Maureen backed out of the room, shaking her head. She stopped when she hit someone behind her.
"Maureen? You okay?" Mark asked.
Maureen turned and shook her head. Mark glanced into the room. The color drained from his face. He stared at the nurse, then at Collins. The nurse shook her head. Mark echoed the motion and slid his arms around Maureen's shoulders. She didn't cry, but clung to Mark. The filmmaker turned and moved Maureen to the side of the hallway.
Roger stepped off the elevator, a cup of coffee in each hand. Mark hated the stuff but Roger and Maureen drank it all the time. He froze when he saw them in the hallway. Maureen's head was buried in Mark's chest, his arms folded around her. Roger tried not to panic. They were just hugging. It didn't mean anything. He ignored his thudding heart and suddenly dry throat and forced himself towards them.
Mark's gaze met Roger's. Mark bit his lip, blinking back tears. Roger's eyes widened. He shook his head and turned to Collins's room, refusing to believe what Mark's eyes told him. The nurse leaving the room paused and patted Roger's arm.
"I'm so sorry, dear," she said.
Roger dropped the cups, coffee splashing on the floor and bouncing up to stain his jeans. He dashed into the room, ignoring the voices begging him not to.
Collins lay under the crisp white sheet. The nurse had pulled it up over him. Roger took a shaky breath and pulled the sheet back, hoping and praying that someone other than Collins lay beneath it. Collins's face froze in peace, his eyes closed. Roger's hands went over his mouth as the tears sprang to his eyes. He shook his head, feeling suddenly nauseous.
"No, no…" he mumbled.
Roger backed up to the wall and sank to the ground, tears covering his face. He couldn't tear his eyes from Collins's lifeless body. Instead, Roger sat still until the nurse returned and helped him to his feet. He shook off her hand when she tried to lead him out. She watched as Roger knelt at Collins's bedside, hands clasped together.
"Sir, I'm sorry—"
"No! Don't say that! He's fine! He's—he's just sleeping! He's fine!"
The nurse bit her lip and stood quietly by. Roger choked back a sob. "Collins, please….please, man…you gotta open your eyes….you can't—you can't die…please! Collins…"
The nurse excused herself, blinking back her own tears at the stranger's heartfelt pleas. Mark saw her leaving.
"Ex-excuse me, miss. Is—is, um, Rog-Roger…the man who went in there…"
The nurse frowned. "He's…he's very distraught. He doesn't believe that your friend is gone….I would suggest that you go to him."
Maureen pulled away from Mark, shock still gleaming in her eyes. "She's right. Go to him," she said.
Mark nodded and returned to the hospital room. Roger was on his knees beside Collins's bed, still pleading with Collins. Mark put a hand on his shoulder and felt Roger stiffen.
"Rog, he's—"
"No! He's not! Don't say that! Stop saying that!"
Mark grabbed Roger's arm and forced him to his feet, both of them surprised by Mark's strength. "Roger, look at me."
Roger kept his eyes on Collins, waiting for some movement.
"Roger," Mark said in a stern voice.
Roger tore his eyes away and looked at Mark.
"He's gone," Mark whispered.
"He's gone," Roger echoed. "He's gone?"
"Let's go home, Roger," Mark said.
Roger followed numbly behind him. They found Maureen in the hallway. She gave the nurse their names and phone number and asked the nurse to call later to take care of the paperwork. Roger stared ahead, blinded by his own tears. Maureen stood between him and Mark. She kept her arm locked around Mark and clutched Roger's hand with her other.
The three made their way back to the loft. None of them said what they were all thinking. They were the only ones left. Everyone else was gone. And sooner or later, Roger would go too.
