KING'S BAY MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
Molly's
footsteps beat a hasty path
to the elevator, ticking away in rapid motion the seconds until she is
back by Brent's bedside.
She left the hospital late last night, having
gone back to Brent's room after her talk with Claire
only to find Sarah
still gone. She sat by his side, holding his hand and offering words of
encouragement to the frustratingly silent air, until Sarah returned several
hours later.
Molly knows that her sister will
probably be in there again, but she's attempting not to worry about it
too much. She has been waiting all day to visit Brent, to see if there's
been any progress in his recovery. The hours of her work day slithered
by with excruciating sluggishness; her boss's casual remark that Molly
could leave because the day's work had been wrapped up neatly had come
like a gift from above.
She raced out of the Willis Advertising
offices as quickly as she could manage and forced her way through the obnoxiously
thick downtown traffic to get here. Now she stands helplessly in front
of the elevator, waiting for the tinny bell to announce that the car has
arrived and is ready to take her to Brent's floor.
Finally it comes and she pushes her
way through the still-opening doors, relieved to find that she is the sole
passenger. She isn't sure that she could put up with the awkward ritual
of having to avoid eye contact and act calm right now. So she pushes the
button for the floor she wants and stands, hands clenched tightly, as she
waits for the elevator to take her there.
Maybe he'll be awake. The
thought chomps at her mind for the thousandth time today. She's been holding
out hope all day that when she got here, she'd find Brent with his eyes
open, joking wryly about his bad luck. She waited for that phone call from
Claire telling her that Brent was back.
The hope intensifies inside of her
now and she feels as though she's going to burst if she doesn't get to
his room right this instant. There's also the persistent fear that she
will find he has taken a turn for the worse, and that, too, is burning
more fiercely in her now.
I'm so lucky I didn't lose him
in that fire. It can't happen now.
The thoughts spin off into a distracted
jumble. She finds herself wondering about what she will say to him: Should
she tell him how glad she is not to have lost him? How much he means to
her?
The elevator comes to a halt and
its doors part. She hurries out of the car and down the hallway, feeling
the first waves of relief as she spots Brent's room.
But there is something standing between
her and the door. Namely, a very large man, standing easily at 6'3" or
6'4" and packing what she estimates to be at least 270 pounds. His head
is shaved bald and a messy goatee adorns his chin.
"Molly Fisher?" he asks in an authoritative
voice that matches his intimidating frame perfectly.
"Yes?" she answers hesitantly.
"I'm afraid that I can't allow you
to go in this room."
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