Chapter 6- Where You Left Me
Alan paced the waiting room quickly, his head bent, and hands tightly gripping each other. Terry could only watch as the man futilely tried to walk out his anxiety. She wished she could comfort him, but she herself was trapped in utter hopelessness. Charlie's stab wound had been deep, causing a lot of blood loss. And Don…
She closed her eyes, trying to push away the image of Don bleeding on his brother's bed, pale and cold. Every time she thought about it, she felt herself take another step closer to the edge. She had been there so many times before, but she had always had something to pull her back. But now, that something, or rather, that someone, was the one pushing her to the edge.
If Don died, she didn't what she would do.
"Mr. Eppes?" A nurse called out. Alan was there in a moment.
"Yes?" He said, his voice betraying his fear.
"We just finished up with surgery for Charlie. He's been stabilized. It looks like he's going to pull through."
Alan closed his eyes in sweet relief. At least one son was safe.
"Thank you so very much," he said, his voice thick with gratitude. The nurse nodded.
"You should be able to see him tomorrow."
"Charlie's going to be alright," Alan said to Terry, who had risen.
"Thank God," Terry whispered, and hugged Alan. She did not know the man very well, but they could both celebrate Charlie's survival.
Another nurse came from the two doors marked "SURGERY." Alan turned, his eyes still filled with joy and relief.
"Mr. Eppes," the nurse began. The joy died in his eyes instantly.
"Oh, my God," he murmured. Terry turned to look at the nurse, and her relief was replaced by horror.
"Mr. Eppes, you need to sit down," the nurse said quietly. Alan sat down, nearly missing the seat. He felt completely numb, frozen in time. Terry followed, her hand clamped firmly over her mouth.
"The gunshot wound to Don's side did a lot of damage to his liver and other organs. We performed surgery, but the blood loss was very severe."
"Is my boy gone?" He asked, his voice trembling. His insides had gone completely cold, save for his stomach, which twisted with nausea.
Terry had bent down, hiding her face. Don was gone. He was gone…
"Not yet, sir." Alan rose.
"He's still alive then, right? He could still make it."
"Mr. Eppes, your son has sustained a lot of damage. It's a miracle he's still alive right now. He made it out of surgery, but he's on artificial respiration. The chances of him recovering are extremely slim. If he does survive, he will most likely spend the rest of his life in a coma. But I sincerely doubt that he will live." The nurse suddenly realized her harsh tone. "Mr. Eppes, I'm telling you this because you need to be prepared for the possibility."
"Can I see him, miss?" He asked, his voice gone hoarse. The nurse shook her head.
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't allow it. Besides, you wouldn't want to see him like that. I'm sorry," she said again, and left the two alone.
Alan returned to his chair, slumping. How could this be happening? Just the day before, he'd had dinner with his two sons. It seemed unreal.
"Alan," Terry said quietly. He turned to look at the agent. Her face was blank, but he could see her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "I'm going to go home. Unless you want me to stay here."
"It's alright, Terry," Alan said, his voice just a quiet. It was taking his all not to lose control. He could not lose Don. He had lost his wife, he had nearly lost Charlie, but he would not lose Don. Even the thought of it was unbearable.
"Goodbye, then," Terry said, beginning to leave.
"Terry," Alan called after her. She turned.
"Uh, Don… he told me to tell you… he wanted me to say… you were good to him, Terry." Alan could barely find the words to tell her his son's farewell. It was almost as if by saying those words, he was accepting the fact that there was no hope for Don.
Terry nodded, and turned quickly, wiping away a tear. Alan watched her leave, and then began to stare at the floor, fighting the losing battle to his own tears.
She had barely made it to her apartment before the sobs came. Her cheeks burned with shame as she turned on her radio, turning it up in order to hide her sobs from the neighbors.
They don't care, Terry, she told herself, sitting down on her couch, her knees drawn up to her chest. She knew they didn't care, she knew she was acting like a child, but she didn't care.
Don was going to die. The memory of him lying on the bed, blood surrounding him haunted her, tormented her.
She remembered her warning to him. Why hadn't he listened? Why hadn't she tried harder?
Terry pulled her knees in tighter as she realized that she could have prevented everything. She could have stopped Don from leaving the Grove's residence, could have called for backup sooner, could have prevented Charlie from being stabbed, could have saved Don from death…
Waves upon waves of guilt crashed upon Terry as she recalled Alan's words.
"…you were good to him, Terry…"
So good that I killed him, she thought bitterly. Anger pulsed through her. She nearly ripped off her jacket, and threw it to the floor. Suddenly, she found herself staring at her pistol.
"No," she said aloud, removing the gun from its holster. She placed it on the table, and focused on the radio, hoping to distract herself. The radio, however, proved to be no help.
"On my way for the day I find no sorrowEveryday is the same; there's no tomorrow
And I feel like I feel
Cause it's cold here where you left me
Hey, I think that someday I might need you somehow
I, I think I might have loved you…"
"Oh, God." She put her hands to her face. The song on the radio had only intensified the illogical and dangerous urge.
It's not your fault, Terry. You're depressed. Classic PTSS. Just a few milligrams of Zoloft will solve this problem, she told herself. But the pain and guilt that came with the memory of Don taking a bite of a slice of pizza outside a Laundromat told her otherwise.
Don was going to die, and it was her fault.
Slowly, with a trembling hand, she picked up her gun. It felt so familiar in hand. How many times had she used it to protect herself and to protect Don? She couldn't recall.
Not enough, she realized. I'm so sorry, Don.
She held the gun, tears running down her face, and terrible guilt consumed her.
A gunshot rang through the apartment, sudden and violent. The radio blared, drowning out a quiet thump of something hitting the floor. Blood began to seep, eventually surrounding a cold white hand clutching a pistol. The song continued, the first eulogy for the lost soul lying dead on the floor.
"On my way for the day I find my heart's not for taking
And I know it's all but goneIt only served to make me cry
And I feel like I feel
Cause it's black here where you left me
Hey, I think that someday I might need you somehow
I, I think I might have loved you
These things I said but you were
A million miles away
A million miles away
On my way for the day I find no sorrow…"Chapter 7, Recovery, will be up in a few days. The song on the radio was "Million Miles" by Fuel. Thanks for reading!