"All I Ever Needed"

Chapter III: "Recollection"

Dead silence emanated throughout the hospital hallways that night. The floor the two injured parents were staying on seemed as a ghost town; not a soul moved-not a sound penetrated the crisp night air.

At the front desk, a lanky, older, yet gentle man sat in front of several computer screens, each with their own personal green line running across it, spiking in rhythm, for the most part. His eye-lids had begun to sink, and he very well might've knocked his head straight on the desk if his hand hadn't been lazily propping him up.

After all, it was the gravedigger shift. There wasn't anything to be had-done, or said. All of the night nurses either had retreated to their quarters until it was the routine time to check the patient's vitals or when a few swiftly and quietly slipped passed the desk in the hallway, as transparent wisps of wind.

The man closed his eyes and scrunched his face, feeling his temples throb-and he almost instinctively glanced up at the clock on the wall, grimacing once reading it.

2:45.

Who would want to be up at 2:45 A.M.?

Another nurse in white slipped passed the desk, slightly startling the man-he had just recently taken over the night shift, and was still getting used to the seemingly unusual quietness and, strangely, eeriness. Hospitals are cold, gloomy, and dark to some.

As it seemed, this description matched perfectly both Ricky and Amy's moods.


From within the sealed room, the only light that came forth was a dull, shielded illumination pushing against the closed blinds on the glass window separating the rooms from the hallways. Every once and awhile shadows would cast against the blinds, silhouetting unknown hospital figures as they leisurely passed by.

Within the room itself, once again the body of a young man lay perfectly still, his hands resting at his sides, and his chest rising and falling slowly as he breathed. Ricky Underwood had several leads stuck to his chest to monitor his heart, a respirator mask placed over his mouth, and a bandage on his forehead that would certainly pain to be taken off when the time came. Truly, he was still crippled, and his physical injuries were the least of his problems.

For the majority of the day, the young father had either slept uncomfortably or simply lay in bed, the weight of the world crushing down upon his body as he looked straight up into the ceiling. There was nothing Ricky could feel at the moment; he couldn't think straight-comprehend the situation as it was. In his mind, he kept trying to tell himself that it was all a dream, and that soon he'd wake up from it. But, he never did. And thus, Ricky lay, his spirit lacerated and maimed, the shell of a broken man without the will to sit up.

And no one tried to convince him otherwise; because quite frankly nobody blamed him.

Even with his lids closed, his eyes were still visibly darting here and there, as if he was locked in a frantic dream, trying to escape something that was chasing him-a deadly enemy, perhaps.

There was no escaping this.

There was a slight knock on the glass door, and Ricky's eyes shot open, gasping slightly as a loud whoosh rang out when it was opened.

Ricky remained slightly dazed for a moment, after all he had just been woke from his not-so-comfortable slumber, and had a hard time comprehending the situation now-distinguishing dream from reality.

The young father wrestled his heavy head off the soft pillow and hazily looked up in front of him. The dark room which he occupied had now been filled with a small pathway of light that burst in thru the open doorway. However, it's pureness was altered by the presence of a figure-a dark, blank silhouette that peered across the room at Ricky, who was both confused and dumbfounded. Was this a dream?

After a brief moment, Ricky began to experience an uneasy feeling knotted in the pit of his stomach, and he felt his brow furrow, his face becoming hot. Even though the person before him could not be seen, Ricky knew-he felt that, whoever it was, their eyes were shooting down at him. And he couldn't help but feel, whether this was real or fabricated, that profound gaze pierced his body, darting thru his very being.

Ricky exhaled nervously.

"Hi, Ricky," Bob said.

And suddenly Ricky was running, far and fast; his feet, one after the other, slamming down on the hard ground, his bare appendages being torn and cut by the unforgiving asphalt. But it mattered not to him, for he could feel the looming presence behind him, a stalking entity that seemed to be toying with him, silently laughing to itself.

He couldn't see where he was going-the thick blackness of night prevented that, shielding him from even more clarity-and this only frightened him more. Ricky's mind was exploding with chaos-every single thought seemed to trigger an emotion outburst-only to clash with yet another one milliseconds later.

As he barreled down the pavement of an unknown area, Ricky's maimed feet, scraped and bloodied badly, began to go numb, his legs starting to give way. But still he pressed on, trying desperately to get away from...whatever it was that was following him. For a moment, as the young man utilized every ounce of lasting strength and endurance his tired muscles would give him, Ricky's brain suddenly stopped-all of the chaotic thoughts freezing abruptly, and suddenly he wondered-asking himself: Who was he running from? Why?

This brief pause along exhausted condition of his legs combined as Ricky felt himself slow slightly, he took one gasp of pointless air in, and suddenly he fell, hard and fast to the pavement.

And there was a flash of white light that illuminated and blinded his vision, and then all went black.

The silence of darkness seemed to last for millenia; and there were no stars overhead-perhaps they too had given up on Ricky.

Bloody and broken, the young father sat hunched over in an unknown place full of pitch blackness. The only sound that penetrated the cold silence was his labored yet quiet breathing.

Ricky leaned his head up, opening and closing his eyes several times in an attempt to adjust to the world around him, but to no avail.

Once again, he felt alone-nobody was there. Darkness took him, and Ricky found himself...losing his will.

His will to live, to fight. To fight for...

Ricky suddenly awoke, confused and disoriented, panting heavily as he lay in a soaked bed of his own sweat. He looked around frantically, and was surprised that there was no one there-and he could actually see: He was back in the hospital room, and everything was normal...yet still quiet.

It had all been a dream...hadn't it? Or was it a defining moment in his life: Had he truly lost the will to fight for-

"John," Ricky said out loud in an exasperated breathe.