Access Denied: The Bullseye

17. Red Land

Almost dying told you a lot about the kind of person you were. What was the impact you had on people around you. How did you add value in a world where so many people did so many things that were much better than you could ever do?

She was in the same room she'd been in when she'd been shot. She pulled back the lose hospital gown and grazed over the wound. It looked like an indent. Jackson was worried for a while, he was in her room: "She's going to be fine then?"

"Physically, she'll recover without a doubt, given she eats right and gets enough rest... but—"

"How do I help her with the emotional state, the mental state she's in?" Jackson asked. 

Silence. They didn't have a clue how they could help her head. No one knew what was going on up there. With one more look at her sleeping face, the pair walked out the room after that. It was difficult to differ between the times she drifted in and out and whether is was sleep or unconsciousness she was drifting from. She couldn't recall if she'd contributed to the interaction at all, but she knew he knew she was awake and alert and listening to him. 

"I wanna ask how you're feeling but I don't really think you know right now." Deep breaths. She reminded herself, deep breaths would get her through this. There was a need to cry emerging through her heart. This was not where she wanted to be right now, receiving counselling from a sharp shooter on feelings of all things. He was waiting for her to speak she realised.

"So I got you this instead..." Carlos said after the wait. A blue plush sat at her side. It had red splotches covered across. Pieces of red land on a seven deep blue waters. "I think it's a stress ball? I've never given it much thought but that's how I used it. Maybe you can too?"

Slowly and with more nervousness and shake than a sniper should have, Carlos stood to leave the room. Maybe he expected her to speak, but no words came. Soon enough sleep took her over again. 

* * *

After the doctors and the nurses and the beeping machines, there wasn't much left to do in the hospital room. It became boring. 

Genevieve had been in this bed for almost four days now and other then routinely check-ins, there wasn't anything else keeping her here. And she didn't mind being left alone. She would have appreciated it. But there was always a person standing outside or sitting beside her, watching her, making sure she didn't try to kill herself again.

She had wanted to get out of the protection of the team of agents that Cory Davidson had assigned to her. But she had just transferred from one prying prison to another. At least, they hadn't put her in a psychiatric ward. That's where all the crazies were kept. And Genevieve—as she was told again and again—wasn't one of them. Yet.

 Right now, Nicole Harvey was the one sitting cross-legged against her hospital bed reading The Man Who Fell to Earth. She didn't expect Nicole read—especially not science-fiction. They sat quietly. Nicole read and Genevieve threw the ball Carlos had given her up and down. He had been nice enough to come around again. This time they did speak. Not much other than the normal niceties: Hi, how are you? Not hoping to drown yourself again I hope. 

Not at all. 

It was even understandable if these people were the officially assigned to looking after her. But Genevieve knew that they weren't. They were here because Jackson had told them to be here. No other reason than that. Jackson had sent them here, but never thought to come himself. 

The ball Genevieve threw up and down stopped at the sound of a knock. It was Flynn Davidson. That's a first. She tossed the ball in the air and let it fall back in her hand. Nicole told her to take care and stuffed a finger into the book like a bookmark. Flynn and her talked in soft murmurs, then with an exchange of two firm nods, Nicole left and Flynn pulled the seat beside her and sat down.