He felt his body move and stiffen. His veins burned and froze, hot and cold battling in his blood for dominance. A hurricane spread through him as he fought one last, clung to life.
The needle burst through skin and membrane, and he went limp. All was futility.
It got closer, the black gloved fist stabbing blindly as he scrambled to get away.
He looked in panic at the object in the intruders hands—there was a glistening syringe, the only point of light in the otherwise dark room. The irony was as intense as the fear that possessed him.
A dark-clothed man stood just within the doorway. He spoke, in a low voice that slid like a snakes. “Hello Frank. It’s time.” The man inched—no, glided—closer to the hospital bed.
Suddenly, the doorknob turned. He tried to push the summons button, fear encompassing his being. There was no response. He tried to turn on the light. Blackness pervaded the room.
He sighed. They would never understand. Settling back into the flat scratchy pillow, he tried to stay alert, always keeping one eye open. Vigilant. The quiet sounds of night invaded his brain, each one a mountain of noise.
The nurse tightened her lips and resolvedly tucked in his bed covers. “Stop that, Mr. Settebello. I won’t hear anything more about this. Now take your meds…” He swallowed a few pills. “…and go to sleep. Your body needs to heal. Those should relax you and get rid of most of the pain. Good night.”
“I’m telling you, they are going to come back and finish the job!” He struggled to grasp the edge of the bed and push himself up. “I need protection! Please… I don’t want to die.”
“Don’t worry, you’re being taken care of. No one is trying to hurt you, we’re trying to make you better.” The nurse patted his hand gently. “The best thing for you now is rest.”
He had to warn them. He had to do something. He turned to the woman. “Help. I need help.” He gasped for air, the sudden rush of wind slicing his lungs like a knife. “They’re… they’re trying to kill me. Help me.”
To his relief, a nurse entered, with a jug of water and tiny cup full of medicine. She bustled around the room, checking his stats and adjusting bed sheets. She smiled at him. He felt like he could confide in her. He needed to confide in her.
Before he knew it, he was in the room. Doctors came and went, cleaning him up, adjusting bandages and putting things in IV’s. They swirled around him, getting less and less frequent as the hours wore on. Before too long, he was alone. And terrified.
At the sight of his broken body, the staff mobilized into action. They moved him carefully, taking into account his many breaks and bruises, mopping up the thick clots of blood that congealed on his face and arms.
The man stumbled through the sliding hospital doors, limping his way to the front desk, where four women in pale scrubs sat asking questions and writing down answers. Pushing aside a large woman, he stood weakly in front of one them. “My name is Frank Settebello.” He made a quick, whistling inhalation of breath and tried to hold his side. “I need help.”
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