The Missing

Home Sweet Home

"The sun is coming up," Hank said flatly, as Halle could finally see the amber of his eyes in the rays of sunshine that were trickling through the gaps of the steel door. He looked to have aged about two decades in the several hours that they had been abducted for. Grey whiskers now coated his cheeks and his eyes were hooded.

"Hals, I need you to come look at this," Duncan called, his voice slightly panicked.

Halle gently let go off her father, her legs were wrought with pins and needles from sitting awkwardly. A couple of inches away she could see a perspiration-covered Duncan sat next to Damien's crumpled form. His sleep deprived face was wrought with anguish, as he continued to inspect something that lay beneath the man's bloodstained shirt.

"What is it?" She asked once she reached Duncan's side, her feet now feeling more alive.

He did not say anything, but gestured with his head towards Damien's stomach.

"Shit."

Beneath the man's stomach an enormous black and purple bruise was forming. It was a map to an early grave.

"That is internal bleeding." She planted a hand on Damien's arm and leg to ascertain his temperature. A sob escaped her throat as she came to a horrific realisation. "He is already experiencing hypovolemic shock."

Duncan's brow furrowed. He knew that the prognosis was not good but also had no idea what that jargonistic medical term meant.

"It means that his organs are shutting down," she explained, with tears cascading down her cheeks. The man that had been her second father for the last two years was dying right before her and she was powerless to do anything.

Catching wind of Halle's words, Hank crawled on all floors, like a mad man, to Damien's side. "There must be something that you can do," he demanded, grabbing Halle by her shoulders. "In those three years of medical school you must have learned how to treat this?!"

"E-even if I did," she took an agonising breath in, "we do not have the medical supplies to save him."

Hank's lip trembled for a moment as his life came crashing down before him. His hands slipped away from Halle's shoulders and found their way to Damien's side. "Come on Dae," he murmured desperately, with a slight shaking of the man's side. "You have overcome worse than this. Think about your girls."

Damien gave no reply, only pained wheezes as his chest rose less and less by the second.

"Do not do this to me," Hank cried, collapsing onto the man. His whole body shook violently as sobs overtook him. "H-how long?" He finally stammered as he found a brief moment of composure.

"Probably about an hour or two," Halle snivelled, wiping at her runny nose with her dirtied hand. "We-we," she struggled to continue. Duncan's hand found its way to the indent of her back, giving her the courage to go on. "Need to make him as comfortable as possible."

Hank's destroyed eyes lingered on his daughter for a moment. "Alright then," he muttered, ripping his velvet, navy blue captain jacket off, leaving him in just his damp, white button down shirt. He placed the jacket over Damien's shaking form as a makeshift blanket.

Rosa moved forward, with a bundle of strawberry red cloth in her hands. It was her "World's Best Abuela" sweatshirt. She lifted Damien's damp head slightly and placed it beneath. "Whether we live or die, we are the LORD'S," she whispered softly, as she planted a soft kiss on the dying man's head.

Soon enough the entire group were surrounding Damien. Each and everyone watched and listened intently as Hank interlocked his finger's with Damien's and began telling them all about his fondest memories with the man. A memory about a marlin pulling Damien overboard when it snagged his line caused some laughs to erupt from the group, even despite the circumstances.