Double Jeopardy Aftermath: Re-Tainted

Hospital Menonitas, Caguas, Puerto Rico
Accident and Emergency Ward

Breathing anxiously, Slater rocked back and forth upon a single, plastic chair. He did not want to sit, but he had no other choice. Doctors, nurses and porters patrolled the neighbouring corridors, carrying patient folders and transporting equipment to their required destinations. To them it was just another day.

To Slater, it felt like the world was about to end.

It’s my fault… it’s my fault…

Continuously - relentlessly - he repeated this agonizing thought over and over, staring at the disinfected floor of the emergency ward. Without acknowledging anyone, he could feel the stares of numerous people focusing on him at once. It was a logical reaction, considering he was still adorned in his black wrestling gear, sporting a fresh cut just underneath his eyebrow and being smeared with nauseating amounts of blood. Some knew where he had come from, but others would have considered him strange, weird or insane, having refused to clean himself - or even get treated for his laceration - and instead remaining distant from human interaction.

If it was enough to transform this reality into a fictionalized dreamstate, he would have begged mercifully for the latter.

It’s my fault… it’s my fault…

Travelling to the hospital in the ambulance, all he could do was stare at her face beneath the oxygen mask. A face so beautiful, yet so worn and pale. He refused to let go of her hand, tensing his fingers to muster a physical response. Even then he shivered - as much as he did presently - having neglected to change into ordinary clothes.

He wished her eyes would open; even partially, even temporarily. He hoped he could acknowledge her majestic blue irises again during the urgent journey, as weary or disorientated as they would have been. He wanted her to wake up.

Despite his hopes, she never did.

Due to privacy legislations, he was not allowed to be present during her emergency treatment. He was not blood-related or immediate family. He was merely defined as her ex-boyfriend; nothing more and nothing less. But what he would have done to be there, to eradicate the rules of the institute and remain by her side through the process.

She had to survive. She had to find that serene, private island she had always envisioned, to retire from fighting and spend her accumulated wealth there on luxuries she earned by herself; to live in peace and harmony, basking in the glow of the sun and the moon. After everything she had been through, she just had to.

After all the fighting, she needed to be free.

It’s my fault… it’s my fault…

Time ticked away, prolonging Slater’s restlessness. Only until he was certain of her condition would he settle. But he was dominated by dread. The smell of copper flowed into his nostrils with every inhalation, emanating from the blood coating his perspirating chest and stomach. Not just his blood; her blood.

Looking down at the lingering stains, he remembered cradling her head after the shocking and mysterious attack - he assumed it had been one, given the disruption of the arena lights and the startling commotion thereafter - gently offering warmth and support to her despite the severity of her injury. He could have exacerbated a potential neck issue, but at that moment he was frantic.

She had no detectable pulse, no semblance of conscious life. He had no idea what to do. The blood from her wound gushed across his skin, bathing him briefly before the medical staff hurriedly applied a towel to her head, strapped her to a gurney and wheeled her away at alarming speed while performing CPR.

Not only did her blood contaminate his flesh; so did her tears. They were streaming down her face after his victory, looking at him with pained exhaustion. Looking down again, he could see where they had dried; once glistening, now faded from absorption.

That was when guilt rose from the depths, torturing his pounding heart and his broken mind.

It’s my fault... it’s my...

‘Mr Slater?’

A strong, Spanish accent immediately garnered his attention. No longer ignorant of his surroundings, Slater cast his eyes to an approaching doctor, a seemingly-distinguished man with decades of experience. The fluorescent lights brightened his bronze, wrinkled skin, walking with professionalism towards his grieving person of interest. Slater finally stood up, leaving his discarded cut-off gloves on the vacant seat.

He silently begged for positivity. He could not bear to lose her; not after everything he had done.

‘I have some news about Ms Cera Janason,’ the doctor said, eyeing Slater’s disturbing appearance momentarily. ‘A family member has told us we could share this information with you.’

He was certainly bilingual, being fluent in both Spanish and English dialect. However, his tone of voice weakened Slater exponentially. It was a voice of failure, a voice of mourning.

Softly shaking his head, Slater exposed his heartbreak with an emotional whisper.

‘No… please...’

The doctor stood firm and composed.

‘We successfully stopped the bleeding from her wound and stabilized her heart rate. Unfortunately… she went into a second cardiac arrest due to excessive trauma.’

Slater completely froze in shock. Everything around him remained still.

‘We couldn’t save her. I'm sorry.’

At that moment, Slater’s own heart stopped beating. He felt himself slipping away… until it horribly restarted. Once the pounding recommenced, albeit excruciatingly so, it forced him to realize that this was indeed reality, and that he was still alive.

He was... but she was not.

With tears welling, creating a watery layer above his reddenned eyes, Slater choked out a grieving, anguished response.
‘I want to see her…’

The doctor merely offered a sympathetic expression, although Slater knew it was a comforting facade.

‘Again... I’m sorry for your loss.’

Lips quivering and body shaking, Slater watched the doctor leave without further comment, reading a report in his hand and calculating his next task.

She was gone. He did not want to believe it, but it was true.

Slowly and weakly, Slater raised his hands and stared at his dirtied palms. Teardrops landed on the wrinkled skin, flowing from fresh streams that covered his rugged cheeks. Only then did he close his eyes, grimacing as he attempted to ease his tightened throat.

Everything had been lost. He made a promise he could not keep. As much as he vowed to protect and help her, his long lost love had ultimately perished.

It’s my fault… it’s my fault!

Immediately stunning people around the ward, Slater grabbed the chair he was sitting on and launched it at a nearby window. The glass cracked from the impact, yet it did not shatter. Understandably enraged, a guttural roar escaped his widened mouth as he punched the wall repeatedly, beginning to crack the plaster and exposing the brickwork underneath.

Having been alerted by this chaotic disturbance, two hefty security men closed in on Slater and successfully restrained him. He continued to scream, tears still flowing down his face as he was dragged further away from Cera’s current whereabouts.

‘It should have been me!’ he shouted, making everyone else feel uncomfortable. ‘It should have been me!’

In his broken mind, he wanted it to have been. But nothing would bring her back. Nothing he could sacrifice… not even what was left of his dark, wretched life.