Words We Could Never Find
Chapter 1 – Memories
Okay! New story… For those of you who have read my story, 'Behind Closed Doors' (if not… I'd love you too ;) You'll know that I just want Michael to be happy! I wanted him to get with Penny, so when she died and Michael walked out of the morgue crying… I was gutted for him. So this story is going to be how he copes, or doesn't cope with the death of Penny Valentine. I hope you enjoy it and as always… pleeeease read and review! Hollie xxx
'I'm sorry Oliver; there was nothing I could do.'
'Nothing I could do.'
'Nothing.'
Those words were playing over and over in Michael Spence's head. Over and over like a stuck record. Why didn't he stop her? He could have gone in instead. She wouldn't be dead then. He might have got out in time. Before the carriage collapsed and he could have gone back to the hospital with her. Instead of having to tell Oliver that his sister had died. He couldn't even look at her when she was in the morgue. He ran, like a scared little boy he ran away, not being able to face up to the fact that his colleague and his friend was dead. Michael's train of thought was disturbed by an e-mail that flashed up onto his screen.
"Damn it." Michael threw his head into his hands and let out a sob. "Not yet, just please, not yet." It was too soon, there was no chance that he could face up to filling in an incident form of how one of his team was killed whilst on a call out. He just couldn't do it. Not this soon.
"Mr Spence." Frieda's voice muffled through his mind. "Mr Spence, you are needed out here."
Michael swallowed down the rising guilt and sorrow back into the pit of his stomach, wiped the tears from his face and straightened his suit. "Yeah, I'm coming."
"Well hurry up, this man isn't going to start breathing again if you don't do something." Frieda's words escaped from her mouth before she had a chance to understand what it was she was saying. She noticed the hurt that had appeared in Michael's eyes and the failed attempt to mask it with some form of arrogance and authority. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"
"No, Dr Petrenko. It's fine, just don't… please." Michael spoke to his shoes. Unable to look up at the Ukrainian who had grown so close to the young doctor. He acknowledged the nod of acceptance that Frieda had thrown him, then he threw himself into his work, saving people. Trying somehow to make up for the fact that he was unable to save her. Ordinary sayings from grateful patients such as 'You're a lifesaver, Doc." "I owe you my life, Doctor." And "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." Made the American's heart ache even more, making the thick, black guilt that was slithering through his body even thicker and even darker.
As Michael made his way around the Acute Admissions Unit, helping his patients, he couldn't help but think of the woman who would be behind him every step of the way, suggesting alternative treatments and answering each and every one of his questions with such precision you would have thought she had a textbook hidden away on her scrubs somewhere. He thought about how he would have to come into work every day and not have her beautiful red hair glistening under the harsh lights of the ward, her voice radiating around the rooms, and her smile, making his day feel that little bit better. But Michael had to face up to the fact sooner or later that she was never coming back and that all of those things would now be just a memory.