18. ICU

It was cold in the long corridor that fed from the outer revolving doors into the hospital. The wind came with them as they entered, blowing a few scattered flakes across the floor. Though the ward was normally quiet at such late hours, there were a few concerned family members of patients gathered in the reception area. Their eyes watched the couple, dressed in black and steps equally matching, as they went to the elevator and pushed the button. Charity tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and stared at the button as it illuminated their trip upstairs. Richard had not said a word on the drive, and his countenance was stony, concealing the nature of his troubled thoughts.

As the floor was reached and the door slid open, her hand found its way into his. They were in the Intensive Care Unit. A woman was standing by the desk, speaking with the nurse, her movements distraught and as she caught sight of them, burst into tears. Charity�s hand slipped from her husband�s as she took Carolyn into her arms, leading her to one of the padded seats in the waiting area. Richard leaned across the counter, making inquiries of the frazzled nurse. There were others waiting there, family and friends, a handful of attorneys from the office. Richard returned to them and Charity stepped apart with him. He kept his voice low.

�He�s in surgery. The bullet is lodged at the back of his skull. It�s unlikely he�ll make it through the night.� Richard ran tremulous fingers through his hair and his wife put her hand on his arm. How long they waited in silence could not be known, but the clock ticked slowly forward and various individuals gathered paced the room at different intervals. Then came the doctor to report the bullet was out but brain damage was extensive, and though he was on life support, the diagnosis was not good. Carolyn bore the news as best she could and then crumbled into the nearest person�s arms.

It seemed incomprehensible that such a thing could happen. The District Attorney lay dying in a hospital room, the victim of a single shot to the head as he was exiting his car after a social Christmas party. The police had come and gone, men Richard knew from work. He had spoken several minutes with them, form sober and features composed, but she knew the torment raging behind his expressive blue eyes. John had become a second father to Richard in recent years, mentoring him through the difficulties of prosecutorial work. In the rare instances when he faltered, John had been there to give him encouragement, to convince him that he was making a difference in the world.

Carolyn was allowed to see her husband and spent a few quite minutes with him before reappearing, face tearstained but composed. She then sent Richard in alone and he hesitated a moment on the threshold, hating hospitals. He had seen the inside of so many hospital rooms, heard the endless beeping of heart monitors and breathing tubes. It seemed incomprehensible that the one man he looked up to lay there, helpless and unconscious, in the bed, with a needle in his arm and his head wrapped in a bandage. He stood looking down on the patient and then rested his hands against the shallow bed railing, leaning forward to speak softly but distinctly.

�John, you were always an inspiration to me. Thank you for that. I cannot� that this could happen� it is in moments such as this when I question what I believe, what you believe. But I promise, whatever happens, I will find the man who did this, and make him pay for it.�

The heart monitor continued to beep. Richard looked earnestly at the patient. John�s eyelids fluttered and opened just for an instant, before closing, never to open again.