Will was resting peacefully or at least initially he was.

After about an hour he started moaning and tossing and turning in the cot.

He was dreaming. It was a nightmare.

He was in the hospital, visiting the various patients who were entrusted to him and shortly after, one after the other they died. Everyone looked at him annoyed and pushed him further and further away.

He was alone, even in dreams the feeling was that.

Everyone repeated the same phrase to him:

- You disgust me Will.

Again that feeling of lump in his throat and chest tightened so much he couldn't breathe made its way into him more and more.

Soon he found himself sitting in the middle of the bed panting and shaking like a leaf. His mouth was dry and it was as if the air couldn't get into his lungs.

The tears began to fall on his face, he wanted to scream, break everything. But he couldn't do it.

He staggered up and continued to cry.

The tears were so many that he didn't seem to cry in centuries.

As if he had some tanks that he had filled up over time.

He left the room and headed for the bathroom.

His head had started hammering again, even worse than when Lockwood had made him stretch out a little.

He looked at the watch on his wrist. It was 6:45 pm. Only 15 minutes and then he could have gone home if he hadn't signed up to work overtime until 11pm.

He could have warned, said that he was not feeling well and left, but that money served him like bread.

Physically he was in pieces, on an empty stomach since the morning, he only had a coffee for breakfast, if that can be called breakfast.

He was on edge, he was bothered by his discomfort.

All of a sudden he turned and punched the bathroom wall near the sink. He put into that blow all the anger he had inside of him.

He felt unable to save patients, to keep the love of his life by his side ... Immediately the white wall was stained with the blood of his hand.

He put the limb under the water quickly and after drying it wrapped it in a handkerchief.

He waited a few more minutes and after more or less calmed down he went back to the emergency room to check on his patients.

Meanwhile, Meggie had gone to check on his friend, but she didn't find him. She speculated that he woke up and she looked around for him in the emergency room.

She soon after she saw him talking to the mother of one of his patients, he was explaining the problem and the treatment modality for the pathology of the son.

The nurse noticed that the doctor had one hand closed in a punch and there seemed to be a handkerchief in it.

What the hell was going on with him?

She wanted to ask him, he knew Halstead wouldn't stay past seven since he'd be out of shift.

Ten hours of work were not short. It would have seemed double if you weren't feeling 100%.

It was now about ten minutes to 19.

He needed to talk to him again. He wanted to find out what he had him.