I never liked hospitals.

The crisp, clean sterile smell that is always a little too strong and singes your nose. The bright, painfully white glare of everything in the building. The constant bustle and noise of people that are either sick or in horrible pain, covered with more white curtains. White, white, and more pale bland white.

The whole place reminds me of death, even though it’s a place where you’re supposed to go to get better. Heck, I’ve been to graveyards that don’t remind me of death as much as hospitals do.

I walked in between my parents down the hallway, the sound of our shoes on the pristine waxed floor grinding uncomfortably loudly back at us from the walls as we passed a couple of nurses handing out prescriptions.

One of whom was rather… voluptuous, I might add.

Ree-awr.

Whack.

“Jonah.”

I was jerked rather rudely from my admittedly disgusting daydream by a casual smack to the back of the head from my dad, who only glanced down at me in the way that only a dad actually can. It was one of those ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking about because I’ve been in your shoes, and can easily relate to your impish mind, but you should know better than to ogle the nice ladies when you’re supposed to be on your best behavior. Now, stand up straight, your mother is upset enough as it is,’ kind of looks.

To which I stupidly nodded so much that my neck hurt.

I know. I’m a genius.

I really did try to look as professional as I could, kind of like my dad did – he’s the kind of guy you would expect to always wear a suit, and he does. Dad can actually pull it off – black suit with a bright red tie over a plain white shirt, and he looks classy as a mother-effer. That is something that I do not inherit, I am sad to say.

As a matter of fact, most people say that I take after my mom more than anything, which is true. I have her blonde hair, her waiflike figure (which makes lifting weights to be more ‘buff’ looking a total pain) and even her long sloped nose. Thankfully, I didn’t get the short end of the stick completely, because I’ve had a lot of people tell me that I have my dad’s razor sharp brown eyes.

Not that they’re literally as sharp as razors. Can you imagine? Now, that’s something you’d expect to see in a hospital. Some dude who can’t blink because he has razor eyes. Actually, that sounds like the beginning to a comic book-

Whack.

“Jonah,” dad glared at me again. “You’re doing it again.”

“Sorry, sorry,” I rubbed the back of my head sheepishly, which was actually starting to get a little sore. I hated getting slapped in the back of the head. It makes me feel like a puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

So long as my nose isn’t being rubbed in anything…

“Don’t look so sour,” mom said somberly, straightening my own tie (which is a horrible invention, obviously created to make people suffer) and nearly strangling me with it. “This might be your grandfather’s last birthday, so I want you to go in and behave yourself. Understand me, Jonah?”

I kind of hate that, too. Mom always expects me to get into trouble, even though I hardly ever do.

Actually, I take that back. I’ve been in trouble plenty of times.

But I’ve really cleaned up my act since I’ve started going through the teenager-y motions. I’m totally mature now.

Actually, I take that back.

“Yeah, yeah,” I rolled my eyes.

Whack.

“Yes’m,” I cleared my throat uncomfortably as we waited outside grandpa’s door. I know I really should have been taking it more seriously, but this was, like, the fifth time my grandfather was on his deathbed. This might sound kind of heartless, but it was kind of sad the fourth time. By the fifth time you’re rushed out of the house in the dead of night, you’re probably bitterly wishing that you’d just stayed home in a nice, warm bed.

I know I was, those hospitals are cold.

Anyway, mom knocked a couple of times and we pushed our way in, just like last time. And, just like last time, grandpa was most definitely not dead.

Which is a great thing, because my grandfather is an awesome guy.

“Hey, Jo!” the wizened old man cackled at me, his large baby blue eyes lighting up the moment we walked in. He had some gnarly looking dentures, but grandpa always had the goofiest looking grin I’ve ever seen. It’s kind of lopsided, like he’s trying to decide whether to smile really wide or just plain laugh.

“Hey, yourself, you ol’ coot,” I hugged grandpa warmly, trying to be really gentle because of all the tubes he had stuck in him. From the beeping EKG machine, the tubes and wires, the fact that he was still lying like a skeleton in bed would have made one think that he really was close to death.

Dude, let me tell you. My grandfather had some hugs that could put an angry bear into submission.

I think I nearly heard my spine crack when he wrapped his enormous, flabby and slightly hairy arms around me, cackling like a madman.

Again, I was quietly assured that he was just about as far from death as a living person could get.

“It’s good to see you again, Daddy,” mom kissed him on the cheek, granting me a precious moment to pull myself from his (ironically) death grip and actually catch my breath. Seriously, nobody in their nineties should be that strong. Old people are supposed to be trembling, and smelly, and really into Parcheesi.

I was still grinning when I pulled away, though. I always like hanging out with grandpa. He just gave off this… vibe of coolness, like no matter what he did he could pull it off without a hitch. It made my dad look kind of like a chump in comparison, and I think that they both knew it. Dad was still very respectful, though.

“Spry as the day you were born, Ronald,” dad bowed his head a little, closing the door behind us.

“Bah!” grandpa waved him over good-naturedly. “Did you really expect anything fuckin’ different? Come ‘ere, ya big galumph. Sasha gets a hug, Jonah gets a hug, you’re gettin’ a hug. Move your rump!”

I swear, it was hard as all hell trying not to laugh my butt off watching dad give in to somebody half his size. Then again, I guess grandpa could be a little intimidating sometimes. Those were rare occasions.

We all stayed and chatted with grandpa for a while. He didn’t seem at all like he was on his deathbed. To tell the truth, he actually looked like he was getting better than he was the last time we saw him, for crying out loud. He looked more cheerful, he had this rosy color in his cheeks. Grandpa Ronnie was just so full of life that it made you feel a little bit like you were being turned into a better person just by being around him. That’s the kind of awesome guy that he was.

And then, out of the blue, grandpa did something significantly less fun than he usually did.

After we’d all chatted for a while (well, mom and dad talked with grandpa, I got bored and started staring at cars out the window) grandpa got this really weird look in his eyes.

“Sasha,” he did a complete one-eighty out of absolutely nowhere, but mom didn’t look at all surprised. Dad did, though. “Sasha, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to my grandson one more time. In… private, if that’s all right.”

She turned toward my dad and nodded wordlessly, kissing grandpa quietly on the cheek again.

“I’m sure it’s-it’s not the last time, Daddy,” she said without much reassurance, but she and dad stepped out into the hall. I was kind of freaked out when the door snapped shut behind them, watching mom’s sad face as they were cut off from me.

I gulped, definitely uncomfortable.

Grandpa loudly said “Son, I know I haven’t said it before, but I just wanna tell you how much you mean to me.”

Except while he was doing that, grandpa winked conspiratorially and drew me closer with a signal to shush. He pulled something out of his pocket, glancing nervously toward the door.

Intrigued, although wary that it was just another of his infamous pranks, I drew a little closer. My feet squeaked over the floor, and he held out his hand for mine.

“Jonah Miller, don’t tell your cousin, but I play favorites when it comes to my grandkids,” he again said in that stage voice. I actually smiled a little, and he silently passed me whatever he was hiding. “… Your cousin Deborah is my favorite.”

“Dude!” I frowned, and he was snickering when he slipped me the little gift. Although I was a lot more curious about what he was so intent on conspiratorially hiding from my parents, I will say that much. At first, I thought that it was just an excuse to hand me money, or something.

Not like Grandpa Ronnie has ever slipped me money. Or even sent it for my birthday, the cheap – that’s beside the point. Whatever he gave me was way too hard to be money. More round, and cold – really, really cold. Like, uncomfortably so. At first, I thought it was an ice cube, and I almost tried to open my fist to look at it, but he clasped his hands over mine the moment I tried.

I guess it’s a good thing he did, because no sooner had he done so than mom peeked her head back in, and said “Daddy, the nurse says you skipped your last medications. Please tell me she’s lying.”

I could hear the nurse getting angry about that, no wonder why. Taking advantage of the distraction, grandpa got this really… disturbing look in his eyes. I swear, they almost changed color. He pulled me right up close to him, throwing an arm around me to make it look like it was a hug. Without missing a beat, he whispered as quietly as he could in a hurried, hushed tone that made my hair stand on end.

“I was always too afraid to use this after seeing what it did to my father. I want you to take this, Jonah. Don’t be the coward that I am. Too afraid to die alone. Be brave. Make me proud of you, Jonah.”

I don’t know what happened to his voice, because it slowly got weaker and more croaky as he choked out the words. I won’t lie, I was kind of scared by what he said. What did he mean, a coward like him? Grandpa Ronnie was one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. Heck, he’s the guy who taught me my first skydiving lessons. He once took a trip to Africa, and then hitchhiked all the way home. He climbed a mountain, and I don’t even know why that impresses me more than any of the other stuff he’s done.

I just really like mountains.

Whatever.

The point is, I was already freaked out by grandpa by the time mom and dad were pushed past by a cranky nurse, who stopped right in front of me with grandpa leaning on my shoulders.

“… Oh, I am so sorry,” the young woman held a hand to her lips, looking down at me sadly. “How long has it been?”

It was right about then that I noticed grandpa’s EKG machine had stopped beeping.

Grandpa fell pretty unceremoniously to the floor, and I immediately did the manly thing and started shrieking like a little girl.

Well, so much for being brave.

I laid in bed, staring at the little ring.

It seemed like such a weird thing for grandpa to give me at the moment of his death. Even weirder that he didn’t want mom or dad to see it.

After I’d had a good two or three hours to finish ‘wigging out’, as dad put it, we finally went back home to our little two story home in the city. It’s a pretty nice place, but not as nice as some of the others here in the suburbs. I was way too awake to fall asleep for a week, I was pretty sure of that.

For a long time, I just laid there, holding the ring between my fingers and stared past it up at the ceiling where my posters of aliens and UFOs were. Posters for NASA and little school projects hanging from strings displaying rockets and shuttles dangled off the edge of my desk, but my attention was drawn right back to the ring.

It was, for lack of a better word, precious.

I don’t mean it in that Gollum kind of way, I mean that the ring really seemed to shine in the light in a way that made me feel like it was incredibly important and valuable. Or maybe that was just because my dying grandfather had given it to me with a cryptic statement.

The ring itself still felt oddly cold to the touch, even though it hadn’t left my fist all night. That was one thing that really bothered me. I couldn’t think of a single kind of metal that did that. Another thing – I don’t think that the ring was any kind of metal at all. It was unexpectedly heavy, like a small stone. The mint green substance that it was crafted from glinted hungrily in the moonlight, flickers of light dancing along its whorls and ridges.

It took me ages to realize that I had been staring at it. The ring really was a hypnotic thing, almost. It was so beautifully forged that I’m a little surprised my grandpa didn’t wear it himself, even though he had never really been the kind of guy to show off what he had.

I got the sudden urge to jam it on my finger, a ridiculous thought of turning invisible if I did so flittering through my mind.

Yeah, I know. It’s stupid, and I’ve read Tolkien way too many times, but I still thought it.

Much to my disappointment, it really did just seem to be an ordinary ring. I didn’t turn invisible. Not even transparent.

Bummer.

I did admire it on my index finger for a little while, where it finally started to feel a little bit warmer and more comfortable. It then occurred to me that I was such a selfish jerk, being more focused on a friggin’ ring than I was losing my own grandfather. The guy that had helped raise me, and he was practically the last thing on my mind.

I felt a sudden sense of self-loathing right about then.

Disgusted, I tried to jerk the ring off – only to discover that it was stuck tight.

Had I gotten it lodged on my knuckle?

No, that wasn’t it; the ring was still in the same place, just… not moving. And it wasn’t so much warm now as it was hot, burning hot. It hurt my hand, the pain spreading up my arm…!

I actually cried out, falling out of bed as it felt like my whole body was being consumed by fire. There was nothing I expected less than that, let me tell you. For the way grandpa preached about courage, I sure must have seemed like I never listened. I thrashed in the blankets, the pain growing so intense that I couldn’t see.

And after that…

Nothing.