The Commencement of Dietrich

2

Norman rushed out the door without a second thought.

Anxiety coursed through his blood. He grasped the wheel with a trembling hand. He couldn't lose his wife. The very thought of it made his foot press the pedal forcefully.

Dietrich felt his heart pacing volantly. The hospital seemed to be so distant. The priest found himself nervously scanning the surroundings for the building at every corner.

The pasty white health center found his eyes at last, and he felt his breath hitch. Suddenly, he was flying out of the vehicle and scrambling inside the medical institution. 

Norman mentally cursed; the lines were completely brimming. Frustrated, he sat with his hands resting firmly over his face. Deafening notions consumed his mind overwhelmingly.

The swarm of people slowly cleared, and the pastor took this as his sign to walk up.

The hospital employee glanced at him, presumably understanding his turmoil. "Patient name?" She asked with a gentle tone. "Dietrich. Pamela Dietrich." He strained to endure the growing need to know his wife's current condition.

The receptionist typed the name into a shabby computer. "Ah, Mrs.Dietrich is on the second floor, in the OR section."

His soul nearly left his shocked body.

"It- no, you're lying!" He accused the lady in denial. "Sir, what would I gain from lying to you? There are others who need to check in." She waved him off irritably.

Dietrich trudged along to the elevator. A blonde child strolled into the now open elevator with a nonchalant expression.

"Ayla, what are you doing here?" While confused, he questioned the latter. Ayla was calm, there was little chance they were here for a patient. 

They stared back, equally confused. "Might I ask what you're doing here aswell? My brother is in surgery." His face softened at this realization. "My apologies, my wife is here, or so they say." He replied with clouded eyes.

Ayla just softly patted the older man's back in an act of comfort, "She baked good cookies."  The elevator dinged, and the doors extended. "Goodbye Mr. Dietrich."  

Norman retreated instantaneously, dread lacing his steps. He immediately recognized a familiar face, Ed Sheeran. Behind him, his wife was strapped to a bed unconscious.  IV bags dripped fluids into her pale body. "Pamela!" He called frantically.

"Nerdman? I mean, Norman. Move, she needs surgery." He pushed away the stunned man.

"What? You can't-" Sheeran interrupted him, "She's bleeding internally, in the brain." He answered the unasked question, evidently annoyed.

Frozen in horror, Dietrich observed his wife being dashed into an operating room. He blinked, and unexpectedly, Norman was at the church. 

Angrily glaring at a defenseless chair, he stormed over and flung it across the room in a rage.

"Damn it! God, why me?" His eyebrows furled tightly.                                                                                          

Norman dropped to the floor, a loud sob managing to wretch through his mouth. "Please, God, just- oh God, just spare her! She's the only one who has ever loved me!" He couldn't life without his precious wife; he would be miserable.

Pleas for safety and forgiveness invaded the room, until a thundering voice spoke out. "Norman, right? Um, I'm sorry, your wife didn't make it. My condolences."

A silent, horrified expression set itself on Dietrich's face. Impulsive with grief, he lunged at the man. He gripped the gaping intruder by the neck, choking him. Helplessly, the man flailed wildly.

"P-please!" Norman took this opportunity to punch him, failing to notice a child watching from behind a bench.          

"Mr. Dietrich?" A small, raspy girl called out, stunned. 

Releasing the other immediately, Norman sent a look of innocence her way. " Jade, I didn't see you there. I think it's about time I went home ."

Smiling with stained tears on his cheek, he left in a whirl. The ride home was bumpy, and misty-eyed, no longer comforting. His driveway, the garden, and his house sent waves of new heartache.

The door was unlocked, making Norman laugh at his wife's forgetfulness. A sharp pain edged its path into his heart at the memory of Pamela.

A wrinkled note taped on the refrigerator caught his attention.

He dashed to the last message from Mrs. Dietrich, nearly tripping over the kitchen table. The letter was merely a heads-up she got called out to work.

Dietrich grinned at the note, reminiscing the cherished events with his wife.

"I will kill that bastard."

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