In The Air Tonight, Part 2
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Michael Vaughn stood immobile in the open doorway of Sydney's house in horrified shock at the sight before him. Most of the furniture in the once homey living room was destroyed and glass from the coffee table was strewn all over the floor. The double doors leading to the patio had been smashed out; little pieces of wood that once held the panes of glass in place were all that remained. The kitchen was awash with drawers, utensils, broken plates and more glass.
Worse, everywhere in his sightline there was blood: blood smears on the walls made by fingers, drops of blood making perfect round O's down the hallway, a spatter of blood on the glass where the coffee table once stood, even a smear of blood across the tile kitchen counter.
Instinct and training took over and immediately, Vaughn whipped out his 9mm from the holster under his right arm. Cautiously entering the hallway, he peered his head around the wall into the kitchen and then back. He did the same in the living room, and as he whipped around the corner, gun at the ready, he saw a chilling sight: there, amongst the broken glass and wood was Sydney's CIA issued pistol.
A fevered determination swept over him. He ran back to the hallway, gun pointed down the hallway, yelling desperately, "Sydney!" He turned and kicked in the half-open door to the bathroom, watching it splinter as it ripped off its hinges. His crazed eyes scanned the room for a sign, any sign of Sydney… Vaughn's stomach lurched as he careened toward the unmoving lump at the back of the room. "Sydney!" he screamed, falling upon his knees next to the white porcelain tub.
Vaughn's mouth gaped open as he found not Sydney but the battered, bloody body of Will Tippin hidden in the bathtub. Vaughn put two fingers on Will's neck, searching for a pulse. After a nerve wracking moment, Vaughn was able to detect a faint, thready pulse. "Oh, God… Will…" Vaughn said, seeing the gaping bloody hole in his abdomen. Reaching to the towel rack, Vaughn ripped up Will's sweatshirt and pressed the clean towels against his wound. Vaughn's hands were covered now covered in blood, but he couldn't be bothered with it. Only one thing was in his mind now: he needed to find Sydney.
He wiped his hands against his shirt and stood, pistol cocked once again. He called out her name desperately and stalked down the hallway to Sydney's bedroom. Whipping himself out from behind the wall, he staggered against the doorframe at the sight. The double doors leading to the patio from Sydney's room were broken in; glass littered the hardwood floor in glittering pieces. Among the glass and large pool of blood lay Sydney's friend Francie, eyes wide open, with three bullet holes in her chest.
He started towards her to check if she, too, were alive, when he thought he saw movement from the corner of his eye. He turned…and there she was. Sydney. Lying in what appeared to be an unnatural slump amid broken mirror shards beside her bed, a once-shiny .44 laying at her side, its handle now slimed by Sydney's own blood.
In that one moment, the world seemed to tilt and stop for Michael Vaughn. He couldn't think, feel, or even breathe. All he could do was fling himself toward her, screaming, "No, Sydney, no!"
In the back of his mind, it registered dimly that he'd just been sliced about a dozen times by the shards of glass surrounding her, but he couldn't care. He lifted his blood-coated fingers to her neck, trying to find signs of life. "C'mon, Sydney…" he breathed, trying to find a pulse and not feeling one; his slimy hands kept slipping around and leaving more red smears on her already bloodied body. Desperately, he rested his head against her chest, vainly hoping for the sound of her heart. "Damn it, Sydney!" he yelled, "You can't do this! You can't leave me!"
Finally, he heard her heart beating and knew she was alive. He shoved more glass aside and pulled her up, cradling her against him. "Sydney, please wake up…wake up, Sydney…please!?"
After what seemed to be an eternity, a feeble moan escaped her lips. "Vaughn?" she whispered weakly.
Relief poured through Vaughn at the sound of her voice. "Yes," he breathed, smoothing her hair back comfortingly. "I'm here, honey. I'm here."
She swallowed painfully, panting shallowly. Feverishly, she labored, "It was Francie, Vaughn…the double was Francie…she…she killed Will…she…"
Then suddenly, Sydney just seemed to melt. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped like a rag doll down Vaughn's arm, unconscious.