Panic overcomes Terry as his phone starts to ring. He's been on edge since he got the news. Just about managing to keep it together in public. Forever falling apart in private.
A strange, mad hope grasps him when he sees the caller. Perhaps perhaps perhaps, he thinks as his finger hovers over the answer button, perhaps they got it all wrong, mixed up his results with some other poor sucker's, and they're calling him to say that there's no physical reason why he's been feeling so fucking awful lately. A hysterical laugh escapes him, then he pulls himself together.
He holds the phone to his ear. "Yes," he says when asked to confirm his identity.
The lady on the other end of the line starts talking and Terry feels like he is underwater, her words swirling around him, disjointed. Snake. At least, his legal name. Critical condition. A ward number. Car accident. Critical. Condition.
Goddamn it.
All hope is extinguished. Now things are even more bleak.
He calls Dennis. It goes to voicemail. His voice is hoarse. "Meet me at West Valley Medical Center. Immediately. Snake's been in an accident."
Dennis doesn't even know Terry's news. And Terry won't tell him, not yet. His staff know, in case of emergency. But after Margaret and Milos both left him, he has maintained a professional distance from their successors. He doesn't want the option of a shoulder to cry on. He won't allow himself to be that weak. He has a list of things he intends to do before the end and he won't waste any more time.
As he climbs into one of his cars, there's a sick pain in his chest. He hasn't seen Dennis or Snake in years. Tears blur his vision as he races down the driveway.