The Fourth Chair
By: Olivia
Chapter 3
"If a man urged me to tell wherefore I loved him, I feel that it cannot be expressed by answering: Because it was he, because it was myself."-Michael De Montaigne-Essays
"Frank! Frank! Can you hear me?! Speak to me Frank!"
A hand pressed into his. There were bright lights. Everything was a blur to Frank and yet despite it all he could still pick Tim's voice out of the many that were speaking.
Frank finally forced his eyes completely open. Where was he? An ambulance? He was definitely being transported somewhere, most likely to a nearby hospital. Strangers were poking and prodding him. Finally a familiar face came into view.
Frank could plainly read the fear in Tim's eyes. Fear, guilt, and shame were all mixed into one. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "I'm so sorry, Frank. God, I'm so sorry. I called Mary. She's going to meet us at the hospital. I'm so sorry, Frank."
Frank was able to muster enough strength to squeeze Tim's hand. In spite of it all, in spite of Frank wanting to be angry with Tim, he couldn't be angry with him. If he was angry with anyone it was himself. Maybe if he had kept in better touch with Tim, maybe if he had been the type of partner Tim felt he could turn to in troubling times, none of this would have happened.
Frank flashed back to the time when Tim took that bullet for him. He had been sitting where Tim was sitting now, praying for his partner to be okay, to live. Frank had taken a bullet for Tim and this was square business. And yet even if Tim had never taken a bullet for Frank, Frank would not have done a damn thing differently. He had tried to save Tim's life. He had accomplished that for now.
Suddenly all movement stopped and Frank realized that they were at the hospital. Cold air rushed in as the doors flew open and the paramedics rushed Frank's stretcher out of the ambulance.
"You're gonna have to stay back, sir," said one of the nurses as she tried to disengage Frank's hand from Tim's.
But Frank was not letting go. He had to speak to Tim. The nurse realized it was useless and allowed Tim to run with them as they hurried down the corridors to get Frank into the operating room. Tim leaned his head down close to Frank.
Frank finally got his lips to move and found his voice. Weakly, he said, "It is not for me to forgive you, it's God. But I forgive you, Tim. Don't say anything to anyone. We'll work this out Tim, okay? Together will work this out."
The nurse finally disengaged their hands when they reached the operating room. Frank was wheeled in and the doctors began operating.
Tim stood alone and watched his partner silently as the operating room doors closed. He moved to the window to watch like a sentry or a hovering angel. In his memory, he still had vague recollections of Frank standing by his beside when he took that bullet a year ago that had been meant for Frank.
And as Tim watched he realized that a small shard of hope had pierced his heart. Where before had been nothingness, something was there now. Tim didn't know how it would happen, but somehow he felt that things were going to be okay. Frank was going to be okay. He himself was going to be okay. He had nearly lost the one person who meant the most to him tonight. Frank had sacrificed himself to save his life. Tim realized in that instant that Frank, despite his being cold and aloof, cared deeply about him. In his heart he had known all along, but it was easy to forget not having seen or spoken to Frank in well over a year. Frank didn't care about Tim in the exact same way that Tim cared about him, but Frank cared. And that's why Tim knew everything would be okay- because he wasn't alone anymore.
By: Olivia
Chapter 3
"If a man urged me to tell wherefore I loved him, I feel that it cannot be expressed by answering: Because it was he, because it was myself."-Michael De Montaigne-Essays
"Frank! Frank! Can you hear me?! Speak to me Frank!"
A hand pressed into his. There were bright lights. Everything was a blur to Frank and yet despite it all he could still pick Tim's voice out of the many that were speaking.
Frank finally forced his eyes completely open. Where was he? An ambulance? He was definitely being transported somewhere, most likely to a nearby hospital. Strangers were poking and prodding him. Finally a familiar face came into view.
Frank could plainly read the fear in Tim's eyes. Fear, guilt, and shame were all mixed into one. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "I'm so sorry, Frank. God, I'm so sorry. I called Mary. She's going to meet us at the hospital. I'm so sorry, Frank."
Frank was able to muster enough strength to squeeze Tim's hand. In spite of it all, in spite of Frank wanting to be angry with Tim, he couldn't be angry with him. If he was angry with anyone it was himself. Maybe if he had kept in better touch with Tim, maybe if he had been the type of partner Tim felt he could turn to in troubling times, none of this would have happened.
Frank flashed back to the time when Tim took that bullet for him. He had been sitting where Tim was sitting now, praying for his partner to be okay, to live. Frank had taken a bullet for Tim and this was square business. And yet even if Tim had never taken a bullet for Frank, Frank would not have done a damn thing differently. He had tried to save Tim's life. He had accomplished that for now.
Suddenly all movement stopped and Frank realized that they were at the hospital. Cold air rushed in as the doors flew open and the paramedics rushed Frank's stretcher out of the ambulance.
"You're gonna have to stay back, sir," said one of the nurses as she tried to disengage Frank's hand from Tim's.
But Frank was not letting go. He had to speak to Tim. The nurse realized it was useless and allowed Tim to run with them as they hurried down the corridors to get Frank into the operating room. Tim leaned his head down close to Frank.
Frank finally got his lips to move and found his voice. Weakly, he said, "It is not for me to forgive you, it's God. But I forgive you, Tim. Don't say anything to anyone. We'll work this out Tim, okay? Together will work this out."
The nurse finally disengaged their hands when they reached the operating room. Frank was wheeled in and the doctors began operating.
Tim stood alone and watched his partner silently as the operating room doors closed. He moved to the window to watch like a sentry or a hovering angel. In his memory, he still had vague recollections of Frank standing by his beside when he took that bullet a year ago that had been meant for Frank.
And as Tim watched he realized that a small shard of hope had pierced his heart. Where before had been nothingness, something was there now. Tim didn't know how it would happen, but somehow he felt that things were going to be okay. Frank was going to be okay. He himself was going to be okay. He had nearly lost the one person who meant the most to him tonight. Frank had sacrificed himself to save his life. Tim realized in that instant that Frank, despite his being cold and aloof, cared deeply about him. In his heart he had known all along, but it was easy to forget not having seen or spoken to Frank in well over a year. Frank didn't care about Tim in the exact same way that Tim cared about him, but Frank cared. And that's why Tim knew everything would be okay- because he wasn't alone anymore.