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After multiple games of chess had been played -- spencer winning all of them as he was some sort of chess professional -- the middle aged nurse that had been tending to Margo walked into the room and asked for some time with the woman. Spencer and Margo both reluctantly agreed even though neither wanted their little bubble of calm and niceness to be popped.
"I'll be here when you get back."
Spencer promised Margo because he could sense her discomfort and how much she didn't to leave. He got it because he didn't want her to leave either.
"Promise?"
The word tumbled out of Margo's mouth before she could stop it. She hated herself for showing her insecurity that visibly, especially when she noticed how Spencer's mouth fell open only slightly before he managed to look normal again.
Instead, he gave one firm nod. "I promise."
With his promise running around in her mind, Margo followed the nurse out of the door and they side stepped down the long corridors. Walking around was worse than being trapped in one small room, the hospital smell of illness and chemicals was clearer out there. It freaked her out. People moved past her; too ill to be alone and too far gone.
"Where are we going?" She asked the dark haired nurse.
"I'm going to check your wound and change the dressing." She replied with a smile. "Oh and somebody wants to see you."
Margo's brows involuntarily furrowed at that snippet of information because she didn't have anybody left to visit her but she didn't have a chance to ask for more details either because soon enough a door was held open for her and she had been told to sit down.
Over the half hour or so that was spent in that room, the bandages that had been wrapped around Margo's stomach were removed, the deep knife wound covered in some sort of ointment and the white bandages replaced.
It was then things began to get uncomfortable. The nurse silently led Margo to a room a few corridors down, one that she had never seen before. Spencer and his team were already investigating her case so Margo truly had no idea who would want to speak to her.
Walking in, she noticed a tall man in a brown suit sitting at a small table -- he had an intimidating air about him and his dark hair looked as if it was starting to fall out and the grim expression on his face sent shivers down her spine. A black brief case was set out on the table in front of him and it consisted of many documents. He sent her an eery smile and held out his cold hand for her to shake as she sat down across from him.
Everything felt foreboding; he was like some sort of grim reaper.
"I'm John Nickson." His voice was emotionless. "How are you, Margo?"
"Who are you?" She asked forwardly, kind of rude but she didn't care.
"I'm from Brooklyn Funeral Directors."
Coldness swept completely over the blonde headed woman as she took a large intake of breath.
"No."
"I'm here to speak to you about your father, Nick Lennon."
"I know his name." She said loudly.
False pity laced his voice and she couldn't stand it. "Would you like your father to be buried with your mother and brother or his parents."
She shook her head harshly; breathing becoming heavier. She had seen her father die but had been avoiding the fact and thought with all of her might. She had stopped it from fully registering in her mind.
"No."
"He has to be buri-"
"No!" She screamed.
"Funeral arrangements have to be made." The man argued, growing more impatient.
"No!"
"Listen." He dropped his act of empathy. "The Government is going to pay for the funeral because of the circumstances of his death. His friends and colleagues have been informed and I was told you had no other close living relatives to invite. You can choose whether he is buried with his parents or your mother and brother but if you don't, it's up to the state what happens to him and he could be put in any available space or donated to science."
Margo held in her salty tears and hoped that the man couldn't see her glossy eyes. His words had hit her hard and they were haunting her. The thought of her father being buried and the reminder of everybody she loved being dead was like a plague. The cruel coolness of his voice made her feel like he was the devil and she couldn't make a decision while her mind was scrambled and unclear.
"My mother and brother."
She barely got the words out. She was so distressed and confused but she could not stand the thought of her father not being with his wife and child.
"Thank you, Margo. That's all for now."
Standing up violently and pushing the chair back, she didn't stop as it fell harshly onto the ground. She raced towards the door and didn't waver when it flew open. She ran through the hospital corridors and when she finally got back to her ugly little room, tears were flowing freely.
Spencer wasn't there.
And maybe that's what made everything seem so much worse and crash down upon her.
She couldn't push her fresh losses to the back of her mind and without the silly Doctor everything was so much more apparent to her. Flashbacks of her fathers death ran through her mind and the phone call that had informed her of her mother and brothers death was all that she could hear.
She didn't want to be alone. But she was.
Making her way into the bathroom of her room and grabbing the knife that was served on a tray with her dinner because she was aloud things like that -- she had never tried to hurt herself before.
She stripped herself of her upper layers, leaving herself in her bra and bandages. Looking down at the ugly wound that would scar and keep the memory of that night in her mind for ever, she felt repulsed.
She didn't want any of it. She wanted it to end.
The knife travelled down in her heavy grip and penetrated the already broken flesh of her stomach.
