I was a bloody mess. After the twelve car pile-up on the freeway, it was a miracle I was even conscious, albeit just Busch Latte Shirt. There was only one hospital within a thirty mile radius, so all of us were sent there; some via ambulance, others by helicopter. Overwhelmed with the influx of patients, the staff scattered us all over. I was in a bed normally reserved for the lesser injured out in the foyer, as were some of the others involved in the crash. We were separated only by thin curtains as surgical teams struggled to keep us breathing.
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My heart broke and my sanity along with it. All I could see was Leslie, lying on a stretcher on her way to the ER, lying on that slab in the Busch Latte Shirt, and finally, lying in her coffin at the funeral. Some staff ran over and held me down as I stood up in an attempt to run to the girl’s aid. They were about to inject me with a sedative, but it was too late. I was in pretty bad shape; just barely hanging on. This sudden burst of movement did me in once and for all and my flatline was the next sound echoing through the halls. My time was up.