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BEFORE WE START:
You gave me a million reads so I mean, really, this is the least I can do.
Consider this my Dominic Fox favour, from me to you...
ASYSTOLE
aka THE ORIGINAL FLATLINE
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SEATTLE, 2010
"EXCUSE ME, SIR."
He just shuffled slightly, looking up at me with a pair of bright blue eyes that were almost unnerving. My assertive tone caught at the back of my throat.
"I'm afraid that this isn't a safe area..."
He paused momentarily.
There was something about the way that he swayed almost sluggishly, his right hand buried in his pocket, the other swinging by his side almost limply. I studied the absent look on his face, my expertise picking out a slight twitch of his moustache, his thin lips pressing together as if he was trying to put his thoughts together. I tilted my head, letting out a short breath.
"Sir, I'm really sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to leave and go to a safe area." I slowly moved forward but stopped when the man flinched suddenly as if my movements were agitating me. My eyes narrowed very slightly. I didn't have to have a doctorate in Psychology to know that something wasn't quite right around here. "We're on lock-down... I'd be happy to escort you to a private area..."
"I didn't mean to."
His voice was almost inaudible, making my forehead crinkle as I barely caught the end of his sentence. Eyebrows drawing downwards, I stared at him, watching as he shuffled once again, looking uncomfortably. Instinctively, my eyes strayed to the hand hidden in his pocket. This movement was discreet; now this was suspicious. Derek had shut the hospital down for a reason. Threats were a good reason.
"Pardon, Mr..?"
"Mr Clark." He said, his voice raising slightly, enough for me to nod slowly. Mr Clark... Mr Clark- Didn't Derek mention a Mr Clark in passing? I recognized the name, but at that moment, I didn't know where from. "I-uh- I said that I didn't mean to."
My lips pressed together as I swallowed thickly. I maintained steady eye contact, watching as Mr Clark stared at me as if he was trying to see something. He was eyeing me as if he was desperate for something- as if he was searching tirelessly for a reason to do something. I'd studied this, it'd had been one of the case studies that I'd perused fresh out of college: the building of a monster. His crazy eye contact as he eyed me, tried to sear through me, it was him trying to find qualities that made me evil. That made me inhuman.
"Mr Clark." I continued, keeping very careful to keep a very soft but soothing tone, the seriousness melting away as my training kicked in. A very smooth step backwards had his eye twitching, his muscles contracting. "I'm afraid that I don't know what you mean, but I'm sure that I can help you get into a safe comfortable environment- it's not safe out here."
"I didn't plan to shoot those people."
I let in a short breath, fighting to keep a smooth expression on my face. The expression in his eyes- god, it wasn't of guilt. No, it was a rather reluctant look on his face, one that told me that he definitely didn't feel guilty for anything. His hand had been forced. Discreetly, my eyes swept his posture.
He didn't look like a serial killer. He was middle-aged, looked as though he was just another visitor, a patient maybe. His hair was neatly combed, hand nimble as it played with the bottom of his long, trench-coat and his mouth was in a straight line as if he was attempting to swallow a large knot in his throat. But then there were his eyes; they stared at me, cold, empty and filled with something that I'd only ever seen in someone who'd had the guts to murder innocent people.
He didn't look like a serial killer, but some serial killers were like the diamonds that went wrong. Some killers were just the normal people who were put under pressure, the ones who cracked instead of blossoming. They were the ones that bought guns and started shooting at doctors, I took a deep breath, and they were the ones who killed doctors.
"Of course," I said, my voice coming out in a hoarser tone than I would've liked. "Mr Clark, I understand that sometimes good people make mistakes. People don't plan to do many things. I understand."
I had the feeling that he had a motive that was unshakable, one that sunk into his bones. His hooded eyes just looked so burdened, so dark that I could feel a shiver dance down my spine. The non-existent guilt was something that made my skin itch, make my jaw twitch and my legs threaten to tremor with the impulse to turn and run.
He must've noticed that as he sighed, hound-like eyes rising to flicker across my gaze again.
"I-I didn't plan to kill so many people. I just w-wanted to find justice." I didn't move. His arm was withdrawing something slowly from his pocket and I refused to move my eyes away from his. The eye contact was my only chance to keep him calm, to keep him in an easy mind. "They killed Alison, this hospital- you killed Alison."
"Mr Clark," I breathed out slowly, watching as a gun was drawn out of his pocket. The sight of it made me freeze for a few seconds, the man in front of me letting out a choked chuckle as I stumbled over my words. "M-My name is Elizabeth- Dr Elizabeth Montgomery... I work in the Psychology department- On behalf of this hospital... I am so, so sorry for your loss."
I couldn't have sounded more empathetic. I knew what it felt like to lose someone. I just hoped that he didn't find my words condescending. I was usually a good judge of character, the way his hand quaked very slightly as he gripped the gun, I could tell that he wasn't the type to shoot people. He was grieving. He was looking for justice. He was a man who'd cracked under pressure.
But I'd never had to talk down a active shooter. I wasn't a cop or some negotiator out of a movie. I was standing there, with my hands wavering, not sure whether to raise or stay still. I was suddenly overthinking my every movement, wondering if I moved, whether he'd shoot or not.
"Dr Montgomery." He repeated my name, the sound of it almost chilling, a sound that would easily haunt me. He licked his lips shortly. "I shot another doctor- I shot a lot of doctors and security guards too. I killed all of them."
I raised my hands slowly in front of me as I found myself standing at the end of his gun. The movement f him raising it, it was slow but experienced. He'd killed people before, he'd shot a lot of doctors. He'd killed all of them. He was telling me this almost proudly.
He was telling me that I wouldn't survive this conversation, as if he was taking joy in the way my heart jolted in my chest.
Just briefly to my left-- I caught sight of it. Of a crumpled form against the wall, of a pool of dark, undisclosed liquid. My eyes burned and I let out a long breath, attempting to stay calm.
"I understand that you're sad," I continued, voice shaking far more than I'd like to admit. "I understand that you are sad and that you're grieving and that you never meant for any of this to happen- I'm a psychiatrist, let's sit and talk, Mr Clark-- people don't have to die."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something shift. I caught a glimpse of blonde hair, a glimpse that caused my breath to catch shortly. Oh for fucks sake.
Lexie Grey stared at me, wide-eyed, head peeking around the corner beyond Mr Clark. She was clutching what looked like a cart. There was panic written all across her rosy cheeks, brown, doe-eyes glistening brightly with a newborn fear that only made my face break into a look of distress. Mr Clark must've noticed the sudden break in my face, but misinterpreted it for a reaction to the sudden change of events. I heard the click of his gun as he undid the safety, lifting it higher so it was juxtaposed to my torso.
"You can't help me, Doctor."
His tone was firm; I caught a flame of recognition in Lexie's eyes, just at the edge of my gaze. Her face paled as if she could suddenly put the pieces together. It was only then that I realized that Mrs Clark, or Alison, had been a surgery patient, possibly a terminal patient or a patient that was DNR. It all added up with his grief; sometimes people were just unaccepting to the facts. Sometimes, people cracked.
"You can't help me because everyone here- everyone here kills everyone else." The anger and turmoil in his voice almost robbed the breath from my chest. There was so much pain, so much conviction that I had to fight to keep an anxious cry in my chest. "You people aren't thinking about saving lives! You kill them. You kill people. You play G-God. So I'm showing you how easy it is to lose everything- to lose everything like I lost Alison."
Lexie was moving quietly, to avoid Mr Clark noticing her. She was pressed up against the wall as if she knew that the slightest movement could startle him and end in our deaths. He seemed trigger-happy, I didn't know how I hadn't noticed the bodies, other than the one to our left. There was the smell of blood and death hanging around the hospital, underneath the thick blanket of detergent and cleaner. The smell was something that I'd come accustomed to. I'd never guessed that that smell would be of dying security guards and doctors; god knows how many innocent patients that had become victims to the very gun that he held in his hands.
It was all a normal day, a normal day until five minutes ago when Mr Clark had raised his turmoil-ridden eyes to mine.
"I am not a surgeon." I clarified firmly. "I do not choose who lives and dies. I am a psychiatrist. I help people. I talk to them, I listen to them. I help people grieve, people like you. I do not work with the body, Mr Clark. I am a psychiatrist, I do not play God. I help people- and I-I can help you."
My voice trembled on it's own accord, breaking as I raised my hands higher.
"I am not crazy." He said, sounding heated as his hands wobbled around my form.
My eyes connected shortly with Lexie's, making subtle eye contact to show her my instability. I was trying my best to talk this man down but it wasn't going anywhere. I could see it on her face, the fear of what would happen next, the understanding that this wasn't going to plan.
Why the hell was she still here? I blanched, my eye twitching very slightly. She needed to leave. She needed to run. Why was Lexie Grey still here?
"I never said that."
"I never planned to shoot those people." Mr Clark repeated again, putting a clear emphasis on those words. I couldn't help but notice how his fingers seemed to stray over the trigger. My lips trembled. I wasn't trained for things like this. "I had a plan. I-I- I planned to shoot Doctor Shepherd, the Chief- he murdered my wife. I shot him. A-And I want to shoot Doctor Webber. He was there- he didn't help me."
My throat went dry. Derek? I could feel tears sting at the back of my eyes.
He shot Derek.
What about Mark? I wondered whether my ex-boyfriend had gotten out alive, or whether he'd been in this same position, watching his life flash across his eyes.
"And there was another doctor."
Lexie tensed, tears welled in her eyes as she heard what Mr Clark said. The confusion was mixed with the fear on my face. I glazed over her, watching as her knuckles went white, her body disappearing by a fraction around the corner.
"Doctor Grey." He said after a final pause; Lexie's face contorted in terror as she fought back a gasp of anguish. I could see the colour build in her cheeks as she recognised the case that he was referring to. "She unplugged the machines- she killed my wife."
DNR. I thought to myself with a bitter sense of irony. I totally called it. But, I figured that in front of a gun with a grieving widower on the other end of it probably wasn't the best place to use my sick humour. No, this was a place where he was looking for someone to blame.
He'd been trying to break me down into a monster, someone who he could shoot without even thinking about it. Mr Clark's wife had died, she'd been 'murdered', most probably been on life support from the machines that Lexie had unplugged. Alison must've been classed as brain dead, Derek must've called it. If she's signed certain forms, then there's nothing we can do. I guessed that that was why his wife was dead.
He'd already made up his mind that every doctor in this hospital was a murderer. He'd cracked tenfold to the point that he was unable to tell the difference between those who were 'human' and those who were 'murderers.' After an agonisingly long pause, I tore my eyes off of Lexie and looked at Mr Clark very firmly, realising that I only had one more chance to get out of here alive.
"My name is Dr Elizabeth Theodora Montgomery and I am a psychologist. My- uh- my birthday is the fourteenth of February and I am-uh 35 years old." His brow creased and I could see Lexie staring at me in disbelief as my voice came thick and fast. "I do a lot of relief work- I have a fiancé and-" I licked my dry lips before feeling my arms quake.
It was weird to lay my life out in front of a stranger. Here I was, laying my head on the block, waiting for the executioner to swing it's axe down on me. I only had a very small window to build myself back up as a human, to show that I wasn't just a doctor who played God and tossed around human lives as if they were nothing.
So if it meant standing here and telling my whole life story in front of my ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend and a trigger-happy shooter, then so be it.
"I grew up in Connecticut," My voice caught on the back of my throat and I really, really needed to cough but refrained. "I have an older sister, she's called Addie. We fell out, um, I should really call her back-- but I have this older brother too... He's called Archer." Suddenly, I couldn't think of anything remotely interesting about my life. "I'm engaged-- I have people that care about me--"
I was cut off by his abrupt shaking, his head moving from side to side as he refused to listen to any more. I flinched and my hands shook as they moved even higher.
"Where is Doctor Grey?" Mr Clark exclaimed in anger, causing my eyes to widen and a slight whimper to fall through my lips. I flinched slightly in my shoes, just as a vein pulsed in his forehead. "Where is she?"
My eyes strayed momentarily to Lexie, remembering the bitter resentment I'd been harbouring for her since I'd arrived in Seattle. There was this fixed fear in her eyes, one that caused me to quake very slightly. I watched as she squeezed her eyes shut, all too familiar with the distaste I had shown towards her. Her small, pixie-like face was lined with distress but also understanding as if she was ready to accept the fate that Mr Clark had in store for her.
I felt a tear cascade down my cheek.
"I don't know."
"Where is she?" He tried once again, his voice rising to roar. My muscles flinched as he leant forward, swinging the gun in front of my shaking form. The desperation and self-depreciation was clear in his tone. "Where is Lexie Grey?"
"I don't know," I repeatedly lied, muttering the phrase under my breath as he scoffed. I refused to tear my eyes away from his thunderous gaze, but even then I could see the shock and surprise that flashed across Lexie's face.
I could only give myself a bitter, inward smile as I congratulated myself for being such a cold-hearted bitch that people had grown to expect monstrous things from me.
"Please- Mr Clark. I do not know the surgery timetable, I don't know where Doctor Grey is."
Mr Clark seemed to shake his head as if what I had said wasn't good enough. He raised his free hand to his chin, rubbing it abruptly and letting out a short cry of agitation. The noise he caused created an eerie resonating thunder throughout the hospital, making my skin crawl. My lips trembled as I sneaked a look in Lexie's direction.
My intention was clear: Run. Get away. Now.
Mark really liked her. It was quite possible that he liked her far more than he'd ever liked me. If he was still out there then he deserved a happy ending with Lexie. Plus, wouldn't it be pretty shitty for the only two women who he'd ever loved to be slaughtered in two seconds-- was it egotistic to hope that Mark Sloan would mourn me?
He deserved to be happy. He deserved his Calum, his Charlie, his happy ever after. And if that meant this, then I would give it to him.
Lexie must've sensed my immediate urgency as she finally turned around and disappeared, probably to go cower around a corner. That just left me at the end of the gun that Mr. Clark was meaning to save for Lexie Grey.
"Mr. Clark," I said, my brain becoming coherent, "We all have our bad days-- like I, uh, I used to be a drug addict okay? And an alcoholic-- I was a shit person. So I understand that I deserve all that life throws at me-- but I've done more good than bad. Just like you--"
"Stop," he said.
I should've taken that as a red flag.
"Please don't do this," I was begging. Holy shit, I was begging for my life. "I am not playing God. I am here to do my job. I've spent the last three years of my life helping people. I've done charity work in some pretty fucking awful places--"
"Stop-"
"You don't have to do this," I repeated, tears on the verge of spilling. "You're not crazy and you're... y-you're not like this, Mr Clark-- please-- please let me just talk-- I'll listen and I won't tell the police-- and we can just... I'll help you, okay?"
"I'm sick of people helping..." He groaned, looking highly agitated. "You people-- you just make matters worse."
I bit down on my bottom lip to hide how intensely it trembled.
Unfortunately, in Med school, they didn't quite teach you how to diffuse the tension between yourself a serial shooter.
Mr. Clark stared at me silently. He seemed to compose himself. Breath in, breath out. He sighed sadly, as if he didn't have a choice. Squeezing my eyes closed momentarily, I let my shoulders fall. My arms fell to my side and I just waited.
Oh well. I thought to myself grimly. There are worse ways to go.
I'd always imagined my death to be a spectacular affair, something grand and big and something that would perfectly capture my life. A plane crash, maybe, with my last moments clutching onto the arm of the man I loved just like in the movies. A car crash, possibly, with the last sight being a pair of headlights kamikarzying into mine. Heck, I'd even take a cardiac arrest or a nice accidental dive off of a building.
But no, I took a deep breath. My death was going to be in quite frankly the shittiest and most melodramatic hospitals in America, at the end of some crazy maniac with a ten dollar handgun. I'd traded in a chance to work with amazing individuals, a chance to pioneer relief work and rebuild a country, just for a broken heart, a sobbing lodger and a little deja vu over DNR papers.
Oh and don't forget this moment. I opened my eyes to watch as Mr Clark took one last look in my brown eyes. Yeah, this moment was great.
"I'm sorry." But he wasn't.
He wasn't sorry because, at that moment, he pressed the trigger, sending a loud, deafening crack throughout the hospital. He pressed the trigger and he sent a bullet straight into my body, ricocheting a mound of metal into my chest, causing a choked cry to fall through my lips and for my body to fold backwards quickly, like a pile of books with no bookend.
The free fall to the floor was almost gradual in my mind. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Mr Clark glared at me, watching as my hands clutched the entrance of the wound in shock, all as my body teetered downwards. I could feel my muscles crumple and the pain infect every nerve cell in my body. And the blood- holy shit.
I was left lying on the cold hard ground with nothing but a hole in my chest, blood pouring out of the said chest and a few swimming pools of said blood forming around me. I was left on the floor of Seattle Grace Hospital with a serious gunshot wound and a half-hearted 'you tried' aura hanging around me.
He must've left at some point, maybe around the point that I started coughing up blood. I couldn't hear his footsteps over my choking, but I could somehow tell that I'd been abandoned, that I'd been left to die.
My vision rolled in and out, eyes focusing on the ceiling in short intervals, exhaustion sweeping me as I took deep breaths through my mouth, trying not to choke on the blood that gently snaked past my lips.
Fuck, getting shot hurts a whole lot more than I realized.
My fingers numbly fell against the floor, my strength disappearing suddenly as my chest burned. The pain was overwhelming, it was all of my organs becoming swamped with the blood that was steadily accumulating around me. I could see it all out of the corner of my eye, feel it against my skin.
You never realize how much blood the human body has. You studied it in school but there'd never been a situation that I'd ever had to see so much blood; not even when I'd been helping to drag bodies out of the rubble in earthquakes.
My eyelids felt heavy. They felt like the fall had exhausted me as if I had no other option than to go to sleep. I wanted to- Fuck, I need to.
It was funny how I'd seen so many people die. I'd seen so many die in my arms or before my eyes, but to experience it... it was something completely different.
Feeling the flatline was so much more bittersweet than watching it.
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damn straight,, she's back baby 😎
yeah i can't believe i'm doing this either.