CHAPTER.FOUR
1100 Words
CHAPTER FOUR: 2:47AM
The hospital reeked of blood and disinfectant.
Ava’s shoes left red streaks on the tile as she stumbled after the stretcher, her hands still pressed against Richard’s chest.
“Ma’am, you need to step back…”
“I’m a doctor,” Ava said, her voice sharp. “And he’s my brother. I’m not leaving him.”
Ava followed them into the corridor that led to the operating room. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely hear what the doctors were saying.
“Pulse is weak.”
“Pressure dropping fast.”
“Get him on the table!”
They burst through the OR doors. Ava tried to follow, but a nurse blocked her path.
“Doctor Alfred, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You can’t go in there. You’re family.”
Ava stared at her, breathless. “I can help. I’m trained for trauma.”
“I know,” the nurse said, her voice gentle but firm. “But you’re too close. Please wait here.”
Ava opened her mouth to argue, but the doors shut in her face. She pressed her palm against the cold metal, hearing muffled voices from inside.
“BP sixty over thirty!”
“Get more fluids fast!”
“Charging clear!”
Each shout made her heart jolt. Her reflection stared back at her in the small glass window pale, wide-eyed, terrified.
“Come on, Rich,” she whispered. “Hold on. Please.”
She kept her eyes on the door, waiting for someone to call her in, to say they needed her. But no one came.
Then the shouting stopped.
A long silence followed… the kind that made her stomach drop. She felt it before she heard it. That single, endless tone of the flatline, dull and final.
Ava’s chest tightened. “No,” she breathed. “No, no, no…”
The door opened. A doctor stepped out, He removed his mask slowly, eyes heavy with exhaustion. One look at his face, and Ava knew.
The doctor hesitated. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “We did everything we could.”
Her world tilted. “No, you didn’t, he’s strong, you just need to try again…”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, his voice gentle but final. “He didn’t make it. Time of death was 2:47 AM.”
Ava took a step back. The walls seemed to close in.
Richard was dead.
Her brother was dead.
The doctor rested a hand gently on Ava’s shoulder. His voice was low, steady.
“Your family’s waiting outside,” he said. “They need to hear it from you.”
Ava’s lips parted, but no sound came out. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t, that saying it would make it real. But the words stayed trapped in her throat.
Ava’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out.
Alex: Just heard what happened. Oh my god, Ava. Are you okay? Is Richard okay?
Ava stared at the message. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
What was she supposed to say?
She put the phone away without responding. For a long moment, she stood frozen, staring through the half-open door. The room beyond was still, silent except for the soft hum of machines that no longer mattered.
Finally, she turned and started down the corridor. Each step felt heavier than the last, like walking through water. The walls seemed to blur around her.
The waiting room was nearly empty. A few officers sat scattered across the rows of plastic chairs, their faces drawn and tired. Some had their heads in their hands. Others stared at nothing.
Alfred couldn’t sit. He paced the length of the waiting room, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck. Every time a nurse passed by, he looked up, hope flickering in his eyes before fading again. He kept checking the clock, then the door, then the clock again. For a man who was always in control, he looked completely lost.
Mary sat in one of the hard plastic chairs, clutching Richard’s jacket to her chest. Her eyes were red from crying, her lips moving silently as if she were praying.
The air between them was heavy with silence and fear. Neither spoke, but both were listening for footsteps, for voices, for anything.
And then Alfred saw Ava standing in the doorway. Pale and still, her scrubs streaked with blood that wasn’t her own. For a second, he just stared, searching her face for an answer he didn’t want to hear.
Mary followed his gaze and froze. “Ava?” she whispered.
Ava didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her throat burned, her fingers numb at her sides.
Mary rose to her feet, the jacket slipping from her hands and landing softly on the floor. “Where’s Richard?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Ava’s lips parted, but nothing came out.
When Ava didn’t respond, she started walking towards her hesitant at first, then faster.
Ava’s chest heaved. Her hands trembled at her sides. She opened her mouth, but the words stuck. Tears blurred her vision.
Mary stopped just a few feet away, searching her daughter’s face. “Tell me he’s okay,” she whispered. “Please, just tell me he’s okay.”
Ava shook her head once, a tiny, broken movement. “He’s gone,” she finally said, the words escaping like a breath she couldn’t hold anymore.
Mary’s scream tore through the corridor. It was the sound of a mother’s heart shattering, raw, unbearable.
Ava covered her mouth, shaking. Alfred caught Mary as she fell against him, her hands clawing at his shirt, sobbing his name.
He pulled her into his arms and held on, silent at first, his jaw clenched hard. But then his breath hitched, and his shoulders shook once before he steadied himself again. The tears came quietly, buried in her hair.
Officers stood in the hallway, silent and solemn, their heads bowed.
And somewhere in the city, Romano Alfonso sat in his safehouse, his side bandaged, his mind replaying the moment a masked waitress had saved his life.
He couldn’t forget her.
The butterfly tattoo on her wrist.
The name tag on her chest.
Alex.
He pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Find her,” he said quietly. “I want the girl from the club. The one who saved me.”
“Yes, boss.”
Romano ended the call and stared out the window at the city lights.
He owed her a debt.
And Romano Alfonso always paid his debts.
- Writer
