds of a large window at her left, reflecting off clear white walls.

I’m in a hospital, her mind registered, sluggishly. That was odd. She remembered Fugly Bob’s, her dad sitting across from her, a man walking in, and something strange—

She pushed herself upright against the pillows, wincing as her sore muscles protested the movement. Her hand rubbed at her eyes as she, slowly, craned her neck to find that the persistent beep emanated from a cluster of free-standing machines near the bed on her other side. The cardiac monitor, to be exact, and from the looks of things, her heart seemed to be beating right on track, with a good, steady rhythm.

The door was wedged open, and beyond the mechanical sound and dull hum of the ventilation somewhere overhead, was the sheer variety and ubiquity of background noise, and the sharp, distinctive hospital smell: distant chatter of people, various machines, and the sterile aroma of disinfectant drifted in from a nearby ward.

A large woman in blue scrubs—a nurse, Taylor was sure of it—bustled into the room at that moment. The name tag ‘Diana’ read from its position on one equally large breast.

“Good afternoon, dear,” she said, stepping around the medical equipment to inspect it, clucking with approval as she did so. “How are you feeling? Dizzy? Nauseated? In pain?”

“Battered and bruised… but alive,” Taylor murmured. Her voice was barely a thread of sound, raspy and tired, and her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. What she wouldn’t give for a glass of water. “Where am I?”

Swallowing to moisten her throat, she followed the woman with her eyes as she set about in a flurry of organized movements. Taylor wanted to ask about the whereabouts of her dad. Surely, he would’ve been by her side. He always was when it mattered, unless something urgent had come up. But what could possibly be more important than this?

But her tongue felt thick and heavy, and pushing words out past it required more effort than should rightfully be.

“The PRT Headquarters Hospital,” Diana replied. “You were caught in a terrible accident in Fugly Bob’s. Thankfully, the PRT was alerted immediately and you were brought here instead of the General Hospital. Now, stick out your tongue, please.”

“Where is my dad?” Taylor managed, leaning on her arm.

“Wait until I’ve removed it before you talk. Or else you might break it,” Diana said sternly. Her salt-and-pepper hair shifted as she moved with precision, withdrawing the thermometer and scanning it with a quick glance. “Can you stare straight at me, please? I need to check your pupils.” 

Taylor cooperated, staring into the penlight as the woman shone it into each of her eyes in turn, but she felt a growing sense of unease. Why hadn’t Diana answered her question? 

The light disappeared.

“If you’re well enough to chat,” Diana said, “you’re well enough for a visitor. Armsmaster wanted to be informed the moment you woke up.”

Taylor’s discomfort grew, but she shoved it aside. Besides, there was a far more pressing issue at the moment.

“Can I have a drink of water?” Taylor croaked.

“Sure thing, dear,” Diana said, looking down at her with her face scrunched in concern. “I didn’t think you would be awake this soon and had forgotten to bring a pitcher with me. Lie back down, dear. I’ll be back before you know it, and with Armsmaster in tow.”

She smiled, gently patted Taylor’s leg, and left the room.

With just her thoughts for company, it wasn’t long before the previous—day? Week? Month?—events sliced into Taylor’s mind, and she reeled from the deluge: Fugly Bob’s; her dad; the man who walked in; the parasite attached to him; the glow of something in said parasite; and then, the pain. The searing, blinding pain that had cut through her immediately the man exploded.

The realization sank in, slow and heavy, like a stone in her chest. Her forcefield hadn’t protected her.

Her breathing hitched.

Despite what had happened during her first fight with Hookwolf and Cricket, 

She had always trusted that part of her power. Even during the fight with Hookwolf and Cricket, when she’d been injured, she’d known why. She had been too disoriented to keep her forcefield activated. It had been her fault she had been hurt. 

But this time?

She had activated it, she remembered doing so clearly, and had extended the field as wide as she could to shield the people around her. Her dad had been right in front of her.

And yet…

Where was he?

The doorknob turned with a metallic clunk, and Taylor snapped up sharply, heart leaping into her throat.

Armsmaster stepped inside.

He wasn’t in armor, but the blue and silver mask was unmistakable. The expression beneath said mask was carefully neutral, though there was a subtle tightness in his posture that gave him away.

“Taylor,” he said, voice lower than usual. “Good to see you awake.”

She didn’t answer. Her throat had closed up again, but not from dryness this time.

He stepped to the foot of her bed. His arms were at his sides, not crossed behind his back as usual. The difference felt… significant.

She swallowed, barely managing, “Where’s my dad?”

Armsmaster’s jaw shifted slightly. She sat up straighter in the bed, every part of her going still.

“Is he okay?” she asked. “Please, just tell me.”

Armsmaster didn’t speak immediately. He looked down, then met her gaze squarely.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Your father didn’t survive the blast.”

The world narrowed to a pinpoint of sound, and Taylor stared at him, the words hanging in the air between them like something fragile. 

“No,” she whispered.

Armsmaster didn’t say anything.

“No,” she repeated, louder this time. “That’s—no. I extended my field over him. I had him. I did everything right. I—”

Her chest seized, and she gasped for breath that wouldn’t come. It felt like falling off a cliff and hitting every ledge on the way down. 

“No, no, no—”

Her vision blurred, but she didn’t blink it away.

This couldn’t be real. Her dad was just sitting across from her, coffee in hand, and talking about Night and Fog. She’d protected him. She had promised herself that if she couldn’t change the past, she could at least keep him safe.

Now he was gone.

Taylor barely registered the cardiac beeps accelerating, or door opening again, or Armsmaster turning to bark for assistance. She didn't know when Diana rushed in, flanked by a white-coated doctor and another nurse, or when she started convulsing. Voices shouted, hands reached for her, but Taylor couldn’t feel anything except the weight in her chest and the ringing in her ears and the raw, spiraling wrongness of it all.

She dimly felt a prick, felt something cold pushing into her veins, and then…

She felt nothing else.