The Truck
By the Gypsy of a Multitude of Colors, MulticoloredGypsy!
If the Matrix was mine, I'd be rich rich rich! But I'm not…you do the math.
A helpful note: This first part takes place just after the truck accident. When "Eve" wakes up is far after this.
"Choi, where are you going?" Tom asked, following Choi and DuJour out of the club. "What happened?"
"It's Brandon." Choi said, seeming distracted as well as tense and distracted. "Stupid fuck OD'ed. Taryn's with him." He pushed past the crowds of people and exited the club. He got inside the nearest phone booth and dialed three digits. 911.
"Is he ok?" Tom asked, glancing back at the club. For all he knew Brandon could be lying dead on the ground.
DuJour's dark eyes met Tom's, her inner sadness viewable from only there. "He's having some kind of seizure. Don't know what he took. He came up, started talking with me and then he's on the floor. Thought he was dying, scared the shit out of me."
"Are you scared now?" DuJour nodded. She had been close with Brandon before she met Choi. The two of them went way back - no one knew how long. The two had met through some drug deal and hit it off from there. They've been friends, sometimes more, ever since.
Tom knew what it felt like to lose a close friends. It was the reason he no longer had any close friends; just Choi, Taryn, DuJour, Brandon and some others who wandered in and out of his life. Before he could utter any comforting words to DuJour, she put her arms around his shoulders and cried. "I don't know what's gonna happen to him. I don't wanna lose him, but I just can't be in there with him. I can't go in there with him, can't see him like that."
Choi exited the phone booth without saying a word and explained his situation to the bouncer, asking to be let in without having to wait.
"My friend's fucking dying in there. Just let me in, god damn it!" Choi was desperate. DuJour ran over to join Choi back inside, leaving Tom alone. What else was left for him to do than to wait for the ambulance? He was always singled out, left alone. He was just one man, his own person, he didn't need to spend every hour trailing a clique of stoners with nothing to do but do drugs, hack databases and go to clubs. But they were the closest things he had to friends.
"Oh my god, oh my god." Taryn cried over and over again, looking through the window of the operating room. Tom sat in a chair, his eyes shut. He hated hospitals ever since he was a kid. They were so clean, so neat, so organized. You'd think they were perfect, but then again perfection should have been able to keep Tom's brother alive. He had heard the flatline of the monitor before, and each left a scar on his heart. He didn't want to hear another flatline. He just couldn't.
Inside the room, DuJour stood, Choi's hand squeezed in her iron grip as she watched the doctors struggling to keep Brandon alive and out of danger. His body convulsed from another seizure and he let out a muffled cry. He was between life and death, the destination to be determined by even the slightest thing done, whether right or wrong.
And then Brandon's body lay still. Through eyes blurred with tears DuJour thought for a moment that Brandon was going to be ok. Then came the flatline. "Brandon?" She whispered, shocked. "Brandon?"
A doctor closed Brandon's lifeless eyes. DuJour took his hand in hers and looked up at the doctors. "Where are you going? Why aren't you helping him?" She looked down at Brandon. How could he be dead? Just minutes ago he was dancing in the club. "Brandon, come back. Come back!"
"DuJour!" Choi grabbed her arm. "He's dead. He's gone." And then reality hit. These words were more than something to help comfort DuJour; they were the truth. They were real.
Sitting out in the hall, Tom heard DuJour scream before breaking down into harsh sobs. It could only mean one thing; Brandon was dead. Tom shuddered. He could almost hear the flatline in his mind; he shook his head as if it would help the situation. Of course it won't. He thought to himself. Brandon's dead. Dead dead dead…
The word echoed in his brain like they had done those times before. Why did people have to die? Yes, no one could live forever, but dying was always so hard on people, it was always too soon.
DuJour's sobs replaced the flatline sound and Tom couldn't take it anymore. Yes, he wanted to comfort his friends, but he couldn't find it in him to stay. He got up from the chair and walked down the hall to the elevator. On his way he passed by three men in suits and sunglasses talking to a confused looking nurse.
"If I'm not mistaken, a female has just been admitted to your facility." Agent Smith waited for the nurse to respond. After a few silent moments, she recognized his statement as a question and nodded slowly.
"She's in the room at the end of the hall." The Agents' gazes followed her pointing hand to the closed door. "Why do you ask? Are you family?"
"No," Smith said stiffly. "But we need you to do us a favor." The nurse nodded again and he continued. "One of the injuries she's sustained is a head wound. These may often lead to amnesia, is that correct?" Another nod. "When she wakes, if she survives, I want you to lie to her."
"Excuse me?" The nurse looked even more confused. "We don't even know anything about her as it is accept a truck hit her while she was making a phone call and-"
"No. Do not tell her this information."
The nurse put her hands on her hips. "That is against regulation, sir. I can't do that. I'll lose my job."
Agent Smith showed no signs of frustration. Agent Brown and Agent Jones exchanged glances devoid of all expression. "It is for her own good. Instead, I'd like you to tell her she was in a car accident. She was-"
"I already told you, Sir," The nurse was getting annoyed. "I can't do that. It's against regulation. Do you want me to call security?"
Agent Jones stepped forward and pulled out a thick wad of 500 dollar bills out of his left pocket. He held it out to the nurse, who hesitated before taking it. "There will be more if you cooperate with us."
The nurse took a deep breath, checked to make sure no doctors were around, and stepped closer to the Agents. "What do you want me to do?" She asked in a hushed voice.
"There was a car accident." Agent Smith said in his usual monotone. "She wasn't wearing her seatbelt when a car crashed into hers."
"What's her name?" The nurse assumed the three men must know who the woman was, seeing they were going out of their way to do something for her, even if it was lying and against regulation.
"Her name is Eve."
Without another word, the Agents turned and stepped inside the elevator courteously held open by a young man dressed in dark clothes and messy hair. He had been sitting outside the room where the drug addict had been brought inside, the Agents observed. He looked confused and angry as he stared at his feet.
The nurse was left alone, confused and worried. Why did the men want her to lie to her patient? She fingered the money hidden in her pocket. It was against the rules, but she needed money to pay her rent. Maybe she should go out and buy a nice outfit or two, maybe a new toy for Robert, her 6 year old son. She missed spending time with her family, but she needed this job to keep them alive and healthy. Her only family was Robert and Diana, her sister who watched over Robert while she was working.
With a final glance around to check for doctors, she headed inside her patent 'Eve's' room to check on her before she went into surgery with but one thought in her mind. Why were those men wearing sunglasses indoors?