Saturday
28 May 2022

The dawn rays were coming up now.

He'd spent the night on the top level of the parking garage, pacing in contemplative silence. Thoughts were swirling wildly in his mind, each one louder than the one before it. Harsh, bitter words slung themselves at him, screaming that he'd finally become the monster he'd been desperately scratching the floor to crawl away from.

Christine had looked so afraid yesterday after his impromptu lesson attempt. Afraid of what, he hardly had to guess. He'd shown his true ugly colors – his temper, his impatience, his desperation… now that she'd seen that side of him, she would never – never -

What exactly was his end goal? What was he trying to accomplish here? Sure, he loved the girl – but what did that matter anyway? It's not like there was a future for either of them. Love didn't automatically mean he had the right to pursue her, either. A life of wretchedness had taught him not to expect much in the way of that.

So what was his aim? To love but not to hold? Could he truly be that pathetic?

Noon seemed as good a time as any other for Erik to deflate himself from his dismal thoughts and command himself to return to her bedside. He was going to have to go back sooner or later, he knew, and the longer he put it off the more he would have to endure those cruel pangs of pining.

He entered the lobby on the heels of a well-to-do young man holding a tremendous bouquet of peonies and daisies.

"No visitors," the security guard at the front desk said to him.

"But I just want to give these to my fiancée," the young man pleaded. "She's very sick."

"No visitors," the security guard repeated.

Crestfallen, and seeing no other recourse, the young man turned to leave. But then he caught sight of Erik right behind him, still dressed in his stolen scrubs.

"Here," the man said, holding the flowers out to Erik. "Take these and put them out on the unit for decoration or something. I'd hate for them to go to waste."

Erik stared dumbly as the bouquet was pushed into his accepting grasp. Pink and white petals smiled up at him, each bud blushing ardorously in a velvet-soft bloom. He nearly raised it to sniff it, as he'd seen people do when handed flowers, stopping only when he remembered he'd lost his sense of smell years ago.

"Temperature's 100.1°F," the security guard said, startling Erik from his floral enchantment. He looked up to find the guard wielding a thermometer-gun an inch from his forehead. "A little high, but it's pretty warm outside and this thing hasn't been working right all day. You're good to go."

Was he? Was he truly?

He stood lamely in front of her bed, the bouquet wielded before him as a flimsy, useless peace offering.

"You brought me… flowers," Christine stated at last.

He bit his lip, then nodded once. "I did."

A frown creased her face. "Did you know it's Valentine's Day?"

Did he? He felt his face grow pale, and he raised his other hand to shake it worriedly in front of him. "Oh, Christine, please don't think – I didn't intend to make the impression that -"

But he did, didn't he? He brought her flowers. A pretty bouquet of peonies and daisies. He didn't buy them, no. So it wasn't as if he'd been trying to impress her, but it also wasn't as if he hadn't not been trying to…

"They're pretty," she said kindly, interrupting his train of thought. "I'm sure they smell wonderful." She gestured to the window ledge. "You can put them over there."

He followed her command, taking his time to lay the stems flat against the ledge and angle the petals in the direction of the bed. It took great strength to still his shaking fingers enough not to crush them. He had no vase to place them in – in a short time, then, the flowers would wither and die of thirst. But for now they would be a pretty little thing for her to look at: something beautiful to keep her company in this lonely hospital room when he wasn't there.

No part of him wanted to turn around to face her again. Every glance in her direction stirred a battle within him. He wasn't quite sure what he was fighting against. Was it simply that he feared one wrong glimpse would make him never leave her side again?

He couldn't arrange these flowers forever, though, so at last he made himself turn back around, rather sheepishly.

"Erik," she said. And what pleasure rippled through his veins at just hearing his name come from her soft lips! "Do you want to sit down?"

This wasn't real. She couldn't be… inviting… him? No, she couldn't be. She had to be kicking him out. Telling him to take his creepy flowers and get out of her sight -

"In the chair," she gestured. "You can pull it up and sit beside me."

He did as she commanded. Again - how could he not? He placed the chair flush with the bed and sat parallel to her, facing to her as if she were not in a hospital bed at all, but instead sitting upon an uncomfortable and over-large tête-à-tête.

"Tell me about yourself, Erik," she said cordially.

He winced. "There's nothing to say."

"Indulge me," Christine requested, more firmly.

He shook his head. "You would not like to hear it."

She sighed deeply. Only then did Erik hear something bordering on frustration in her voice. "Erik, I am a prisoner in this bed. I have no-one to speak to for days on end. Only one person visits me - and he is a strange man who I do not know and who masquerades as a nurse." Erik withered under her stern glare. "I have not asked you to visit me and yet you come anyway. I am too weak to make you leave or to call for help. I know nothing of your intentions by being here. I am entirely at the mercy of your whim. We might as well get to know each other better."

Oh, Christine! Was that truly what she thought of him? Some manipulative, terrible letch holding her captive in this hospital room? "No, no…" he stuttered.

"I have a right to know who the madman is who brings me flowers and begs me to sing."

A deep, wretching feeling of nausea swept over him, seating itself securely in his core. He expected anger from her. Not this - this frigidly complacent resignation. And so he did the only thing he could possibly do: he indulged her, just as she requested.

"I am… an evil man, Christine," Erik confessed hesitantly. "I have done things no redeemable person could dream of. Things like – like - blackmailing highstanding CEOs, siphoning corporate funds, and coordinating… well, political assassinations, I suppose you'd call them." At that he met her eye, awaiting her response.

She said nothing, but nodded slightly, and he took that as his cue to keep going.

"Maybe 'coordinating' is too light of a word for it, though? I have actually washed my hands in blood, Christine. Not once, but on numerous occasions. I have not only killed the wealthy and the deserving, but also the innoncent bystanders who did nothing but get in my way." He hung his head, placing it in his hands. "I killed some because I was told to, and others because I wanted to. I tortured several for hours before I let them die, just because it brought me some sort of perverse pleasure… I am truly as crooked as they come."

Still she said nothing. Erik lifted his head to look at her. She was staring at him intently, but no disgust was wrought upon her face. The nauseous feeling in his stomach began to ebb away. Could it be…?

"But I am not all bad," he began anew. "Don't misunderstand me. There are good things about me, too, that would not disgust you. You see, I am a gifted writer, an accomplished architect, a musician unparalleled by any -"

"Stop," Christine instructed. "Go back to the murder stuff. Tell me more about that."

Erik squirmed. What more was there to say? He'd already laid bare his crimes to her, hadn't he? "I'd really rather not."

"Why not?"

"It's not a terribly good look for me, you see," Erik answered limply. "It's hardly something I'm proud of."

"You said you tortured people, though," Christine pointed out. "You said you enjoyed it."

"I did," he agreed. "In the moment, that is."

"And after?"

He paused and searched for clarification. "Immediately after?"

"Sure."

"I enjoyed it then, too, I suppose."

"And now?"

How could she ask about now? There was nothing for him now. Now hardly existed to him.

"I'm older now, maybe?" he suggested as an answer. "The things I cared about when I was younger – they've long since flown away."

"And what did you care about back then?"

"What every unhappy man dreams about: money and power." He shook his head. "Foolish vices. The people who promised me them are the same ones who backstabbed me in the end."

"So are you happier now?"

He laughed quietly, emptily. "The thing I was unhappy for has not changed, so I would say no, Christine."

"I'm sorry, then." A pause, then: "Why do you visit me?"

"You wouldn't like that answer."

"We're well past that by now, Erik."

He blew some air. "Fine. Honestly? I woke up in a room down the hall and got lost looking for the exit. It was just a big coincidence that I ended up here."

"Has it been a big coincidence every time since?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're a bold one."

"Answer my question, Erik."

"Why?" Erik said, feeling a sudden spike of anger. "So you can laugh at terrible, miserable Erik?"

"Laugh?" Christine demanded, suddenly similarly incensed. "You are afraid I will laugh? Erik! You are the one subjecting both of us to this! Any moment now you could walk out that door! I, meanwhile, am tethered to this bed by a frail useless body, hoping to God this insane stranger in my room doesn't fly off the handle and strangle me with a cord of IV tubing! Even if I was in the prime of my health - you just admitted to me that you have killed and tortured hundreds of people! How could I stand a chance in fighting you off? So tell me: if you didn't want to answer my questions, why do you continue to stay here?!"

Erik gaped at her, mouth opening and closing like an enraged fish as he searched for a proper response. She was right, of course, as she always seemed to be. And yet he wanted something to respond with, just to prove her wrong.

There was nothing, of course.

Christine accused him outright. "You wish to kill me, then! Is that it? You, who derive such miserable joys from the pain of the innocent, as you just confessed to me – you're going to murder me now in this hospital bed!"

Scarlet filled his vision. "Do not accuse me of things you know nothing about!" His sight began to blur with the onslaught of tears. He threw himself over her and clutched her blankets to his face. "You are right: I am a miserable wretch! And my intentions toward you are not pure! I think to myself I do not want to hurt her but I know that I must! But it is not what you think at all, Christine, and yet it would probably be better for you if it was! Because – I used to think I was the most miserable person in the world, but now I know that you must be… because of how deeply I am in love with you!"

He wailed into her sheets for an eternity, soaking them with his putrid tears and snot. He barely registered her hand as it crept upon his scalp and lightly combed through his sparse hair.

"Oh, Christine!" Erik wailed. "You are truly the most pitiable woman in the world!"

For hours, probably, he laid on himself on top of her bed in that manner, before eventually coming to his senses and flinging himself away from her as if she were an electric shock. One thing blazed in his mind: he needed to get out of that room.

He stumbled messily out to the hall, slamming the door shut securely behind him.

"Hey!"

Just his luck that someone happened to be standing right there when he was feeling so emotionally humiliated. And to make matters worse – it was Goggles, of all people. Merde.

"Heavy door," Erik explained through his teeth. His vision was swimming before him; he fell against the wall and gripped onto the rail for dear life.

Goggles ignored his clearly erratic behavior and held a small item out to him. "I was looking all over for you. Just wanted to give this back to you." It was an employee badge that read Jean Dartigoyte, RN. "You left it at the computer station up at the front. If management saw it lying around they'd have a field day. Imagine if this fell into the wrong hands."

"Right…" Erik said blankly.

"Try not to lose it again," Goggles said, patting his shoulder roughly. "I'd hate to have to read another email scolding us about this sort of shit."

An alarm began to blare overhead – URGENT HEART CHECK IN ROOM 544.

"Fuck, that's my patient," Goggles groaned, before leaving Erik's side to shuffle dismally down the hall.

Erik watched them until they disappeared into a room at the other end of the hall. He watched as a tech ran into the room with a vitals cart, and another two nurses came running in with a set of syringes and vials. Overhead he heard another blaring announcement – CODE BLUE IN ROOM 544 – and a herd of doctors pushed past him from behind.

The world was moving quickly around him, fighting against death, and yet he stood still in one spot. In his hand the cold plastic of the badge burned against his palm, tempting him with a singular, foul desire too great to ignore.

He needed to get out of here before he did something he would regret. There was nothing good that could come from staying here. He needed to –

His eyes blinked and suddenly he was sitting cross-legged under an overpass by a murky outlet of the Seine, a spent needle plunged into his arm.

Oh, fuck.