Her Hardest Heart Link Part 5
I have before attended an execution. I have before walked condemned men down the hall to their death. But I have never in my life had such a willing, or calm, individual before.
I've seen worse, I guess that's all I can say. But at that moment, on that plane from Odyssey to Chicago, it was like this was all a walk in the park. I sit beside Mr. Richard Maxwell, who has all but breathed a word to me since we met up at the Odyssey airport. He is confined to his seat by handcuffs, a way to keep track of him between Odyssey and that trans-Atlantic flight.
Johansson is two seats away, humming to himself and keeping a straight face. He's more than overjoyed about this whole ordeal. He's just happy his job is almost over.
But when it comes to our condemned, it is like he's found some righteous moment and decided to zone out before noticing he's about to die. He's calm, cool, composed; unlike most who know they are going to die, and in only a matter of hours. But he looks exhausted; from what, I'm not sure. He's black & blue & purple from the beating Johansson had given him the day before. The scars would last, the bruises would fade... but not before the end of that flight.
It was a bumpy landing into O'Hare. The skies were mourning before their time. Lovely. Just what we need: a delay. But when we showed up to the gate, it was already starting to clear up. I unlatched Maxwell and slapped the cuffs on his wrists. "March," I ordered, following him and Johansson, the lead, out of the small plane.
Johansson quickly found our gate number and said the plane was there. Amazing. An hour early. We walked past many peering eyes, and a few kids loudly saying to their mom's, "What's he in for?" We kept our composure and kept going. We finally reached the gate where Dr. Erik Phillips awaited with an escort.
Dr. Phillips acknowledged our presence.
"Ready?" I asked Dr. Phillips while Maxwell stopped short in his forward motion.
Dr. Phillips glared and stalked off toward the gate and the awaiting plane. Johansson was right behind him, whistling and over-exaggerating the moment.
I paused for a second to take notice of Richard's reaction. He was calm, but there was a look of remorse on his face. He knows he won't see ground again - the plane was his last resort.
"Come on," I urged, tugging on his arm. I tried not to be impatient. I had no right to be. He was quiet, but after a few seconds he started walking again.
I followed, feeling the slightly pang of guilt. He didn't deserve what was coming to him. He was innocent. But I was following orders. The guilt passed.
I gave him a gentle nudge into the plane, showing my willingness to push forward. We walk along the aisle; the plane is private, so there are only about eight seats and a few tables.
"Pick a seat, Maxwell," Johansson ordered, a sly smile creeping up on his face. I sensed a wise crack coming. I was very close to putting him in with the pilot. 'It is your death bed!" He was laughing.
"Okay," I snapped. "Pilot's nest, now."
He tried to argue with me, but I was very insistent on the decision.
"Go," I demanded. I was annoyed and not up to taking any more stupid wise cracks. He walked off, grumbling about my demands.
Richard had sat, ignorant of Johansson's remark. He glanced at me and waited.
"I'm sorry. I can't take him anywhere."
I sighed. The whole silence deal was going to have to stop. I leaned over, un-cuffed one wrist, and snapped it around the arm of the chair. "I don't need you running off. Especially in a small plane at 30,000 feet." No answer.
"Okay, this while silence endeavor has to stop. Mumble, screech, cuss, or start up a conversation. I don't care, just make a sound," I confessed, sitting in the chair across the aisle from him.
Richard settled into the chair, his exhaustion hitting full force. He attempted to hold in a yawn while contemplating his silence. "What do you want me to say?" he finally answered, putting his full attention on me.
"I don't know. You're not angry, which is a far cry to the right from the emotions many others experience at this stage, in this predicament. You're just... calm. What is up with you? You expressed more emotion in Switzerland just a few weeks back."
A dark look came over his face. The memory was not a happy one. "This isn't a walk in the park you know. I just felt I didn't need to get overworked about something I can hand to God."
"So, what, you're not afraid?"
Richard tried to cover another yawn before responding. "I'm afraid, I won't deny it. I don't know what death feels like or what is going to happen. But if this is God's will, I'll put on a brave face. What other can I do?"
"Ready to take off?" The pilot peaked his head out from up front, Johansson's hand seen fiddling with switches.
Two seats in front of us sat Dr. Phillips. "Only when the world decides to act human," he muttered, a glare aimed at me. I had a tough doctor to break in only a few hours.
"I'll take that as a yes." The pilot disappeared.
"Dr. Phillips, I don't think you've had a formal introduction with your patient. Richard Maxwell, Dr. Erik Phillips. He's here for... moral support."
Richard nodded in acknowledgement of the doctor, my words running through his brain. Yeah, not really... I think he's going to stick a needle in me instead.
"Don't let them fool you," Dr. Phillips said as the plane started to roll away from the gate. "I'm here to perform the execution." His annoyance and anger were truly showing through his choice of words.
"I take it you're not for this?" Richard wondered out loud.
"I'm a doctor who treats patients; I don't choose who lives or dies at times. And I'm definitely not someone who puts potassium chloride through someone's system."
"Okay," I called, standing up from my seat. "This conversation is over. Since you need to learn why you're here, I'm giving you that time. Mr. Maxwell, you look exhausted. You may take a nap if you choose. I need to speak with the pilot." I walked to the pilot's nest and entered, closing the door behind me.
"He's a thorn in my side," I heard from Dr. Phillips.
Beyond the door, Richard finally fully yawned. He closed his eyes against the brightness of the peaking sun that came in through the windows. He slipped into sleep, his exhaustion finally overtaking him.
*
The prick of a needle woke Richard from his sleep. He groaned as he woke; his body felt like a lead weight.
"Have a nice nap?"
Richard half expected the individual to add 'sleeping beauty', but the voice was not Myron's.
"I feel better. How long was I out?" He opened his eyes to notice that the sun was gone. It had either been a while, or they'd swiftly changed time zones. He then noticed an IV in his arm. So that was the prick. Glad I didn't watch that.
"About six hours. Don't worry, I'm just checking vitals and giving you fluids. It looks like you haven't kept up on your intake of necessary fluids, or nutrients," Dr. Phillips remarked. He sat on a stool with a handbag full of tricks by his side.
"It wasn't my week."
Dr. Phillips eyes him and shook his head. He took out his stethoscope and leaned in to listen to Richard's heart.
They went through the motions of a physical exam, checking the heart, eyes, hands, and lungs.
Dr. Phillips finished and slipped off his gloves. "You are a healthy young man, Mr. Maxwell."
"That's a good thing?" I muttered from my seat two rows back. I stretched. I had a wonderful nap myself.
"Good health means better chance of... successful operation," Dr. Phillips stated, glancing back at me. He stood from his spot and said, "I'll be right back."
He walked to the back of the plane and disappeared. I decided it was probably a good time, while alone with Richard, to ask a few basic questions. I got up from my seat and sat in the one opposite his. He looked refreshed, albeit nervous.
"You're shaking. Need a blanket?" I offered, noticing his strong demeanor had dropped considerably.
All he did was nod.
I got up and reached into a compartment above my head, pulling out a white knitted blanket. I unfolded it and wrapped it around him, hoping it helped.
"Thank you." It was whispered. There was something else on his mind.
"Want to talk?"
He was silent. But he finally managed to spill his mind. "If it's okay, you wouldn't mind giving my body to Connie Kendall, would you?"
The request was odd, but not far from what I needed to speak to him about. "You want her to be your next of kin?"
"I guess... I sort of left her hanging back in Odyssey this morning. I don't know how much she understood over the past two weeks. We never got a chance to truly talk together."
"I can notify her of your passing." I said it so casually, I even believed I had tricked myself into believing this act of murder was right... boy was I about to be put in my place.
"Okay, no offense, but for some reason, this whole plan... this situation... it seems messed up. Like this shouldn't be happening."
I didn't answer immediately, but I soon came to the realization he was right. "You know, I agree."
He sighed. "When?"
I looked up. I looked at my watch and calculated the time left in the trip. Two hours and 45 minutes left... "Probably soon. But, because I believe in free will, I'll leave you up to that decision."
I watched him look out the window and ponder. In a set execution, there is always a set time. But I had decided to leave this one wide-open.
Dr. Phillips emerged from the back, yawning with loss of sleep, but he ignored it all the same. "How we feeling?" He asked as he walked up to his stool.
Richard didn't respond. Dr. Phillips looked at me and I shrugged. He had his own timing.
"Now."
My reaction came off as shocked. I coughed, the deafening realization that he'd made his own decision still unwrapping within my brain.
I looked to Dr. Phillips and nodded. "It's time."
Dr. Phillips groaned. "You two ganged up on me. Thanks." But he sighed, reached for his bag, and headed for the back again. "I'll be back in 10 minutes."
I was about to say something when he whispered, "Connie... please, give my body to Connie."
I let the tension in my shoulders drop. "If that is your last wish."
He looked at me. “Yeah.”
I looked at the ground. This isn’t how this is supposed to turn out… I made a decision. I got up and promptly took the handcuffs off him. “Just don’t go… running off.” Yeah, like someone at 30,000 feet would really run off.
He offered thanks. His mind was on another world though. He looked out the window, into a black nothing, while he carefully started to rub his wrists. He’d been in chains far too long.
We fell silent.
The 10 minutes slowly crept by. I started to feel anxious. Or… nervous. Can’t let this happen… but… I knew protocol. I knew what would happen when I stepped off that plane in Geneva. I had better have a dead body, or else. Is my job that more important than my moral standards? But where did this heart come from?
I heard the back open and Dr. Phillips stood there, a stone on a plane that had a specific landing time. I could feel the anxiety. Great, none of us are up to this…
He finally managed to walk down the aisle and sit without breaking something. I could feel the anger. But it was so well masked; I had to have been the only recognizer.
“Okay. You know, I’m not going to go thorough any lame stuff. This is going to be… clean and orderly, but simple… we won’t make this harder or faster than we need to.”
Get to the point…
Richard reached up and rubbed his eyes, attempting to wake himself up more.
“You know what; guess what this chair can do?” Dr. Phillips remarked, eyeing his patient.
“I could tell you a lot of things,” Richard pointed out.
“Let’s recline, shall we?” Dr. Phillips suggested, getting to the point. Well done.
Richard managed not to have a heart attack on a plane at 30,000 feet at about two in the morning.
Together they got the chair to recline and Dr. Phillips asked, “Comfortable?”
“Not quite sure. Ask me in a few minutes.”
I attempted not to let out a cough. The dry humor was so bad, a knife could do worse damage to the words right then.
Dr. Phillips just seemed to tense up. The statement didn’t make things any better in this situation. He reached into his bag and paused. He managed to convince himself he had to do this, one way or another. He pulled out a syringe and held it up.
“Care to guess?”
“Potassium chloride. Have we done this before?”
I choked on nothing but my own saliva. This is worse than Lord of the Rings.
“Only in your dreams, if at all, Mr. Maxwell. I’d suggest that for the time being, you close your eyes and think happy thoughts, alright?”
Richard glanced at me, searching my face for just about anything. I gave him an empty look. He shook his head and closed his eyes.
Dr. Phillips stuck the needle in the port, and waited. He wanted it to be unknown.
“I wonder… what death feels like.”
“Hurts. It’s called Potassium chloride,” I said, hoping he’d realize this was going to be painful.
He let out a forced laugh, pressure from within. He was nervous. “Of course.”
Dr. Phillips thought it the perfect time, and with a straight face, but a weary heart, pushed the syringe in.
Richard didn’t react immediately. He didn’t know the poison had been administered.
It seemed like forever, but it had only been a few seconds, before Richard finally moved, shaking his head. “Ow. Okay, that hurts...” he trailed.
Dr. Phillips removed the syringe, and sat in wait.
His chest rose once, and fell. He was starting to struggle for breath.
He didn't struggle for long as his heart gave out. He twitched, a sign that part of the brain was starting to lose function. He briefly opened his eyes, a fleeting moment of clemency. They close when he attempts to take in one last breath, his chest rising. It falls moments later. He seemed to relax and the struggle for air stopped.
Dr. Phillips glanced at his watch. He waited five minutes before checking Richard's pulse. He tried to find one, maybe in a desperate plea of hope, but he sighed, and told me, "He's gone."
The longest 10 minutes of my life are over. I tried to relax, even though my head throbbed. I rubbed my temples, sighing.
"What did he do?" Dr. Phillips finally spoke. He sat, looking at the lifeless body of Richard Maxwell.
"Nothing," I answered. Not one thing... And I felt the guilt creep back up. And then I ran.
*
Connie looked out beyond the headstones and tombs.
Her world hadn’t been the same since that day. Her mood had shifted completely. She felt more depressed. She was alone in her thoughts most days. After a few days of digesting Mitch’s words, she’d managed to make her way to the cemetery, where Mitch had bought a plot and placed Richard’s body in it.
She sighed. Boy, life sure got boring around here… I sit, I cry, I work… What happened, Richard? Why did this happen? I’m sitting here because you took my place. Because you took your rightful place. I’m so glad you found God. But I miss you like there may be no tomorrow. I want to see you’re face. I just want to touch it once more. The “I love you’s” were so sweet. Now I’m standing here, your body below me, and your heart in my hands.
One tear slipped down her cheek. Her world would never be the same… her world hadn’t been the same since he’d first walked in. And that was so many years ago.
Sadly…
The End
I've seen worse, I guess that's all I can say. But at that moment, on that plane from Odyssey to Chicago, it was like this was all a walk in the park. I sit beside Mr. Richard Maxwell, who has all but breathed a word to me since we met up at the Odyssey airport. He is confined to his seat by handcuffs, a way to keep track of him between Odyssey and that trans-Atlantic flight.
Johansson is two seats away, humming to himself and keeping a straight face. He's more than overjoyed about this whole ordeal. He's just happy his job is almost over.
But when it comes to our condemned, it is like he's found some righteous moment and decided to zone out before noticing he's about to die. He's calm, cool, composed; unlike most who know they are going to die, and in only a matter of hours. But he looks exhausted; from what, I'm not sure. He's black & blue & purple from the beating Johansson had given him the day before. The scars would last, the bruises would fade... but not before the end of that flight.
It was a bumpy landing into O'Hare. The skies were mourning before their time. Lovely. Just what we need: a delay. But when we showed up to the gate, it was already starting to clear up. I unlatched Maxwell and slapped the cuffs on his wrists. "March," I ordered, following him and Johansson, the lead, out of the small plane.
Johansson quickly found our gate number and said the plane was there. Amazing. An hour early. We walked past many peering eyes, and a few kids loudly saying to their mom's, "What's he in for?" We kept our composure and kept going. We finally reached the gate where Dr. Erik Phillips awaited with an escort.
Dr. Phillips acknowledged our presence.
"Ready?" I asked Dr. Phillips while Maxwell stopped short in his forward motion.
Dr. Phillips glared and stalked off toward the gate and the awaiting plane. Johansson was right behind him, whistling and over-exaggerating the moment.
I paused for a second to take notice of Richard's reaction. He was calm, but there was a look of remorse on his face. He knows he won't see ground again - the plane was his last resort.
"Come on," I urged, tugging on his arm. I tried not to be impatient. I had no right to be. He was quiet, but after a few seconds he started walking again.
I followed, feeling the slightly pang of guilt. He didn't deserve what was coming to him. He was innocent. But I was following orders. The guilt passed.
I gave him a gentle nudge into the plane, showing my willingness to push forward. We walk along the aisle; the plane is private, so there are only about eight seats and a few tables.
"Pick a seat, Maxwell," Johansson ordered, a sly smile creeping up on his face. I sensed a wise crack coming. I was very close to putting him in with the pilot. 'It is your death bed!" He was laughing.
"Okay," I snapped. "Pilot's nest, now."
He tried to argue with me, but I was very insistent on the decision.
"Go," I demanded. I was annoyed and not up to taking any more stupid wise cracks. He walked off, grumbling about my demands.
Richard had sat, ignorant of Johansson's remark. He glanced at me and waited.
"I'm sorry. I can't take him anywhere."
I sighed. The whole silence deal was going to have to stop. I leaned over, un-cuffed one wrist, and snapped it around the arm of the chair. "I don't need you running off. Especially in a small plane at 30,000 feet." No answer.
"Okay, this while silence endeavor has to stop. Mumble, screech, cuss, or start up a conversation. I don't care, just make a sound," I confessed, sitting in the chair across the aisle from him.
Richard settled into the chair, his exhaustion hitting full force. He attempted to hold in a yawn while contemplating his silence. "What do you want me to say?" he finally answered, putting his full attention on me.
"I don't know. You're not angry, which is a far cry to the right from the emotions many others experience at this stage, in this predicament. You're just... calm. What is up with you? You expressed more emotion in Switzerland just a few weeks back."
A dark look came over his face. The memory was not a happy one. "This isn't a walk in the park you know. I just felt I didn't need to get overworked about something I can hand to God."
"So, what, you're not afraid?"
Richard tried to cover another yawn before responding. "I'm afraid, I won't deny it. I don't know what death feels like or what is going to happen. But if this is God's will, I'll put on a brave face. What other can I do?"
"Ready to take off?" The pilot peaked his head out from up front, Johansson's hand seen fiddling with switches.
Two seats in front of us sat Dr. Phillips. "Only when the world decides to act human," he muttered, a glare aimed at me. I had a tough doctor to break in only a few hours.
"I'll take that as a yes." The pilot disappeared.
"Dr. Phillips, I don't think you've had a formal introduction with your patient. Richard Maxwell, Dr. Erik Phillips. He's here for... moral support."
Richard nodded in acknowledgement of the doctor, my words running through his brain. Yeah, not really... I think he's going to stick a needle in me instead.
"Don't let them fool you," Dr. Phillips said as the plane started to roll away from the gate. "I'm here to perform the execution." His annoyance and anger were truly showing through his choice of words.
"I take it you're not for this?" Richard wondered out loud.
"I'm a doctor who treats patients; I don't choose who lives or dies at times. And I'm definitely not someone who puts potassium chloride through someone's system."
"Okay," I called, standing up from my seat. "This conversation is over. Since you need to learn why you're here, I'm giving you that time. Mr. Maxwell, you look exhausted. You may take a nap if you choose. I need to speak with the pilot." I walked to the pilot's nest and entered, closing the door behind me.
"He's a thorn in my side," I heard from Dr. Phillips.
Beyond the door, Richard finally fully yawned. He closed his eyes against the brightness of the peaking sun that came in through the windows. He slipped into sleep, his exhaustion finally overtaking him.
*
The prick of a needle woke Richard from his sleep. He groaned as he woke; his body felt like a lead weight.
"Have a nice nap?"
Richard half expected the individual to add 'sleeping beauty', but the voice was not Myron's.
"I feel better. How long was I out?" He opened his eyes to notice that the sun was gone. It had either been a while, or they'd swiftly changed time zones. He then noticed an IV in his arm. So that was the prick. Glad I didn't watch that.
"About six hours. Don't worry, I'm just checking vitals and giving you fluids. It looks like you haven't kept up on your intake of necessary fluids, or nutrients," Dr. Phillips remarked. He sat on a stool with a handbag full of tricks by his side.
"It wasn't my week."
Dr. Phillips eyes him and shook his head. He took out his stethoscope and leaned in to listen to Richard's heart.
They went through the motions of a physical exam, checking the heart, eyes, hands, and lungs.
Dr. Phillips finished and slipped off his gloves. "You are a healthy young man, Mr. Maxwell."
"That's a good thing?" I muttered from my seat two rows back. I stretched. I had a wonderful nap myself.
"Good health means better chance of... successful operation," Dr. Phillips stated, glancing back at me. He stood from his spot and said, "I'll be right back."
He walked to the back of the plane and disappeared. I decided it was probably a good time, while alone with Richard, to ask a few basic questions. I got up from my seat and sat in the one opposite his. He looked refreshed, albeit nervous.
"You're shaking. Need a blanket?" I offered, noticing his strong demeanor had dropped considerably.
All he did was nod.
I got up and reached into a compartment above my head, pulling out a white knitted blanket. I unfolded it and wrapped it around him, hoping it helped.
"Thank you." It was whispered. There was something else on his mind.
"Want to talk?"
He was silent. But he finally managed to spill his mind. "If it's okay, you wouldn't mind giving my body to Connie Kendall, would you?"
The request was odd, but not far from what I needed to speak to him about. "You want her to be your next of kin?"
"I guess... I sort of left her hanging back in Odyssey this morning. I don't know how much she understood over the past two weeks. We never got a chance to truly talk together."
"I can notify her of your passing." I said it so casually, I even believed I had tricked myself into believing this act of murder was right... boy was I about to be put in my place.
"Okay, no offense, but for some reason, this whole plan... this situation... it seems messed up. Like this shouldn't be happening."
I didn't answer immediately, but I soon came to the realization he was right. "You know, I agree."
He sighed. "When?"
I looked up. I looked at my watch and calculated the time left in the trip. Two hours and 45 minutes left... "Probably soon. But, because I believe in free will, I'll leave you up to that decision."
I watched him look out the window and ponder. In a set execution, there is always a set time. But I had decided to leave this one wide-open.
Dr. Phillips emerged from the back, yawning with loss of sleep, but he ignored it all the same. "How we feeling?" He asked as he walked up to his stool.
Richard didn't respond. Dr. Phillips looked at me and I shrugged. He had his own timing.
"Now."
My reaction came off as shocked. I coughed, the deafening realization that he'd made his own decision still unwrapping within my brain.
I looked to Dr. Phillips and nodded. "It's time."
Dr. Phillips groaned. "You two ganged up on me. Thanks." But he sighed, reached for his bag, and headed for the back again. "I'll be back in 10 minutes."
I was about to say something when he whispered, "Connie... please, give my body to Connie."
I let the tension in my shoulders drop. "If that is your last wish."
He looked at me. “Yeah.”
I looked at the ground. This isn’t how this is supposed to turn out… I made a decision. I got up and promptly took the handcuffs off him. “Just don’t go… running off.” Yeah, like someone at 30,000 feet would really run off.
He offered thanks. His mind was on another world though. He looked out the window, into a black nothing, while he carefully started to rub his wrists. He’d been in chains far too long.
We fell silent.
The 10 minutes slowly crept by. I started to feel anxious. Or… nervous. Can’t let this happen… but… I knew protocol. I knew what would happen when I stepped off that plane in Geneva. I had better have a dead body, or else. Is my job that more important than my moral standards? But where did this heart come from?
I heard the back open and Dr. Phillips stood there, a stone on a plane that had a specific landing time. I could feel the anxiety. Great, none of us are up to this…
He finally managed to walk down the aisle and sit without breaking something. I could feel the anger. But it was so well masked; I had to have been the only recognizer.
“Okay. You know, I’m not going to go thorough any lame stuff. This is going to be… clean and orderly, but simple… we won’t make this harder or faster than we need to.”
Get to the point…
Richard reached up and rubbed his eyes, attempting to wake himself up more.
“You know what; guess what this chair can do?” Dr. Phillips remarked, eyeing his patient.
“I could tell you a lot of things,” Richard pointed out.
“Let’s recline, shall we?” Dr. Phillips suggested, getting to the point. Well done.
Richard managed not to have a heart attack on a plane at 30,000 feet at about two in the morning.
Together they got the chair to recline and Dr. Phillips asked, “Comfortable?”
“Not quite sure. Ask me in a few minutes.”
I attempted not to let out a cough. The dry humor was so bad, a knife could do worse damage to the words right then.
Dr. Phillips just seemed to tense up. The statement didn’t make things any better in this situation. He reached into his bag and paused. He managed to convince himself he had to do this, one way or another. He pulled out a syringe and held it up.
“Care to guess?”
“Potassium chloride. Have we done this before?”
I choked on nothing but my own saliva. This is worse than Lord of the Rings.
“Only in your dreams, if at all, Mr. Maxwell. I’d suggest that for the time being, you close your eyes and think happy thoughts, alright?”
Richard glanced at me, searching my face for just about anything. I gave him an empty look. He shook his head and closed his eyes.
Dr. Phillips stuck the needle in the port, and waited. He wanted it to be unknown.
“I wonder… what death feels like.”
“Hurts. It’s called Potassium chloride,” I said, hoping he’d realize this was going to be painful.
He let out a forced laugh, pressure from within. He was nervous. “Of course.”
Dr. Phillips thought it the perfect time, and with a straight face, but a weary heart, pushed the syringe in.
Richard didn’t react immediately. He didn’t know the poison had been administered.
It seemed like forever, but it had only been a few seconds, before Richard finally moved, shaking his head. “Ow. Okay, that hurts...” he trailed.
Dr. Phillips removed the syringe, and sat in wait.
His chest rose once, and fell. He was starting to struggle for breath.
He didn't struggle for long as his heart gave out. He twitched, a sign that part of the brain was starting to lose function. He briefly opened his eyes, a fleeting moment of clemency. They close when he attempts to take in one last breath, his chest rising. It falls moments later. He seemed to relax and the struggle for air stopped.
Dr. Phillips glanced at his watch. He waited five minutes before checking Richard's pulse. He tried to find one, maybe in a desperate plea of hope, but he sighed, and told me, "He's gone."
The longest 10 minutes of my life are over. I tried to relax, even though my head throbbed. I rubbed my temples, sighing.
"What did he do?" Dr. Phillips finally spoke. He sat, looking at the lifeless body of Richard Maxwell.
"Nothing," I answered. Not one thing... And I felt the guilt creep back up. And then I ran.
*
Connie looked out beyond the headstones and tombs.
Her world hadn’t been the same since that day. Her mood had shifted completely. She felt more depressed. She was alone in her thoughts most days. After a few days of digesting Mitch’s words, she’d managed to make her way to the cemetery, where Mitch had bought a plot and placed Richard’s body in it.
She sighed. Boy, life sure got boring around here… I sit, I cry, I work… What happened, Richard? Why did this happen? I’m sitting here because you took my place. Because you took your rightful place. I’m so glad you found God. But I miss you like there may be no tomorrow. I want to see you’re face. I just want to touch it once more. The “I love you’s” were so sweet. Now I’m standing here, your body below me, and your heart in my hands.
One tear slipped down her cheek. Her world would never be the same… her world hadn’t been the same since he’d first walked in. And that was so many years ago.
Sadly…
The End