Run To Me | BAK sequel

11.

Words: 4634

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Warnings: Character death & descriptions of a dead person!!

Growing up, hospitals were never a place you strayed far from. You were used to the waiting rooms by the ripe age of three- though your first time ever in a hospital room was the very second you exited your mother's womb but that was the first of many experiences.

At three years old, you enjoyed the company of an old woman and her husband- otherwise known as your grandparents who read stories to you and such as Goldilocks and the story of pinocchio whose nose grew bigger every time he lied. They attempted to use his story as a life lesson, demanding you always tell the truth but that seemed to go in one ear and out the other because the biggest lie you ever kept, one that you were torn about whether or not it should of been a secret in the first place was your daughter.

But hospitals never sat right with you- nor were they suppose to. Somehow you managed to learn the ins and outs, how to tell the nice nurses from the mean ones and the best hiding spaces. You also leant by six that they weren't 'good'. They bought pain and misery- or at least in your mind and the universe kept proving your theory right.

You were in one when you were born, kept in a crib just bigger than you with a baby pink blanket wrapped around your figure. The next was when your father was shot though they told you he got in a 'simple accident', you'd never seen the man so hollow. There was the time your mother had the miscarriage only a couple weeks before she died, then there was your grandfather who died- naturally, of course and surrounded by his loved ones. There was the time you were the one in front of the gun and then the time your daughter came along. then only a week ago your daughter was the one in the hospital bed.

It was fair to say that in another life, there was a large possibility that you were a nurse or had a booming career as a neurosurgeon- though you felt the chances were thin and you just seemed to have the worst of luck.

But Tom was different. He preferred to stay away from hospitals- as you did, complaining that they smelt thickly of disinfectant and were much too clean. He hated white unless it was a crisp white t-shirt or button up, claiming that it got dirty far too quickly and when you worked in the business he did- white was simply something you tended to stay far away from. White walls, tiles and couches in his own home, the whole lot was simply non existent, opting for a dark grey. But Tom hadn't been to the hospital many times in his life, steering clear of the place finding it far too unsettling. He didn't even visit Sam in hospital when he was injured during a raid.

Now, as his feet padded down the hospital floors for the second time in what had to be only nine days, he was almost immune to the sickly smell and the putrid sounds of people hacking up what could only be thick, red blood and teens vomiting into waiting room provided throw away bowls. He saw nurses accompanying the elderly to beds as they threatened to pass out and pregnant women walk through the opening doors with smiles on their faces. He doubted he'd leave with a smile, despite whoever was under the white cloth he was about to uncover.

The doors to the morgue opened, a cool breeze hitting him directly as the temperature changed drastically from warm and humid, to bone-chilling in mere seconds and he hugged his coat closer to his chest, refusing to let his teeth chatter as he walked closer to the man that he had worked with once or twice in the past. The man's familiar grey hair was now a deeper, more ashy shade and he wore a white coat that hung loosely around his body but he still wore the same height, shrinking beneath the mobster as he entered the room- doors closing with a thud.

"Thomas." The man greeted, a name tag reading 'Bert', though Tom knew that wasn't the man's real name.

Tom nodded his head once, stepping towards the drawer that was open, a thin white sheet covering a figure that he was either about to remember- or wouldn't. Instruments lay scattered around the room, some looking freshly used and soaking in pots and some clean and glimmering beneath the white lights that hung from the morgue ceiling. Tom hadn't stopped to think about the fact that he was surrounded by dead people. Every drawer in the room held a body, someone that had once lived and told a story.