Santa Monica Hospital - Trauma Center
Inside the hush stillness of the hospital trauma unit waiting room, Richie and Blake were sitting down waiting patiently for an update on the condition of Ramon Hernandez, former world class luchadore and father to Richie. Richie's hands were fidgeting nervously in his lap while his gaze was fixated on the large door that led to the emergency room. For every minute or so, he would turn his head toward the waiting room door where his mom told him she would catch up to them. It's been roughly an hour and still no progress, which made Richie even more worried than before. Blake, his best friend, sat beside him, expressing the same deal of emotion as him, offering only nothing more than silent support. The mystery still lingered on the minds of both Blake and Richie. The identity of his attacker remained a mystery, adding to his anguish. The smell of antiseptic hung in the air as the fluorescent lights continued to buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows across the worn chairs and scuffed linoleum floor.
Blake glanced over at Richie, noticing lines of worry into his friend's face as he continued to stare at the double doors leading to the emergency room. He reached out, placing his hand on his friend's left knee, rubbing and patting it reassuringly. A silent reminder that he wasn't the only one facing this ordeal alone.
"You're dad's gonna make it," Blake said to him. "We'll get through this, man. Your dad's tough. He's gonna pull through."
"Yeah, but what's taking so long?" he asked.
"Stuff like this takes time. Maybe even longer."
Despite his reassurance, Richie still couldn't shake this fear that gripped him. Many questions still hovered around his mind. Who could've harbored such malice toward his father? His first guess would obviously be that Raynare girl. She was the one that brought both of his parents to that vacant warehouse in the first place. But even if it was her, why? Was it done under specific orders from somebody else? Why was it that Richie's dad was the one targeted to suffer the beating. However, his wife, Richie's mom, Keira, surprisingly hadn't had a scratch on her. Just as importantly, why did mom have those mysterious powers in the first place? Who was she really, and why? So many unanswered questions still swirled in his mind, it was just too much to even think about.
Richie continued to cling on with a sliver of hope, praying that the damage isn't severe, but still hoping his dad can make it out of his injuries sooner than later. As they continued to brace themselves for any upcoming news from the doctors, tension from within the waiting room still thickens. Just as Blake was going to open his mouth to offer more words of encouragement, the single door that led toward the waiting room opened with a small creek. The boys turned their heads to the door.
"Mom!?" Richie called out, his voice in desperation, hoping in vain it would be his mom coming back like she said.
But instead of his mother's familiar figure, it was in fact Blake's mom, Stephanie, who stepped in the room with a mixed reaction of concern and compassion. Her eyes scanned around the room to see the two boys sitting down before enveloping an embrace.
"Oh my god. Are you boys alright?" she asked softly in worry. "Blake, I got your voicemail. I'm so sorry that I didn't get your call earlier. I was busy working on some financial stuff with my shop. You said something about Mr. Hernandez in the ER?"
"Yeah, we've been sitting here this whole time still waiting on any further updates on him," Blake told his mom. "Before the doctors got him in, he was beaten up pretty badly from head to toe."
"How could this have happened? Where was he when you found him?" she asked.
"We, uh, found him outside in an alleyway unconscious as soon as we got out of the thrift store before it closed, so we called 911 for help."
Blake's mom looked toward Richie nodding along Blake's expression, suppressing the half truth that gnawed at him. The reality of this situation seemed too fantastical to disclose, especially in the midst of their circumstances. She frowned, mouth covered by her hand with a concerned deepening in her eyes as she absorbed his son's words.
"That's horrible. Richie, I'm so sorry about all this," she said, as she embraced the suffering Latino boy with tears rolling down her face. "This must be so hard on you."
Richie returned the embrace before shedding more tears on the mother's shoulder. It felt very refreshing for him to need that hug from her. Despite the lie, he still couldn't shake the feeling of unease that was still lingering, knowing what really happened at the warehouse, however the real truth of his father's attack remains a mystery, buried beneath layers of deception.
"Where's your mom?" she sniffled.
"We called her as soon as we came in. She said she would be here, but she hasn't," Blake added the fib. "Again, we've been here for a while and we still haven't heard from her since then."
"I don't get it. This is all so very confusing. I really don't understand things like this," wondered Richie as he sat up from his chair. "First dad's in the hospital with god knows what diagnosis he has and now mom is missing only god knows where! Something's wrong, like, something's wrong here! There has to be answers to everything that's going on! I just…I just…"
Blake, without immediate hesitation, got up from his chair and hugged his best friend right in front of him as Richie's words trailed off into distress, feeling the weight of his friends' anguish. Wrapping his arms around Richie, Blake offered more support, letting the hug convey what words cannot express.
"I know, Richie," Blake murmured softly, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainty. "You're not the only one that's worried. Your mom and dad meant a lot to me and my mom, y'know? We got this, okay?"
For a moment, the chaotic whirlwind of emotion slowly dulled, replaced by the simple warmth of their bond and friendship. Richie found a semblance of peace with Blake in his presence, clinging to hope and to each other. But as they remained locked in their embrace, the atmosphere in the waiting rooms suddenly grew heavier with each passing moment. Richie could feel it. The faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway near the empty receptionist desk. A weary-looking female doctor with short black hair, wearing a purple hospital uniform emerged with a somber expression as he approached them.
"Excuse me, I'm Dr. Allison Sherwood, one of the heads of our trauma unit. I need to speak to a relative of Ramon Hernandez."
Richie quickly walked closer toward the doctor. "You can talk to me. I'm his son, Richie Hernandez. Is my dad gonna be OK?"
"Richie," the doctor began before letting out a sigh, her voice gentle yet laden with grave news, "This isn't going to be easy to say this but your father's condition is more serious than we had anticipated.
Richie's heart began to sink deep, his stomach churning with dread as he braced himself for the worst.
"His abdominal trauma is severe," the doctor continued, her words heavy with concern. "He sustained multiple internal injuries, including damage to both his spleen and liver. Internal bleeding was present, but we did stop the bleeding and manage to stabilize him just in time, for now, however we're still keeping an eye on whether problems of his condition will continue to arise."
"B-But my dad's gonna be fine, right? He's gonna get better, right?" he questioned with a worried expression.
"That's not all on what we found. There's more to it, unfortunately," the doctor continued. "Upon further evaluation, we did an emergency x-ray and MRI from his brain to his spine. Your father also suffered head trauma which has resulted in him going into a coma. Further imaging revealed damage to his lower spinal cord which will require emergency surgery later on."
His eyes began to widen. Shock began to ripple through Richie, his mind struggling to process the doctor's words. "A-A coma?" he stammered, "But…but how? How long is he going to be in that state? I-Is he going to pull out of this?"
"Head injuries like this can vary, but in this case, it could take months, maybe even longer."
"Okay, let's say my dad comes out of the coma much sooner than we think. You said that he suffered a spinal injury that'll need surgery." he asked. "My dad suffered from spinal stenosis in 2003, which sidelined him for a very long while. Not to sound selfish, but it has been my dream, since I was little, to wrestle him in Mexico. How serious is this injury now compared to this one?"
The doctor later sighed, continuing on with her voice turning even graver. "There's no better way to say this, but we did further testing on both x-ray and MRI scanning. I'm sorry, Richie but in part of his injuries that were sustained earlier, we can determine that your father has been paralyzed from the waist down."
Richie's breath caught in his throat with shock and disbelief as he struggled to process the doctor's words by covering his mouth. His father, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, fighting for his life—it was almost too much to bear at this point. Tears began to form and roll again, his mind reeling from the onslaught of devastating news. His father he looked up to, once a strong and vibrant man full of energy, charm, and wit, now lying broken and helpless in a hospital bed with now a future of his life uncertain. The dreams of facing his father at an older age in a potential wrestling match when he was a bright young child, were soon shattered right before his very eyes.
As the reality of his dad's condition sank in, he knew that his life as well his father's would never be the same as they were before again. But amidst the disparity, both Blake and his mother reached out to Richie by hugging him once more in an unwavering support and determination to stand by him.
"It's gonna be ok, dude." Blake comforted him.
The sad latino boy was bawling and sobbing on Blake's shoulder, crying for a need of comfort. "I want my mom, Blake! Where's my mama?" he followed as he choked and sobbed. "Where's my mom?"
The unanswered question loomed over them like a dark cloud, adding the weight of uncertainty that has already burdened their hearts. Blake held him tighter, grappling with the answers that are non-existent at the moment. He could not shake the sinking feeling of helplessness that ate him from the inside. Where is Richie's mom? Why hadn't she shown up to the hospital yet?
As desperate as he was, Richie looked up at the doctor with his voice shaky but determined. His eyes pleading with some semblance amidst everything that was going on. "Can I at least see my dad?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, Richie," she said gently, "but visiting hours are over for the night. Hospital policy—"
"Please," he begged, his voice cracking with emotion. "I need to see him. I'm practically the only family member he has right now. I don't know where my mom is. I just need to see him, please. I need to be there for him," he urged her.
"Richie, your father needs immediate emergency surgery in a few moments. We'll let you know about your father's status once the surgery is over. Your father is in the best hands right now and we'll do whatever we can to make sure he's well enough. We'll let you know when the time is right to see him," the doctor assured him. "I'm going to give you some time alone with your friend, but your father needs rest and I'm sure he would want you to get some too."
The doctor then left them alone in the waiting room. Richie just sat back down on his chair with his hands covering his hands. "I need to know where she is. I just can't lose them both," he muttered, his voice trembling with fear."
Blake sat back down next to his best friend and patted him on the back. "We'll find her, Richie," he vowed, filling his voice with quiet determination.
"Listen, boys, as much as I want to stay here and wait for Keira, we can't. It's Sunday and you two have to get ready for school tomorrow."
"I hate to say it buddy, but mom's right. We have to go home. Look you're more than welcome to stay at our place until this whole mess is sorted out," Blake said.
"The doctor is right, Richie," Blake's mom chimed in. "It's for the best for your dad to get some rest, and so should you. He would want that from you and you know it. Look, after school tomorrow, we'll head down to the police station and file a report. I'm sure the police will find a lead somehow."
With a heavy sigh, Richie reluctantly nodded at both their agreements, knowing full well that Blake's mom was in the right. Richie gave both of them a final nod of understanding, Blake's mom gently urged to get up to his feet to offer one last time.
"Thanks Mrs. Larue," his hoarse voice said.
Abandoned Tire Warehouse
The acrid stench of rubber assaulted Raynare's senses as she strained to rise back up on her feet, only to be still restrained by Keira's inhibitor rings. Groaning and struggling, she shifted her foul, unruly gaze toward the woman on the cold concrete floor. That woman was named Keira. The now mysterious magician that had saved her son's life with what energy she had left, now appears to be lifeless by exhaustion. Raynare stretched, the lingering tightness that held her down was finally fading. The magic inhibitor rings that were once clamped around her wrists and ankles to the concrete were now gone. Freedom, bittersweet and cold, flooded her veins. Although, a nagging sense of incompletion was now lingering over her head.
She walked towards the motionless body giving her a cold stare. Only without hesitation, she spat directly at her face, showing no care or emotion toward the individual whatsoever, with the disgusting saliva of the wicked fallen angel trailing down Keira's forehead.
"Serves you fucking right for interfering with my plans," she scolded her with a deep scowling face. "I hope hell has a nice place for you."
A bright flash of light suddenly ripped right from the floor behind Raynare, startling her in the process. The source of the light on the floor carried the exact same magic insignia when Raynare made her presence known, meaning that a fallen angel was making its way here. Its familiar energy crackled the polluted air. Why would another fallen angel come to an abandoned factory in Los Angeles all of a sudden? From it arose a slender figure cloaked in darkness from the neck down, with the only details visible was a stark black and white masquerade mask covering the top portion of the individual's face which exuded an unsettling aura as she drew closer to Raynare. The only part that was merely exposed out of all her body was the figure's lower lip, only to reveal red lipstick with a dark skin complexion.
"Raynare," the figure's voice that emanated from the figure dripped with icy disdain, devoid of warmth. "Has your mission been successful? Have you retrieved either the artificial sacred gear, the spellbook, or even the boy?"
Raynare's voice choked out of confession with rage. "No! That low life brat tricked me! The book wasn't even a real book! It was a fucking flashbang! I had plans to take down that twerp but I couldn't even get close enough to him or his sacred gear cause the damn thing practically blinded me! Then that woman came outta nowhere and-"
"Incompetence. It seems to me that your skills have considerably dulled down since your fall from grace," she hissed, the accusation resonating like a hammer blow.
"It's not even my fault! How was I supposed to know the kid had a trap!?" she snarled.
The cloaked female walked past Raynare and toward the motionless body for further observation as she continued the conversation. "Why were you using the book as a basis of attack in the first place? Seems to me you dropped the ball without thinking correctly. Did you even consider the fact that the book wouldn't work on an insubordinate fallen girl like yourself?"
"The fuck did you just say?!" Raynare shouted.
Ignoring her outburst, the individual continued. "Or did you even care for one second that this mission fell within your hands, and all you had to do was retrieve the boy and his sacred gear? Even if it meant he was dead or alive? You had only one job and you failed, regardless if your actions were inexcusable or not. You are under strict orders to report back to Cecelia and give a statement to her face to face on why this mission was a failure," she said with a stern attitude and disappointment through her mask.
Raynare stared directly down on the ground with nothing but a deep, burning scowl as she gritted her teeth in anger flickering in her eyes and frustration boiling up. All she could do was just eat up her words.
The figure's cold gaze then shifted back to Keira's body. A flicker of surprise then crossed her face as she knelt, a slender hand reached out to brush her hair out of the way to touch Keira's neck. Her eyes suddenly widened. A somewhat miracle after what happened. A faint pulse, nearly extinguished, thrummed beneath her touch.
"Intriguing," she muttered. "A slight, yet sliver of life is still clinging on to her. Perhaps this mission wasn't entirely a waste after all."
"Wait? You mean, the woman still lives!?" Raynare shouted.
"Yes. If I were you, I'd meet back ASAP. I'm sure Master Cecelia is willing to give you a second chance after your pitiful attempt."
Before Raynare could react, the figure had picked up Keira's body in a surprisingly swift motion. With a final glare at the fallen angel, she vanished, like smoke on the wind, in a flash of purple light under the fallen angel's magical circle that represented the insignia of the race, leaving Raynare alone with the echoing silence and the sting of her failure. Raynare screamed loudly. The sound is so raw yet full of frustration. Her rage echoed throughout the desolate factory. Her scream so loud almost a tenth of L.A's population could be heard. No sacred gear claimed, but now facing an uncertain future.
Raynare slammed her fist down to the ground in rage, creating big cracks and a small crater. "This isn't over!" Raynare scowled. "The next time I see that little bastard, I will not fail. Swear on Lord Azazel!"
Raynare snared as her anger was burning in her gut like internal flames. As the air shimmered and with a final, frustrated glance at the empty factory floor, Raynare summons her teleportation circle in silence as it flares beneath her feet, vanishing in a flashing burst of purple light. From that moment on she was gone. Unbeknownst to the fallen angel and the hooded figure, a tiny witness still remained on top a bunch of boxes from the back, the orange plastic scorpion with two gleaming black eyes embedded as camera lenses flickered faintly with recorded evidence on the entire event.
