"The strongest people find the courage and caring to help others, even if they are going through their own storm."
Roy T. Bennett
, The Light in the Heart


Elizabeth hated the hospital. The LED's were far too bright, everything was just too white and clean. The A.C was always cranked up way too high and she fought a chill as she exited an elevator. The chemical smell of iodine and alcohol reminded her of the vet and her rabbit, Hops - and she had no good memories of going to a vet.

Hospitals, like the vet, were where people went to die. She hated saying it, but each day the reality grew. Her father's condition was worsening rapidly, each day threatening to be his last.

Nurses chattered through the halls, colourful insulated lunch bags swinging in their arms. Their shoes scoffed against the floor, the sharp squeaking sound reverberating across the hall. They passed Elizabeth, smiling in acknowledgment of her before they continued down, reaching an elevator and disappearing.

She gripped her large bag tightly, a single, small envelope crinkling under her arm and her key's jingling as they shifted. She swallowed a lump that had formed in the throat as she approached his door, room number E614. Visiting always made her anxious, though she wasn't entirely sure why. He was her father, seeing him shouldn't have her hair's standing on edge or cold dread creeping up her spine.

She knocked on the door, entering without a word. Baltra was sitting up in his bed, his face turned towards the window. Tubes and wires snaked around the bed to a terminal behind him. The room was dark, nothing but whatever meagre light streamed in from the overcast sky illuminating the area.

Elizabeth dropped her bag onto the table, Baltra turned to face her as she sat down on a chair next to the bed.

"Ah, Elizabeth. I wasn't expecting you today." His voice was warm, his face lit up with a familiar smile despite his hallow cheeks and sunken eyes. He seemed paler than when she had seen him last, his hair streaked with white.

"How are you doing, daddy?" She took his hand in hers, his boney fingers cold against her palm.

"I'm doing great, dear!" He beamed, coughing slightly before continuing. "How are you dear? You've been getting enough sleep lately, I hope?"

"Of course daddy. I'm fine, don't worry about me." She forced her own sad smile, reaching into her bag and pulling out the envelope. "I drop what you asked for."

Baltra took the paper in shaky hands, ripping open the flap and pulling out the money from inside. He licked his thumb as he always did, whether it be reading a book, magazine or counting bills he had always done the same.

His face took on a more serious tone as he flipped through the notes slowly, losing count once or twice and starting over again. Once he had flipped through all the bills he gingerly placed the money back in the envelope, sliding it under his pillow.

"Well, I have to get going." Elizabeth stood abruptly, grabbing up her purse a little too eagerly. "It was nice seeing you again."

Elizabeth exited the room, not a word leaving her father's mouth at her departure. She swallowed back her tears, not allowing herself the luxury of crying until she was alone in her car.

This was always how it went. The short exchange, the money, it was always the money. She remembered the hitman from her youth and shuddered, imagining someone similar coming for her father in the dead of night.

She leaned against the drywall, her head falling back and looking up at the fluorescent light fixtures overhead. She wouldn't – couldn't – let it come to that.