My Life with Death

George Washington Hospital, 23rd Street, Washington, D.C.

 I was no longer lying on the cold stairs. However, before I passed out, I felt blood running down my skin. I felt human warmth on my hands. Someone was pressing them, and so was my whole limp body. All around, it was frost, cold, and at the same time hot. I remembered the scream. I don't know if he was male or female. I heard him last, then only silence. The blinding light burned into my eyes. I felt movement. My body was moving. And I also listened to the voices of the hospital staff. They were talking about facts that I didn't understand. All I heard was a buzzing sound, like a flashing light.

4:12 p.m.

The moment I started to come to, and the morphine wore off from my body, all the scars on my body ached. Even the most minor one hurt like a thousand knives were cutting into it. I was weakened, but I needed to open my eyes to know I was alive, and this was not just another illusion. It hurt terribly. But I had to, although, in that feeling of weakness, each eyelid weighed perhaps a ton. Plus, I was sick enough to throw up and was still dizzy. I slowly raised my calloused hand and touched my face with my fingers. There were wounds on him—tiny ones on the cheeks and one big one in the hairline.

I had a million questions running through my head about what had happened and if anyone was hurt. I painfully opened my eyes and slowly looked around. There was only white everywhere. The white ceiling, the walls, the blanket - which I was covered with - and everything seemed covered in fog.

I blinked my eyes and tried to put all my strength into focusing them. Opposite the bed was a cheesy armchair - like something from the 1960s - and little Christine was lying on it., covered with a blanket that reached up to her face.

I looked to my right. Kent was sitting on a similarly cheesy chair, holding my hand tightly, his head bent to his chest as if praying. My blue eyes lit up when I could look at him again.

"Ryan," quietly.

"Ryan? I haven't heard this address for a long time," he joked.

I started laughing a little bit. It still hurt. I coughed.

He looked scared.

"You scared me," he said with concern. "look how you look," he gently touched my injured face. "what did you think of that again?"

"Sorry, I'm not doing it on purpose," I apologized. "an ordinary case," I replied after the fact.

"I don't think so." "It's okay. I'm fine. Can we go home?" I asked.

"You can't go home," he answered my question in surprise. "No one knows what exactly happened," he said. "but we already know what Dr. Burnes found in the victim's body," he added.

"What happened there?" I asked curiously. "What do you know?" He said nothing. He squeezed me even harder and tried to look less nervous so as not to unnecessarily stress me out.

I looked out of the window behind him. The sky, bright white from the snow showers, turned to a darker gray and finally black as the last ray of the winter sunset.

I cleared my throat. It scratched my throat. I was thirsty.

"Will you get me something to drink?"

He still looked quite frightened.

"Do not worry. I swear I'm wonderful. I feel good now. I was just tired," I tried to calm him down.

I looked around me. I thought about everything that happened before I passed out, but it didn't work. I had holes in my memory. Probably, a reaction to the medication I received or the fall was to blame.

I stared into the distance. A tall figure was approaching me.

"Good evening... Agent, Doctor?"

"Just Alexis."