Error. [H.S.]

17.

Niall Horan.

I thought it was a nightmare until half of the New York Police Department showed up to my hospital room.

"You're doing great, Niall. We just need you to walk us through everything one more time." Captain Vega tried to motivate me through another retelling of the incident, sitting beside Commander Wilson at my bedside. They were looking for any discrepancies in my story, and trying to fill in the blanks where I couldn't remember. It wasn't out of malice, but it's routine practice for a police report.

"Last time?" I questioned, the early morning hour taking a toll on my uncaffeinated and exhausted body. My eyes were getting heavy, and I was starting to get put-off by the constant repeat of questions.

They were a constant reminder that I had the man we were chasing at my fucking fingertips and I let him get away. What kind of cop does that? Who lets the bad guy get away?

"Yes, we're almost done here." A small smile offered a treaty of reassurance, reminding me that she was always the 'good cop' in situations like these. "Now, walk us through what happened. Any details you can remember may be important, so don't worry about them being too minor."

"I don't know how long he was in here, I was asleep when he came in." Being on the opposite end of a police report made me understand the instant intimidation civilians presented with when they were on the reporting end of things. It was much easier just to write down a statement than to be the one to give one. "When I woke up, I felt like I couldn't breathe. It was like my body was suffocating me from the inside, but there was some guy standing over me, pinching my oxygen tube so the airflow wasn't getting through."

Dark blue polyester caught my eyes when suffocation jarred me from my slumber. My lungs deflated easily, but reinflating them on my own didn't pose as an option. My panic was audible with my heart monitor, the beeps pacing faster and faster. In my drug induced state, my body felt weighed down by modern medicine and the failure to do my job correctly.

Black splotches started turning my vision into a galaxy, the fading lights coming in and out like shooting stars. The lack of oxygen brought on muscle fatigue worst than the medication did, and gravity seemed to be lessening with every passing second as the room began to spin. He must have shut my curtains before waking me up, because in my fight to breathe, I was seeking for bystanders to help, but I was isolated from anyone of sane mind.

"Did you recognize the man?" Vega stopped me before I could dive into my side of the story any further. A small recording device was set on the built-in bedside table, capturing every uttered syllable in our conversation while Wilson jotted down physical notes into a leather bound book.

The devil met my eyes with no remorse, but for the first time in my career, he had a license to kill.

"Personally, no. He had most of his face covered up, so I couldn't really see any defining features other than his eyes. He was dressed like a doctor, or maybe a nurse. I don't know what the different color scrubs mean." A surgical mask covered the lower half of his face while a scrub cap concealed his hair. Any key features were camouflaged by a disguise that wouldn't raise any red flags to onlookers. "But professionally, I knew exactly who the hell I was dealing with."

"And this wasn't a medical professional you have seen since you're time in the hospital?" Vega focused on the first half of my statement, holding a lot of sympathy for me in her eyes as I relived the torture.

"Honestly, I wouldn't know. I've been asleep for the majority of the time." I try to shrug, but a wince of pain stops me quickly.

"We asked for a list of medical professionals that have been working with you since your arrival. Later today, you will need to review their staff photos and see if you recognize any of them." Commander Wilson chimed in, looking up from his notes.