He moved unencumbered, his presence unregistered and unacknowledged by any person he crossed paths with. Michael knew that it was foolhardy to attempt contact a mere few hours after the escape but the words of his pledge to a dying man seared the back of his throat and heart, he had to make good on his promise to Westmoreland irrespective of any possible jeopardy to himself.
Reaching his destination his eyes strayed to the intricately folded flower nestled in the palm of his up turned hand. Whilst passing the unoccupied nurses station he had pilfered a small scrap of paper his fingers molding it into a delicate shape as he ghosted along the corridor.
He smiled softly at the pristine white flower remembering the first and only other time he had fashioned an origami flower for a woman, the vivid orange of it's petals contrasting in his minds eye with the mundane white resting in his hand.
They not only contrasted in colour but also intent, the simple white flower which was destined for Charles Westmoreland's daughter was birthed from gratitude and guilt whilst the other stemmed from a completely disparate set of emotions.
"Sara.." her name was expelled from his heart in a whispered breath.
Closing his eyes against an onslaught of regret he braced his free hand against the door in front of him at her remembered words "I don't like to get attached to things if I know they aren't going to last..." At the utterance of those words he had felt the first flutterings of kinship, her sentiment was one he shared.
The night he had painstakingly crafted that flower for her he had convinced himself that it was just another facet of his plan, a small gesture that would undoubtedly soften her heart, make her malleable to his machinations but under the harsh glare of the florescent hospital lights and the purity of the paper flower crushed within his palm he recognized that even back then the gesture had not been mechanical but was fraught with symbolism, she had been in his heart even then.
Opening his eyes he blinked back the stinging tears of regret swimming in his vision and attempted to chase away the memory of her. He needed to make peace with Charles Westmoreland, Sara Tancredi as much as she pulled at his conscience and heart, his amends to her would have to come at some future date. His hand reaching for the handle he was momentarily startled by a flurry of activity, stilling his actions he watched as a swarm of medical personnel barreled down the corridor toward him pushing a hospital gurney.
They where oblivious to his presence and he felt no need to avert his gaze as they passed him by, with morbid fascination his eyes flickered to the listless figure they hovered over. His eyes traveling the almost translucent expanse of skin narrowing slightly at the mass of red curls pooling at her shoulder before finally widening in abject horror as they came to rest on her face.
"Sara" the word moved silently against his lips, tentatively moving toward the room they'd ushered her into he watched from the doorway as they milled about hooking her up to machines while the doctor made a futile attempt to keep her heart pumping with continued chest compressions.
"29 year old female suspected morphine overdose, revived once en route..."
"No" he managed to choke out, the paramedics pronouncement causing a dull ache in his chest. His eyes darted from the flat line on the heart monitor to the doctor crouched over Sara, his pumping hands on her chest almost savage in their force.
"Damn it I'm losing her, where's the crash team..."
Tears cascaded down his face unchecked as he made an impassioned plea "please God no!"
The white origami flower clutched between his fingers tumbled to the ground "please don't die Sara, not like this not because of me..." he recognized the stark truth of his words her overdose rested squarely on his shoulders, he hadn't been the one to prick her perfect skin with a morphine laden needle but he may as well have.
Michael slammed his back against the corridor wall to make way for the crash team as they wheeled the defibrillator into the resuscitation room, the crunching of its wheels drew Michael's eyes momentarily from Sara's form to the crushed petals of the oragami flower beaten down into the linoleum. An anguished cry was torn silently from his lips as his legs gave out, sliding to the floor he reached for the desecrated flower the maimed petals slipping through his fingers with the doctors pronouncement "time of death 3.30 am..."
He'd blended into the background, made himself invisible until they had drawn the sheet over her beautiful face and plunged the room into darkness. Slipping unseen into the room he stood over her and with a trembling hand pulled back the shroud. He felt his heart shatter as his watery gaze roamed the planes of her soft face. He reached out with his fingertips and smoothed an errant lock of auburn hair behind her ear remembering a not so distant time when he had stroked her hair and cradled her face in is hands
"It won't always be like this, in this room, in this place.."
His body no longer able to sustain itself he perched on the bed beside her his hand pressing against hers "I'm so sorry Sara.." he murmured his salty tears mingling with saliva as he wet his parched lips.
Leaning forward he pressed his mouth against her blue lips, they still held her warmth "I love you" he murmured reverently pressing the crushed petals of the origami rose into the palm of her hand. Rising he scrubbed his hand over his face erasing the tear tracks and any hint of emotion from his features. Squaring his shoulders he strode out of the room without a backward glance having left his heart and any chance of redemption behind with her, the white paper petals crushed in her cold grasp the symbol of a man irrevocably wrecked.