The Agent (Chapter 8, The Hosiptal)

by Alec in Michigan

“I’ve got bleeding in the head, we need to stem that. Stat.”
“Heart rate’s dropping to forty BPM. And dropping.”
“Thirty BPM! Have paddles on standby!”
“Paddles on standby!”
“What about that bleeding?”
“I’m worried about the gunshot wound darnit!”
“BPM at twenty five, doctor!”
“Paddles! Now!”
“Stand clear!”

I awoke suddenly, my eyes snapping open. My eyes burnt as they adjusted themselves to the bright white light being emitted from an unknown source. My eyes began to focus, and I could figure out where I was. There was a small television in the far left corner of the room, and Speed channel was on, muted. There was a nightstand next to me, and a tray of food was sitting atop some magazine called MAD. My cell phone also sat on the nightstand. Then, as I settled, or at least tried to, the pain so great it was as if a sledge hammer was pounding every inch of my body, all the memories came flooding back, and the pain worsened.
Mark.
John.
Rolland Exterminators.
Bailey.
The Alley.
The Gunshot.
I moaned deeply, and drifted into a tremendously troubled sleep.