KILL

Chapter Eighteen.

     It was dark. Too dark. Francesca tried to open her eyes but they felt so heavy. Groaning because of the pain tearing up and down her spine and arms she managed to pry her left eye open then her right. The world was a hazy, blurry picture that swayed to no music. Squinting her eyes she tried to stabilize the picture, make some sense out of it.  

     Slowly, steadily, the world came into focus and she found herself panicking. Where was she? Glancing frantically from one side of the room to another she let her brain put the pieces together. The room was a small box room with white walls and a tiled floor. A table with a heart monitor, medical gloves and a box of syringes was placed next to her head. Another empty table was placed at the foot of the bed she lay on. After drinking all that in, she looked down to her shirt. It was a long white gown that cut just below her knees. A long tube ran from her wrist to a drip that hung on an iron rod. 

     Suddenly the panic disappeared and a cold gripping fear took its place. She was in a hospital room. She raked her brain for the reason why she was in a hospital room but couldn't quite remember. It was a memory which eluded her. 

     "Hello." A door creaked open and she snapped her head towards the entry to the room. A tall red-haired woman strode into the room. She wore a dark oversized shirt over a pair of dark blue trousers with a pair of white sneakers. A name tag on her shirt read: Emily A. 

     "Hello." Emily repeated when she reached the head of Francesca's bed. "How are you feeling?" 

     Franceaca looked up at her. She was a nurse. 

     For a second she couldn't find her voice but then she croaked: "Fine-" 

     "Good!" The nurse felt her forehead. "Definitely better than yesterday." 

     "Wha-what happened yesterday?" 

     The nurse looked pitiful. "You slept right through it." 

     Francesca nodded slightly and swallowed. "Why am I here? What happened to me?" 

     "Hmm...short term amnesia." She pulled out a pen and notepad from the breast pocket of her shirt and scribbled something unto the pad. "You and a friend I presume were brought in the day before yesterday in the night. You both suffered gun shots." 

     "Roman?" She squeaked. 

     "Yes." Emily nodded. "You were very lucky." The pitiful look returned. 

     "What?" Francesca searched the nurses hazel eyes as if they could tell her everything that had led to her being brought to a hospital.  

     "The guy--your friend...wasn't so lucky."  

     Francesca dropped her gaze to the floor. It couldn't be. It felt like her ribs were squeezing back against her heart, crushing it. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes but she blinked them back. Raising her eyes to Emilys again she spoke softly and slowly. 

     "Did they find out who the shooter is?" 

     Emily nodded, her full bouncy hair bobbing with the movement. "Yes." 

     Oh good Lord. "So that means the police don't have any business with me?"  

     "I should think not." Emily brushed Francesca's hair away from her face. "They'll probably pop in to ask a few questions but I'm sure that'll be all." She rolled her eyes. "The police in this town are crap anyway." She squeezed Francesca's hand not aware of the pain she was causing. "I know you want justice for your friend but in this city...that's a long shot."