Chapter 2

Down at the hospital gallery, a little redhead rested on the window. She was lost in thoughts. Reminiscing the night events. She was in love. How could a crippled man pull through all of this? He was still brave, even in despair.

Why was he holding his chest and holding that handkerchief, though, she thought to herself. He was uncomfortable; they both knew that, but he had cleverly hidden something from her. Something was wrong. A picture was missing. Blood. She had seen blood on the handkerchief.

Running nonstop up the stairs of a five-story building never occurred on her bucket list until now. The elevator had a malfunction, so this was the only option. She arrived at the corridor that led straight to their room. Her stomach felt twisted. There was a commotion happening in the corridor. Why were they running with several pieces of equipment? Why were several nurses heading toward their room? She made her way through and finally got into their room.

Nurses, doctors, drips. They were everywhere. Sammy’s eyes were closed, and a sad smile covered his face. A handkerchief soaked in blood fell from his weak hand.

“Name: Samuel Johnson.

Age: 24.

Gender: Male.

Height: 6 feet 2 inches.

Cause of death: Cancer of the spinal cord.

Time of death: 00:00 hours, midnight.

Date of death: Saturday, 24th December 2022,” said the chief doctor to a resident doctor who scribbled it on a record.

Her ears began to ring. Her eyes began to tear. “Sammy, Sammy, please wake up!” she screamed.

The nurses grabbed her. She broke loose like a bloodhound.

“Don’t leave me, please, Sammy,” she cried.

They were covering his face with a cloth. She jumped and grabbed the doctor’s arm. “Don’t touch him, please. Let me talk to him. I will do it,” she begged. She lay on the hospital floor. Her face lay flat against the floor, and her tears washed the scent of antiseptic that had been used on the floor.

“Ma’am, please don’t do this. We have to take him,” said a nurse attempting to lift her.

“Stop! Give her a chance to mourn. Can you not see she even bowed to beg? How can you make her humiliate herself once more before her loved one? We will give you a while, so take your time,” said the chief doctor on night duty, and with that, the room was cleared, and Layla was once again left alone.

“I hear her voice in the morning’ hour, she calls me. The radio reminds me of my home far away. Drivin’ down the road, I get a feeling That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday…”

The radio was still playing. “How can you do this? You can’t leave, please. I never took off the ring you wore me. Every morning, thoughts about you made me stronger. I toiled day and night and finally paid off our debt. I came this morning to tell you that. So you could rest without worry. I gave up my scholarship to study at a New York fashion school. I left my family for you. I loved you. Please wake up,” she cried even more. Her heart shattered at every word.

She lay in front of his corpse. The smell of blood caught her nostrils. Her tears had found a way to wash the hem of the blood-stained handkerchief. She held onto it and cried more. His blood had dried on the piece of clothing. She tried dragging herself to her feet, but her knees gave in. She was devastated and weak.

She grabbed the metal arm of his bed. Their bed where his corpse lay cold. She looked at his weak smile. It was so sad and different from his smile that evening. Memories of the times they had spent together began to flood in. A sharp pain pierced her heart. She clenched her chest and wept. Her tears washed his face. A trail of tears slipped and moistened his lips.

She found herself in the same wheelchair he had sat on. She was too weak to move now. With every ounce of strength in her being, she pushed the chair toward his bed. She opened his eyelid. Those dark emerald eyes that once watched her in admiration were gone. His eyes were turning dark. As dark as coal. They held no emotion within them. She closed them immediately and broke down on her knees.

She picked up his hand and removed the ring she had placed on his finger. He had never once removed it. She stretched her hands to feel his cold face once more. Another wave of tears flowed from her eyes and washed his face and moistened it. She embraced and kissed him, only this time, it was different. His lips didn’t move to welcome her. With a deep and painful breath, she pulled the cover over his face.

She didn’t know how long she had cried in that room, but when she stepped out to call the nurses to move his body, a wall clock was beeping and showed 5:30 pm.

At the front desk, her shaking hands rang the bell. A young nurse ran out from the ward. She arched back and cleaned her tears. She carefully hid her shaking hands beneath her coat and prayed her fragile heart would not give way.

“Room D-10, I am ready. You can come to collect him,” she said immediately. A ball of vomit rose to her throat immediately. Tears stung her eyes. She bent her head on the desk to calm down.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” the young nurse asked. She just nodded and headed back to the room.

“I’ll have to say honestly: he fought a good fight, but it seemed like he knew he was going to die,” said one of the hospital mortuary staff that had come to get the body.

“Who is that beautiful red hair by the door? A family member or wife,” said another.

“None of the above. I heard she’s his girlfriend. It’s so sad a young lady had to endure this alone,” the mortuary staff responded.

She just stood outside the door with her head bent low. She had been in that position since she got back from notifying the hospital to come. She had heard the conversation that had occurred between the hospital staff. Could they not have done it somewhere else? I am now an object of pity, she thought to herself as she bit her lower lip in frustration.

They were moving his body out now. Her grip still held on to the blood-stained handkerchief. His body was now outside the room. A room she had come to know as theirs. She stretched out her hand and hugged his covered body once more.

His body had already become stiff. She knelt before him, to the surprise of the hospital staff. She bowed her head to the earth and bathed it with salty tears. Tears of despair, heartbreak, and anguish. Tears of love and joy that Sammy could finally sleep in peace without crying back pains. She stood up, kissed his feet, and waved him goodbye. She stood and watched as they disappeared around the corner. She wanted to run after them, but her feet couldn’t move. She wanted to wake up from this horrid dream, but the pain she felt inside was alive and real.

Walking into the hospital room. She shut the door behind her. Deep within her, she knew she had to prepare to bury him. The thought of his body lying among strangers in the mortuary didn’t sit well with her. Sammy never liked sleeping outside when he was alive.

The sun had melted the snow a little this morning as though it had come out to bid her goodbye and was trying to give her journey less trouble.

“This should be everything,” said Layla to no one in particular. She had packed ‘their little’ property, which, of course, consisted of two cardboard boxes of their clothes, two boots, a grooming bag, the large blanket she and Sammy had shared, a wheelchair, and a blood-stained handkerchief.

She had packed everything into the boot of her trusty Volvo. The hospital lobby was filled with patients and their families sharing Christmas moments. It wasn’t hard to notice the pitiful expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses in the ward. She had tried her best to ignore and avoid their gaze by using the elevator.

She checked the car’s condition once more and ignited the engine. It roared and stopped. She tried once more before it finally came around. They had sold their little apartment to pay for Sammy’s surgery.

No home to go to. Yeah, I’m never forgetting this Christmas.