-Part 3-

"Ashes"

"I live in the weak and the wounded."

~ "Simon" (an evil "spirit") in the movie Session 9 ~

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Keep intuition's third eye open forever, after recovery, to note the first trembling turning leaves of a change of season.

~ Rose Styron – from "Strands" ~

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Come weep with me, past hope, past care, past help.

~ Juliet (William Shakespeare – Romeo and Juliet (Act 4, Scene 1, Line 46) ~

~*~

Time passes and I find myself sitting on the floor again, in the same place where I broke down earlier—my back against the cabinets, feet sprawled out in from of me, arms lifeless at my sides, head cocked awkwardly at an angle. No stir of air or life is here. Everything looks and seems so dull. Weariness has settled into my veins, my limbs, my brain, like molten lead. I'm semi-oblivious to the world. My eyes are open, but my brain is swaying gently in its hammock, tucked away in the far back reaches of my skull. My eyes are glued to the red on the floor. The red that'd seeped out of Abby's bruised and broken body. The scene from The Shining plays repeatedly in my head—the elevator opens in slow-motion, and blood begins to gush and spew out between the doors, collecting on the floor and forming a tidal wave that engulfs me in silent terror. It paralyzes every ounce of my being—I can't move, I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't even blink. Incomprehensible. Nothing makes sense. I sit, inert, in my own nightmare.

Will I breathe again?

Someone says my name from far off, but I can't concentrate enough to look around and see who it is. Again they try to get my attention, but I don't shift from my place. They pass in front of me, stepping over my feet, and I see their pale blue scrubs. Sam. She kneels beside me, but I can't look at her. She talks to me, but I can't hear her. The one thing I do hear her say is that she's worried because I've been sitting like this in here for over two hours. She puts her hand on my shoulder, and pulls back a little as I jerk, but that doesn't stop her. She sighs heavily and takes a seat on the ground next to me, crossing her ankles and putting her hands in her lap. It means a lot to me that she's here. She's always been a wonderful, loyal friend. I wonder what's going on in her mind after all that's happened. Probably nothing good. I want to say something to her, anything, that could ease her mind, but my mouth won't work and I have no energy to speak. I slide my eyes down to my watch. 9:35. Two and a half more hours left on my shift. I sigh and manage to turn my head to acknowledge Sam, finally making eye contact with her. She meets my gaze, and I give her a sympathetic grin—which she returns to me.

I draw my legs up, putting my feet on the floor, and begin to push myself up—moving slowly, robot-like in my movements. Sam pushes herself up, as well, and we stand together in quiet contemplation. I look at her blankly for a moment—my restless mind whirling—and then, turn and pass through the trauma doors without words.

I walk past the drug lock-up, turning right into the main hallway, and taking steps slowly toward the end of the hall, moving around in a daze. I stop and look through the glass-paneled door of the Family Room. I peer through the slits in the blinds and watch Luka holding Joe in his arms—crying his eyes out, sobbing uncontrollably. I wanna go in and show him that I'm here for him and Joe, but I can't bother them right now. I wanna hold them both in my arms and tell them that everything's gonna be alright. But things won't be alright, not for a long time. For one last moment, I keep my eyes fixed on the broken family in front of me.

Without a thought, I turn and head back down the hall—wandering about aimlessly, not knowing what to do with myself—rounding the corner at Curtain 3, passing the elevators, and making a beeline for the lounge.

~*~

You have to sit with the past before you can walk away from it.

~*~

The door closes behind me, and I'm abandoned in the shadowy, comfortable room. I ease my way over to my locker and just stand, not moving for a short time. I turn the black dial, putting in the combination, and lift the latch. As the door swings open, I see several personal items stashed in here—a hairbrush, toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and extra blood sugar monitor and insulin, a pad of paper and some pens, an extra stethoscope and pair of shoes. I reach for the paper and a pen and take a seat on the bench behind me. With so many thoughts and things I want to say, I can't seem to write anything. I don't wanna ramble on like I usually do with things like these. I want it short and sweet. My fingers start to move, and I find myself writing:

Dear ER Gang,

I love you all.

Take care of each other.

I'm sorry.

Farewell.

Love, Robin

I stare at the words scribbled on the paper, and I'm not sad. But I'm not happy either. With a sigh, I stand and place the pen and paper on the top shelf, and I slide the note into the pocket of my lab coat. I look at the green embroidery above the pocket and a pang of grief stings my heart.

Dr. Robin Shepherd, M.D.

Emergency Physician

We love you—the ER gang

I have to look away. I start to close the metal door, but I catch my reflection in my mirror. It's a mocking, unbelievable resemblance of something I knew long ago. I don't look like myself. I look like I haven't slept in days. My eyes are bloodshot and puffy—barely registering any sign of life. My face is ghostly pale. I look mortally wounded. I have no expression. No spirit. I'm so pathetic, and I can't look at myself anymore. I gently shut the door and stare at my name tag on the outside: Shepherd. I wanna take it off, but I wanna leave everything as it is. And I do, stepping away and trudging over to the other door.

~*~

...and the one who had most patience in its bearing seemed to say, weeping: 'I can no more.'

~ Dante – The Divine Comedy ("Purgatory", Chapter 10) ~

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I walk past the elevators and up to the front desk where Greg, Sam, Archie, Tony, and Frank stand. Like a movie in slow motion, it seems to take forever to reach them. I feel sick, weak, pathetic. I feel as though my spontaneous decision is just another example of how fragile and wretched I am. They watch me cautiously. I let out a sigh; it's not an "Oh well" or a "That's life" kind of sigh. Mine is an exhalation that sounds like it could possibly end in my demise. It's a sigh of surrender. I begin to pull off my lab coat. Abby's blood has been smeared and splashed on it—which I haven't noticed. My eyes fixate on the red, and then, I glance down at my green scrubs. Abby's blood. I sigh and start to fold my coat up gently. I lay it on the desk with the message face-up and my note sticking out of the pocket next to my ID badge. My hand lingers on the fabric shortly, my fingers running over the embroidery. I take my black stethoscope from around my neck and place it on top of my coat. I glance at everyone. I can't think of anything to say. I haven't spoken a word in hours. I haven't uttered a word since I pronounced Abby. I want to say something that will grab their attention. Suddenly, my mind drifts back to my college years when I was in drama. I was in "Romeo and Juliet" and played the part of Juliet. There's one line that comes to mind at this moment in time. I grin sympathetically at all of them, and then, recite, "Farewell.... God knows when we shall meet again....4" My little grin stays for a few seconds as I watch them, backing away from the desk slowly, and then, I turn and walk through the sliding doors—my legs moving mechanically, in spite of me, without me. These are the last words I will ever speak to them. It's time to leave my chosen profession behind me with a few words and nothing more. I certainly don't want to burden anyone with what's happening in my head. I have to cope alone. I can't bear to leave...and I can't bear to stay. Grief squeezes at my eggshell heart like it might break into a thousand pieces—its contents running like broken promises. I stare blankly ahead as I hear Greg and Sam shout my name a few times. I walk through the ambulance bay doors and into the darkness of the night.

I stand on the "L" platform watching my train roll in and come to a stop. The doors slide open with that familiar "tssh" sound that I love. Even though it's a warm night, I'm frozen. I can't walk. I wanna go home. I need to go home. I have to go home. The doors close, and the train slowly starts to pull away. It picks up speed quickly—a blur of metal and windows and the occasional person in one of the cars. And then, it's gone. I'm left with the stormy thoughts within my crushed mind. I find myself turning and moving toward one of the benches nearby. I sit down quietly in my tormented state and stare at the platform beneath me...utterly alone.

~*~

Without friends...no one would choose to live.

~ Aristotle ~

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It's 3:15...the devil's hour. Here I sit, after all this time in the black small hours. I haven't moved. I haven't wanted to. I'm safer to sit still. Time has passed in a painful haze. I've plummeted into a black and gray and tired heap, sitting like a bundle of rags. I feel that I'm about to dissolve or in some way lose my solid form. I'm forgotten by time, which must continue to pass for others but no longer wishes to pass for me. Time doesn't bother with me because it no longer believes in me, and I, therefore, now hope for nothing from time. So I'm waiting for...nothing.

I'm 41 years old, and I've spent the last 17 years of my life working in that hospital. To many, it must seem easy for me to just up and leave like this, but in reality, it's the hardest decision I've ever made. That place has been my second home since I was 24—a naive, bumbling 3rd year med student. Sometimes it's been rewarding and energizing, other times it's been hell. Like today. County has taken away from me some dear friends over the years: Dennis Gant, Lucy Knight, Mark Greene, Robert Romano, and now...Abby Lockhart—the closest friend I've ever had. I'm reminded again of a few lines from Romeo and Juliet, where Romeo seeks revenge for the death of his best friend, Mercutio.

"...for Mercutio's soul

Is but a little way above our heads,

Staying for thine to keep him company.

Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.5"

This is my breaking point. I've seen too many friends die in front of me. I've had enough. I can't go back to normal.... It doesn't exist anymore.

This ends tonight.

Lodged within my turbulent mind and soul...the Darkness comes. It reemerges after all these years, and I feel it peering into my soul. Black clouds form in the recesses of my head. Darkness and black despair seep into my body, poisoning my blood, and making bedlam within my brain—disturbing beyond description. My anger recedes and an overpowering sorrow pulses over me unlike anything I've ever experienced before—even during my worst suicidal depressions. This is something much deeper. It reaches down into my soul and strangles my will to live until there's nothing left. No feeling. No warmth. No sound. Just emptiness.

Thunder rolls through the sky, lightening splits the heavy sky, and—almost at this same moment—a blinding sheet of torrential rain begins to fall—pounding on the "L" platform awning above me. Suddenly, something within guides me to stand. With a gentle hand, something pushes me along the platform—walking aimlessly in this morbid night solitude toward the end of the awning about fifty feet away. I move in morbid, unnatural, brainless motion. It's getting more difficult to walk, because the distance seems to be longer than usual. Finally, I step out into the pouring rain. It soaks into my hair, my clothes, even my shoes. I turn slightly and end my stroll.

I stand motionless at the edge of the platform, feeling the abyss opening beneath me. Some force beyond my control has lead me here. Something heavy and unseen. I stare out across to the other side of the platform—registering nothing—and my eyes fall slowly to the steel tracks below my feet. The air is heavy around me, very still and hard to breathe. Raindrops drip from my hair, my nose, and my chin. They trickle down my arms, to my hands, then my fingers. A train's low-pitched horn hits my ears, and I slide my eyes to the left to spot two white lights in the distance.

The lights get closer, brighter. About a hundred yards away. The noise of the steel barreling down the tracks is mind-numbing. Fifty yards away. The time is now. I step down onto the tracks. I feel myself on the edge of the world, peering over the rim into a fathomless chaos of eternal night. The rain hits me like a million daggers. I stare ahead at the monstrosity speeding toward me. The lights are blinding. The horn is blaring endlessly. The shrill sound of the brakes sends a shiver down my spine. Twenty-five yards. I lift my head to the heavens—the rain stinging my face with its powerful force—and pray silently for God to forgive me and take me into his loving arms, breathing the anguish of a wounded mind. I look back to the train—the monstrous shadow of steel and iron roaring toward me. Even with the driving rain, I feel warm tears stream down my cheeks. I'm still acutely aware and conscious of the damage I'll do, but there's nothing left in me. In order to save my life, I can only leave it. Faces of my friends and family flash behind my eyes. Everyone I love. I know that they'll probably never forgive me, but I hope that they move on from this tragic night and know it's not their fault. I hate to do this to them, but I can't go on. It's too hard now. I shall die in the black and forgotten depths.... This is where it ends.... What's lost can never be saved....

All I can see is metal and blinding lights as I look out into the void. My heart burns with the heat of a thousand suns.... I close my eyes....

I breathe—

~*~

Be not so long to speak. I long to die....

~ William Shakespeare – Romeo and Juliet (Act 4, Scene 1, Line 67) ~

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His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,

And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

~ John Keats – "Ode to Melancholy" ~

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She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead!'

~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson – "Mariana" ~

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Footnotes

4. Juliet (William Shakespeare – Romeo and Juliet (Act 4, Scene 3, Line 15))

5. Romeo (William Shakespeare – Romeo and Juliet (Act 3, Scene 1, Lines 131-134))

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Well, there ya have it. Myself being a HUGE Abby fan, it was very hard writing this story, and I'm sorry to all the other Abby fans out there! I hope ya liked it! Please read and review! I really wanna know what ya think!