DEAD AND GONE
Just another short Myka is dead, Helena is too late scenario.
"Where is she?!" Helena screamed as she entered the hospital hallway empty except for the four people huddle by the last door.
She looked over from Pete to Claudia to Steve to Artie. They all looked horrible. But nowhere as bad as she did. Her normally flawless raven hair was strewn like a bird's nest, her eyes red from crying straight through the five hour flight, her face pale.
"Where is she?" She asked again, tears rolling down her cheeks.
No one made a move. Nobody replied. The silence was defending. It seemed this was the reign of the dead and no one but the dead. Helena felt a shiver run down her spine as she felt a gush of air float across the room. The Dead and the Ghosts, she thought.
"Pete?" She grabbed his shoulders and shook him.
The room was empty. The bed unmade. A familiar scent still hung in the air, the place smelt like her lost love but she was nowhere in sight. Myka's things were still spread all over the room. No one had bothered to straighten them out.
It seemed no one cared. They were all caught in bout of grief; strong, unrelenting grief. Maybe… No! Helena did not let her mind wander there.
She looked at Artie, their eyes met and recognition sent tremors through her already breaking heart.
"Artie, where is she? Where is… Myka" her voice cracked with longing and profound sadness on the last word.
She suddenly felt hallow as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She fell to her knees and broke down into loud pathetic sobs. And Helena G. Wells had been a lot of things but pathetic was never on that list.
It was Artie who came down and hugged her. She wasn't the only person shocked in the room. Arthur Neilson didn't do hugs, but the circumstances called for an exception.
"Ssshh…" he whispered.
Helena looked up and through the tears she saw everyone's eyes turned at the pair on the floor. She did her best to pull herself together and restore at least a degree of composure and dignity. Myka couldn't see her like that.
"Take me to her"
This time it was Pete who turned away. His fist met the door and a loud bang echoed through the hallway.
"Dammit!" he cursed "She's gone! She gone…" his voice trailed off taken over by the torrent of tears.
"No," Helena shook her head.
But no one had told her. And she just found out. She was just supposed to be sick. She would be fine. Myka couldn't…
"No," she repeated but Myka was long dead and gone.
Sorry it isn't much but this is my way of processing through.