The Angel
By
Michelle Naylor
Part 1
The sound of footsteps seemed to echo off the bare white hospital walls, making the normally soft sound seem to bang in his ears.
Boom, boom, boom.
Just like the gun shots that brought their group to this place once again. Gun shots that by all rights should have sent him to the hell he was certain he deserved.
Why, God, why? Why couldn't he have stopped it?
He loward his head and stared at his knees. Stared at the once pristine gray silk that was now marred with the bright red stain of blood.
Not his blood. Not his. Why, God, why?
He shut his eyes to block the sight of all that blood, but it did no good. His mind's eye was simply filled with the events of that evening, filled with blood.
"Oh God." His voice was no more then a whisper, but in the quiet of the room it was a shout.
A hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed. He could feel the strength and support it offered. He wished he could reach for that hand, grasp it and hang onto it, sap its strength and take it for his own. But he didn't deserve it, didn't deserve the sign of friendship, and didn't deserve the pity.
He moved his shoulder out from under the hand, got up from the hard plastic chair that he felt like he had been sitting in for hours, and walked across the room to look out the window at the city skyline, mostly hidden in a shroud of haze from the rain that had been plaguing the area for days.
He was still there, staring out that window, when he heard the Emergency Room doctor enter. He did not turn around, his hands clenched up until he could feel his finely manicured nail dig into his palms. Skin broke and bled.
Blood, more blood. God, would he ever be able to wash off all the blood. Blood on his hands. The cliché would have been laughable if it where not so true. Not his blood, not his. Chris's
He could hear the doctor clear his throat, but he didn't turn around, he couldn't, wouldn't.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen," he heard the doctor say. "We did all we could…"
He could hear no more. Without a word to the others in the room, he pushed away from the window and stormed from the room, brushing past the doctor as he went.
He could hear someone calling his name. Josiah? No, why would any of them want him back?
Chris. Chris was gone.
It was his fault, all his.
If only…if only he could turn back the clock.