Eric now sits on a bench against a wall, his back rested against it. He looked like a man who has survived a tornado attack in Texas. His suit, which looked impressive, powerful, neatly pressed, just hours ago is now like a wardrobe taken out from a pile of dirty laundry. It was now a darker shade. April's blood has dried. From one look, you would think he was the one shot or stabbed.
His once finely combed hair is now gone. He looked like he has just woke up from a nightmare, thankful for the awakening yet not since he just woke up to live in another nightmare. April was shot.
The hospital was filled with a murky stink of air mixed with chemicals meant to keep sterility. He thought how the mix of stench in the air represented how life and death meet in this place; the stench of blood and pukes for death and the stinging scent of life. It gave him a chilling feeling.
From his bench, just outside April's room - 203 - he waits; uncertain of what's going to happen next. To his right was the hallway leading to the elevator. To his left was another hallway, leading to the nurse's station. There was only one nurse left to man the station since the rest are busy attending to other patients, most of them were from the same restaurant wherein he had a dream that turned to a nightmare. A small TV played, and he could hear it from his place. It was the flash news special edition. One of those news programs that cuts of any show in the middle of it when something exciting happens. Poor Will & Grace.
Richard Gammon, he was the madman who just barged into the restaurant and shot everyone in sight to his satisfaction. Then a mugshot of the man was shown on the screen. He has been arrested multiple times for robbery and other offenses and has been rehabbed for drug addiction three times. That night was one of the nights wherein sanity has left him because of pot. According to the report, he was high on dope in an alley at the back of the restaurant. He sneaked his way into the kitchen and stabbed a couple of cooks, two of the five were critical. He then went to the main lobby through the kitchen door and started shooting on sight with a gun that he got from the streets. One of the security personnel, MIB he thought, shot him in the head causing instant death.
Photos of the victims were then flashed, one after the other. Short stories of their lives unfold before everyone glued to the boob tube. And then there was April, beautiful as ever in her photos that one could not imagine how she suffered such ordeal. He even started to wonder how they got a quick biography of her life.
April, 27 years old, married to a pilot of a popular, big time airliner. She has become successful in her chosen field of Law. She usually works with women and children's rights protection. The repart says, she was in business meeting with his partner Atty. Eric Maxwell at the time of the shooting.
As the reporter started to narrate the police’s additional findings in the case, the nurse turned the television off. It was a deafening silence. Nothing could be heard in the hallway that even a single drop of a needle would resound with such power and might in the place. It is now 1:32am, the clock hanging on the wall says. Eric never really noticed the time. He just realized that it’s been almost four hours since April was rushed to the hospital from a circus of events that left no one smiling. He felt his consciousness flee him. Then there was darkness.
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