A familiar, rehearsed knock echoed throughout the silent room. When no one answered the door opened slowly and in a jerky like fashion. The room was dim with the curtains drawn and only a small light on the table to provide some much needed energy. A woman entered the room dressed in her usual nun outfit. Sister Bridget's presence seemed to add an extra dollop of the all too overwhelming depressing state that lingered.
The slightly shy lady sat beside the hospital bed, the man obviously unaware of her. Gordon was fast asleep in what appeared to be some much needed shut eyes. There was no denying his skin looked a ghastly grey colour and he lacked his normal tan. He was dressed in a pair of chequered and ironed blue pyjamas. It was a sight no one but his family got to see on a regular basis. His fellow colleagues had seen him in a familiar situation after his crash several years beforehand. It was a part of his life that he and Jill liked to keep separate from work. After all he was a professional man with an important job.
Sister Bridget took hold of her male friend's right hand and clasped it in between her two palms. It appeared that she was saying some sort of prayer; whispering until her breath with her eyes tightly shut. Ormerod made no attempt to wake up; it made Bridget feel a little more relaxed about her visit. To be found in such a compromising position would undoubtedly taint their friendship.
She sat there long enough to let her mind drift off to what she could have had, to the life they could have shared...together...