This is the finale of a short story that I’m writing, weaving in a number of prompts. If you haven’t, kindly read Parts One and Two here, before going ahead

Simon paced up and down the hallway of Great Ormond Street hospital (GOSH). He hadn’t slept properly for two nights now, he was starting to look like a zombie. But his appearance was the least of his concern, with the present predicament that he seemed to have gotten himself into. He’d only noticed the missed calls from St. Mary’s a few hours ago, and had spent a couple of minutes just staring at the screen of his cell phone. He dreaded the news that he was about to hear.  Finally, he’d gathered the courage and rung back, only to be asked to come to the hospital right away. And to add to his tension, they hadn’t answered when he’s asked if there were any updates about either Eva or Lizzie. When he’d reached the hospital, he’d discovered the reason for the call. Eva was still unconscious and Lizzie’s condition had worsened. They’d discovered a blood clot in her brain and the on-call specialist had recommended that Lizzie be transferred to GOSH, which was reputed to be amongst the best children’s hospital in the world. But with Eva still unconscious, and no known next of kin, they couldn’t proceed without getting approval. Hence they’d continuously rung him. And once he’d signed on the dotted line, the transfer had taken place within a few hours. And now, he was stuck walking up and down the hallway at GOSH, whilst Lizzie was being re-operated upon here, whilst Eva lay unconscious at St. Marys.

“Mr. Bristow?” queried a large, booming sound, breaking into Simon’s thoughts. He looked up from his cell phone where he’d been typing away an urgent email to a client. “Yes. I’m Simon Bristow” he said, getting up from his seat. The owner of the voice was a giant of a man. Towering over Simon by at least half a foot, and built like a mountain with rippling muscles under his crinkled white shirt, his whole demeanour was intimidating. “Mr. Bristow, I’m Detective Joe Costa, with the Metropolitan Police department (MET). I’ve been looking for you for a couple of days now. I’m investigating the accident that you witnessed on Tuesday, the 22nd of September. Do you have a couple of minutes to answer a few questions?” he asked, taking out a small notepad which appeared to have some scribbling on them. Simon nodded as Det. Costa slid into the opposite chair. “So, tell me. What exactly did you see?”  Simon sighed. “This is going to be another long day!” he thought, as he began reliving the events of the past few days.

“Excuse me?” Simon and Det. Costa turned to look at the nurse who’d abruptly interrupted their conversation. “The on-call doctor would like to see you. There’s something he’d like to discuss.” she said to Simon, who in turn looked at Det. Costa. “Sure, go ahead!” he said, “we’re done here. Do be in touch, if you remember anything else. I’ve already made a note of the details of the man, from your rather vague description. But that’s all we have presently. The van was stolen and it was registered to a falsified address. We’ve appealed for witnesses but, as you can imagine, no one’s been forthcoming. Based on your description, I’ll get the police caricature artist to draw up a likeness. I appreciate that you are a busy man, but we may need you to come to the MET office later today or tomorrow, depending on when the artist completes the drawing”. With these parting words, Det. Costa left.

Simon leaned back on the chair, and thought about the discussion that he’d just had with Det. Costa. He’d given all the details that he could remember about the driver of the van. Though everything had happened quite quickly, as he’d picked up Lizzie from the pavement, he had noticed a white teenager get out of the van, clutching his right hand. As their eyes met briefly, the teen gave him a cold stare and made a run for it. The reason why he’d remembered the youth, had been because he had a long, irregular deep scar running all the way from his left eye down his cheek. And he’d been having nightmares of the face ever since the accident. As he walked up to the doctor’s office, he hoped that he’d given them the description of the right man.

Eva slowly opened her eyes. The bright lights of the hospital hurt them, and she turned her head away for some respite. She saw Simon dozing in the chair near her bed. It took her a few minutes to identify where she was. And when it did, she once again felt the start of a panic attack and sat up. All she wanted to do was to run up to her little girl and gather her in her arms.  But she couldn’t move any further. They still had an intravenous drip connected to her hand, along with a number of other strange looking beeping machines. She carefully observed Simon. Though he’d changed his clothes, he sported a three day old salt-and-pepper stubble. Suddenly Simon’s eyes opened wide and stared at her. And then he smiled – a sad, desolate smile, which made her wonder about her little girl. “How long have I been out?” she asked Simon, gesturing for him to call the nurse. “Just a little over 26 hours. They’d recommended that you be kept here under observation” he said,  walking up to her bed. Eva looked into Simon’s emerald green eyes and asked “ How’s Lizzie? Is she out of her coma yet? I want to see her.” Simon put a hand on her shoulder and said “Eva, there’s something I need to tell you”.

Simon watched as Eva slowly walked towards the door. He felt his eyes well up with every step that she took. He knew there was nothing more he could do for Eva or Lizzie. He had always been a staunch believer of the fact that everything happened for a reason. But as much as he thought about it, he could find no reason to explain what had happened. It just wasn’t fair. As he watched the door shut behind her, he closed his eyes, letting the tears roll down his cheeks and onto the floor. Unable to take it any longer, he turned around and started walking. At least Eva was going to see her little girl. As he opened the main door, he turned and took one last look at the door that Eva had disappeared through.  A bold sign in black said “MORGUE”.

As the  lyrics of one of Eric Clapton’s classics resonated through his mind, he once again hoped that he’d described the right man to the police.
(Listen to Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven” here)

Beyond the door,
There’s peace I’m sure,
And I know there’ll be no more
Tears in heaven.

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong
And carry on,
‘Cause I know I don’t belong
Here in heaven.

Simon stared at the man in the mirror. Though he’d shaved and dressed in his most expensive suit, his  puffy eyes gave away his tiredness. But the puffiness wasn’t just because of lack of sleep. He’d kept replaying the scene of the accident over and over again. And finally when he’d dozed off, his mind had been filled with transfiguring images of Eva metamorphosing into Samantha and Lizzie into Emily, and vice versa. Though his association with Eva and Lizzie, had been only a few days old, he’d grown to be extremely fond of them. But Eva had requested that he leave her, and hence why he’d not stayed back at the hospital morgue. He found himself wondering if he would have felt different if the people were Sam and Emily. Would he have left Sam, if something had happened to Emily? These thoughts had sent him into a frenzy, and finally at around 4am, against his better judgement, he’d called Sam, to find out if they were fine. Though Sam had reprimanded him for waking her up, she’d quickly apologised when he’d told her about Lizzie. She’d asked him to come over and spend some time with them. He’d driven over and spent the next two hours talking to Sam, and strangely, crying his heart out. And Sam, had listened, without judging him. And without make any snide remarks. Just like she used to, when they had been going out.

Simon adjusted his tie. He could still smell the disinfectant -infused hospital stench of death, and no amount of aftershave or cologne could get it out. But he was thankful that Sam and Emily were back in town and that he’d be spending the weekend with them. As hard as it would be to wipe off Eva’s and Lizzie’s face from his memory, he was looking forward to the weekend. A quick glance at the clock brought him back to the present. He was running late. Though he’d cancelled all his appointments for the week, today wasn’t an appointment he could afford to miss. He was being conferred an OBE (Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire) for his 22 years of service to music and charity, by none other than the Queen of England. And he was running terribly late.

The freckled man watched the silver grey AMG roadster rush through the traffic. It had started to drizzle, and the display of his cell phone was wet. He made a quick call to the lone number that was stored on it. “He’ll be coming around the corner in about 10 minutes” he said. He murmured a yes, as an acknowledgement to what he’d been told. Quickly he cut the call, and threw the phone into the trash bin by the park. And then he started to walk in the opposite direction.

The driver of the blue truck flipped his phone shut and revved his engine. Timing was of the essence. Too early and he’d just drive head along into the rush hour traffic. Too late, and the roadster and it’s driver would escape. He ran his fingers along the scar, which was starting to itch. He felt his hands tremble a bit, and he shook his legs restlessly. Keeping an eye on the dashboard clock, he turned on the radio to help soothe his nerves. Soon, he’d need to move.

With his radio blaring  The Eagle’s Hotel California, Simon sped along the main road. His phone had been continuously ringing. It was his Manager, probably calling to ask why he hadn’t reached yet. He hit the cancel button on his phone and sang along with Don Henley :

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
“Relax, ” said the night man,
“We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave! “

Suddenly Simon felt like he was punched in the gut, and his whole body spun uncontrollably. And then as the electric guitar interplay for the song played out in the background, everything went dark.

[This post is written for the Project 365 program at We Post Daily aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided. This is the final part of the prompt “Playlist of the week- Tell us how your week went by putting together a playlist of five songs that represent it.”    – This concludes Thursday and Friday, and with it, the story]

I’ve left the ending open for interpretation. Or rather in other words, I wanted a cliff-hanger of an ending 🙂 I know, I’m evil. Hope you enjoyed it.