The Riverside Hospital waiting room is near empty. A pregnant woman groans next to her husband in the back row of chairs and an impatient man applying pressure to a cut on his forearm argues with the middle aged nurse at the counter.

"Sir, the doctor will be with you in a minute." Her face grows red and it's obvious she's biting her tongue to stay calm. The man relaxes, before turning back to sit in a nearby chair.

"Can I help you?" The nurse asks.

Marc approaches the counter, clasping onto the strap of his messenger bag. "Yes. I'm here to visit a patient."

She smiles. "Okay. What's the patient's name?"

"Garrett O'Neil."

The nurse's eyebrows lift in surprise before she even types in the name. "Friend or family?"

He lingers there for a minute, knowing that he's neither of the two. "Friend."

"You're his first visitor." She rapidly types at the keyboard in front of her to pull up the patient's information. "Room 113. Go down the hallway and take a right."

"Okay, thank you." He politely says before walking off down the corridor.

The hospital is bland, offering a depressing lack of colors with blank walls stretching down each side of the wide hall. Two nurses and a doctor pass by him as he reaches the corner to take a right. Room 113 is the third room on the right and the door is wide open. He stops, hesitating for a moment. Perhaps he should turn around and leave. After all, he doesn't know the guy. The guilt soon seeps in as he thinks about what the nurse just told him. He sighs and walks into the room.

Continuous beeps, between two second intervals, come from the machine set up next to the hospital bed pushed against the left wall. Marc steps forward into the room, staring down nervously at the checkered design on the linoleum floor. Slowly, like a child sneaking up on a parent, he lifts his head to make sure Garrett is not awake.

He's not.

Casts cover the majority of Garrett's body, except for his torso and right arm. Layers of bandages are wrapped around his head with spaces left open for the mouth, nostrils, and eyes. A catheter, inserted into his bladder, is propped on a short metal stand next to the bed as it removes his fluids into a plastic pouch. As Marc approaches the side of the bed, he notices Garrett's upper lip is burnt to a black crisp.

"I know you don't know me, but I'm sorry for what happened to you." Marc says as he rests his hands on the side of the bed, examining the casts.

Two nurses gossip from outside in the hallway, their voices growing louder as they approach the room.

"Yeah, so apparently his mother can no longer afford it." One of them says.

The other replies. "Really?"

"Yeah, so Dr. Pratt already approved of the transfer, saying that he still needs time to heal but it's no longer critical. They're going to set up some at home recovery thing."

They turn to enter the room and are both surprised to see Marc standing there. One of the nurses, the blonde one, tosses on a fake smile, "Oh, hi there."

Marc looks at them. "Hi."

"It's about time someone else came to visit him." The brunette nurse rudely remarks. The blonde nudges her arm.

"Someone else?" He raises an eyebrow. "I was told I was the first visitor."

The blonde nods as she approaches the head of the bed. He steps aside to give her room. "First friend." She lifts Garrett's head, who's still asleep, and fluffs the pillow lightly with her other hand.

Smacking her gum, the brunette crosses her arms as she stands in the open doorway. She's clearly not interested in helping. "Yeah, after what he did I'm surprised he has any friends at all."

"Janet!" The blonde scoffs, trying not to talk too loud to wake Garrett.

She shrugs, not giving a shit.

The blonde finishes her routine check-up and, before she leaves, she touches Marc's arm as she walks past him. She apologizes for her co-worker with a slight whisper. "Sorry."

The two nurses leave and carry on their discussion the second they step out into the hall.

Marc approaches the side of the bed again and sighs. "No one deserves this."

He turns to walk away when a hand vigorously grasps onto his wrist. He turns to see Garrett's head now turned to face him, his eyes twitching open.

"They... do." Garrett mutters, the peeled skin on his lip flaking against the bandages as he talks.

Marc stares at him, not sure what to say or do. His body begins to tremble when Garrett loosens his grip enough for him to pull his hand free. Marc jumps back, rubbing his hand, surprised that such an injured guy could still be so strong.

Garrett attempts to smile. Maybe it's the pain or the nerve damage, but he can't manage to lift the corners of his lips. His eyes water as he turns his head back upright, facing the tiles on the ceiling above.

Taking a deep breath, Marc stares at him. Half of him wants to talk to Garrett, to get his perspective on what happened that night. Yet the other part of him wants to run the other way and never look back.

He takes the latter.

♫ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴀɴᴋ / ʙᴏɴ ɪᴠᴇʀ ♫

https://youtu.be/aY6COiQO_mI

The killer is about to make his debut...
Who do you think will be first to bite the dust?