The hospital doors welcomed them, a suck of warm air, the belch and hiss of automatic doors, the people, so many people surrounding them, talking, asking questions. The paramedics answered whilst she and Henry followed the trolleys through directly into the emergency department.
She could barely hear the words of the doctors who surrounded them, the journey from the prison had been so quick. The injured prison officer that they had accompanied in the ambulance was wheeled ahead of them, the clattering rumble of the following trolleys behind them, she glanced back several times to look for Bette...Shell...but there were too many bodies.
They stopped before the door to the operating theatre, the doors opened onto a large square room not dissimilar to those at Holby.
Zoe paused at the threshold as she would at the edge of a pool, watching the turquoise water lapping at the tiles, the liquid nets of sun wavering in the blue depths. She delayed for a moment the plunge back into reality, allowing the world to be fuzzy for just a moment longer, the quick membrane of chill, the plain shock of immersion into the world, where she stood, Henry's hand reaching for her own, touching her fingertips, grasping her skin.
"Are you OK?"
She heard him speak, his voice seemed to be floating in the air between them, not quite reaching her ears.
"Yes."
She answered, unmoving, her gaze remaining on the door. She might, at this moment, be nothing but a floating intelligence; not even a, brain inside a skull, just a presence that perceives, as a ghost might.
She nodded as she spoke.
The doors to the operating theatre closed, leaving them together, alone in the corridor, the quiet rushed at her ears, thumping rhythmically after the shock of so much noise.
They watched through the glass doors, hand in hand. Doctors, nurses, moving around the prison guard who lay flat and life less on the table, his face turned to them, his mouth gaped open and the whites of his eyes showed as though he were sleeping.
Eventually the movement in the room slowed, someone looked at the clock above the bed and it was over. Zoe pulled her fingers from Henry's grip, his hands still sticky with blood.
She watched as the wires and tubes were slowly extracted from him. She thought as she watched, how small he looked now, how much more space a being occupies in life than it does in death; how much illusion of size is contained in gestures and movements, in breathing. Dead, they were all revealed in their true dimensions, and looking at him now, she realised, they were surprisingly modest.
Max thumbed through the pages of a magazine, catching the odd word here and there, but nothing more.
Helena had returned with more coffee a few minutes back, and was now standing with her back to him, stirring cool water from the tap into her latte.
Max looked up, the minute hand on the clock above the sink had barely moved. He raised a finger to his lips and chewed on the skin next to his nail, watching the second hand counting down the minutes.
Eventually Helena turned back to face the room, leaving her coffee on the surface behind her. Mascara was smudged faintly under her eyes. She folded her arms tightly to her chest and dipped her chin into the roll of her black polo neck.
"They must be back..."
She whispered, looking to the door.
Max followed her gaze, watching the various legs walk past through the window.
"Henry would call you...?"
He picked at the cardboard rim of his coffee until it started to tear. She shrugged.
"Maybe."
She turned again, sideways this time so that she could keep an eye on the door and began stirring her latte again.
"If he's still alive..."
She added, one arm still wrapped across her chest.
He looked up at her, his legs crossed, his free foot jiggling violently, constantly.
"Do you care?"
He asked, watching her as she stirred slowly, ongoing circles, the spoon catching every now and then on the bottom of the cup with a soft scrape.
She shrugged again.
"You must have loved him once?!"
He glanced at where he had been biting his fingernail, he'd drawn blood and the skin was pink and sore.
He heard her exhale.
The creak of the door handle interrupted them, Max stood as the nurse entered, his hands flexing at his sides. The nurse looked from him to Helena.
"Dr Molengraf and Dr Hana are back."
She had an accent Max couldn't place.
"Where are they?"
He asked, before she could finish.
"His office, I can take you?"
She moved to leave the office, gesturing for them to follow her but Helena waved a hand at her and let her spoon clatter onto the work surface.
"I can show him."
She said, ushering again with her hand, shooing the nurse away and moving to the door herself, Max following.
More to come (tonight if I get it done on time!) xxx