I Do I Did

Forty Seven

There were lights flashing everywhere.

Red and blue. Red and blue. Red and blue. It was making it hard for Pete to see any other color.

And there were sounds.

Loud sounds that were threatening to permanently fuck up Pete's hearing. Police sirens screeching. Ambulances blaring. People screaming. Wheels squeaking. Cars speeding away.

Voices.

Voices asking him answers to questions he didn't know how to answer. For the first time in forever Pete Wentz felt confused and afraid. And not just afraid for himself, afraid for his family.

Jefferson was talking too. Telling the police that he'd shot the gun himself, not Pete. And that it was clearly in self defense. The police were listening and nodding. Writing things down and asking if Jefferson was okay to file a report with them saying so. Of course Jefferson said he was.

Feelings of helplessness filled him as he watched Meagan being lifted on to a stretcher. She wasn't moving. Why wasnt she moving? Was she okay? Was the baby okay? He rushed to stay by her side as they wheeled it into the back of one of the many ambulances. But just as the doors were about to shut, he saw Patrick.

On instinct, he jumped from the back. His feet rushing to Patrick's side. Patrick was moving. Not much, but still some. The steady rise and fall of his chest gave Pete hope that maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed. He followed directly behind two EMTs who were moving his husband's stretcher.

"Is he okay?" He asked the tallest one.

"We don't know yet sir."

"When will you know?" He asked, his words breaking as he spoke.

"Sir, is that blood?" The man flipped on a flashlight and let the light shine into Pete's dark hair.

"What?" Pete reached up to touch the sore spot but the man grabbed his hand to stop him.

"We're going to need to get you checked out." He glanced over at the woman in front of him. "Get him into the back of one of the trucks and examine that."

She nodded and grabbed Pete's arm.

"I'm fine." Pete tried to tug her arm away but she was strong. "I don't need to be checked out! I need to stay with my husband!"

But the woman wasn't hearing any of that as she guided him into a separate ambulance. His doors closed at the same time Patrick's did. He wanted to scream and fight to get back to him but he knew that would only make matters worse. So he sat there and let the people do their jobs.

It turns out he wasn't as okay as he thought he was. He needed twelve stitches in his head. Right above his left ear. The doctor asked him to stay in the room until he came back with some pain meds but Pete wasn't going to listen. He could endure a little pain. What he couldn't ensure was knowing that his husband and unborn child were all in this same hospital. Doing much worse than how he was doing.

So as soon as the doctor left the room, Pete walked out behind him. He walked to the front desk where a few nurses were gathering around, whispering. Probably gossiping about what could have happened to cause such a big ruckus in such a small hospital. When Pete approached them, they quieted down.

"Hello, can we help you?" One of the men asked.

"I need to know which room Patrick Wentz is in."

"Sir, he-"

"Room 102." The woman beside the man answered.

"Elisa!"

"That's his husband. He should know what room he's in."