The ambulance arrived in minutes, but it could have been hours for the souls who kneeled by the increasingly cold corpse, for the members of the office who sat in chairs, unsure whether to avert their eyes or stare dumbfounded at the scene before them. Torres and Lightman hadn't moved from Loker's side, tears still falling as they knelt shoulder to shoulder, remaining there as EMTs rushed into the room, feeling for a pulse, pulling him onto a stretcher, covering his body with a blanket.
That's what made Lightman buckle inside. He had hoped with some shred of his being that the lack of pulse was due to his own incompetence, that his weathered fingers just couldn't feel the weak beating that had to be underneath the fragile skin of that boy. But when the paramedics pulled that sheet over his limp body and pulled it away, Lightman swore he could feel his heart breaking.
The first thing he felt, apart from agony, was guilt. He couldn't even remember the last words he had spoken to Loker that morning, too busy, too arrogant to even give him a second glace. But he remembered the face. Fake smile, moist brow, slightly downturned eyebrows, and a small tic beneath his eye. The painful thing was that none of this was unusual for the intern, the fakeness of his smile, the agony between his words, the clear pain he held on his face each and every day.
Lightman cursed himself, a doctor specializing in suicide, unable to see the signs so plain on a man he spent every day of his life with. Now he was left kneeling on the floor, so cold and hard, an arm around his weeping protégé. His tears had ceased now that they had taken Loker's body from the room, and most of those working in the office had either retreated to their offices to mourn alone, or sat in one of the chairs at the nearby desks.
Helping Torres to her feet, Lightman led the young woman to Gillian's arms, so the two could embrace and weep, heads on each other's shoulders, mourning as only two women could. Lightman on the other hand was left to stand alone. His vision swam, body shook, the shock starting to set in, making his heart beat so fast and heavy he could feel it threatening to leap from his chest. In an attempt to calm himself slightly, he collapsed into the chair closest to him, putting his head into his hands.
The guilt was heavy now, a solid weight resting on his back, feeling utterly and terribly responsible for the events of the day. First for not seeing it so obvious on that boy's face, and secondly, for treating him as he did. Nothing but utter love and care for Gillian and for Torres, but coldness and scorn was the only way he greeted Eli, even on a good day. That intern had to fight for even half a compliment from him, praise that he was none too eager to give.
That hung in his mind like a black, double edged question. If he had treated the boy better, would this have happened? Would he have been pushed to such an edge? Opening his eyes through the sorrowful mist that filled them, Lightman wondered what he would do to tell Emily that the boy she looked up to, and even adored, was dead. How he would comfort her, assure her that she had no part to play, that there was nothing she could have done. And not only would he have to tell that to his daughter, he would have to do it while trying to convince himself the same.
Yet no amount of convincing could clear that guilt from Lightman's shoulders. There was no question that his treatment of Eli was nothing less than horrific. He watched the boy flinch back each time he made a jab, each time he made some cruel remark, every time he scowled in feigned disgust. Now he was dead, and there was no time for apologies, for a compliment, for a genuine remark on the genius of Loker's work. Lightman knew the kid was amazing, outstanding, clever, and fully deserving of a job at the Lightman group, yet Cal never gave him that reassurance.
With a heavy sigh, Lightman looked forward, when the light from the many monitors in the room caught his eye. The monitors were on, and the upper right hand corner of the biggest screen was a small blinking word- "recording." Lightman let out a mournful groan, knowing what awaited him in the archives of the monitors, the last words of the man known as Eli Loker, and his death.
Lightman may have been mourning, he may have been in agony, but he knew what he had to do. It couldn't wait. He was not one to leave those tapes lying for years, letting himself be eaten alive by guilt and questioning. He had seen death before. He had seen and heard terrible, awful things. And Loker had taped it for a reason; he had done this deed here, in this place, for a reason. Loker's family would take care of funeral arrangements, there was nothing that the Lightman Group could do except wait and mourn. But for Cal, he could watch those last minutes of Loker's life, and hear the words of a dead man.
As much as he would have liked to taken no break from this agony and just pressed 'play' on the monitor before him, get the event done and over with, he knew that he had a job to do. An obligation to the mourning men and women in the room around him, those still too grief stricken to return to their work places. Lightman stood, and looked at his colleagues around him, all in various stages of shock. It took him a second to find his voice, and he was shocked to find he was hardly able to project it at a decent volume to the small crowd before him.
"Alright folks, I know that this… unexpected tragedy is quite painful. Please go home, take the rest of the day off. If you have to take tomorrow off too, just let me know, email someone here, alright? I'm sorry, just… I know Loker always seemed like a cheerful guy, and that we never imagined something like this. I… I don't know what else to say. Just go home and rest, okay? Thank you."
Sitting back down, Lightman watched people slowly filter out of the room in silence, all except Gillian and Torres, who both sat silently, wiping their eyes, shoulders against each other. Once the last employee that was not practically family to Lightman left the room, he got up and shut the door, locking it. Gillian and Ria looked at him with red eyes, silently. Lightman sat down in front of the computer again, stopping the recording before looking back over to the ladies beside him.
"Well you two, if you want to stay here and watch the last words that Eli so kindly recorded for us, feel free. But if you don't want to see that yet… Go ahead and leave. I won't be upsetting you two anymore than you already are."
Although he tried to say it with his usual sharp bite, it lacked any emotion other than sadness and regret. Gillian was the first to stand, and she walked over to Cal, putting a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at her touch, looking down at his lap.
"It's not your fault, Cal." She tried to reassure him. "But if you really want to watch that now, I'm here for you." At that moment, Torres piped up from the back before walking over to join the other adults.
"I'll, I'll watch too. Eli was my friend… and I want to see what he had to say."
Lightman wound the tape back, letting it come to a stop at a time that read about an hour and ten minutes earlier. Loker was smiling at the camera, sitting in the chair that was now toppled in the middle of the cube. He was smiling. Torres let out a soft choking sound, and Lightman only bit his tongue. He took one last deep breath, and pressed play.
A/N: Thanks to the so many of you who have been taking the time to read my humble little story! I hope that you're enjoying!