The Truth Hurts

90 │flatline (the final chapter)

"Henry Wallace, the chief medical examiner at the Riverside Morgue, has yet to release an official cause of death or the person's identity. However, it has been confirmed by the local police department that the suspect, deemed in this morning's newspaper as the Riverside Ripper, was already dead when they arrived at the scene. Again, the masked man that has been terrorizing this town and is responsible for over a dozen murders, is confirmed dead. Parents can sleep easy tonight knowing that their children are no longer in dan—"

The bulky television, mounted in the upper right corner of the room, flicks to a black screen before Taylor tosses the remote control onto the small table in front of her. The steady beep of the heart monitor, the nauseating noise she had attempted to drown out by turning on the morning news, rings yet again in her ears.

She slowly pulls her long hair back behind her shoulders as she glances down at the steel pan lying on the floor near the bedside. Blood persistently drops from the thin surgical hose dangling directly above it but now at a slower pace and, according to the nurse that had cleaned it out just moments ago, that could only be taken as a positive sign. Although it's not a guarantee, she strongly reassured Taylor that Marc's vitals are improving as the fluids continue to drain from around his lungs. Taylor could only pray that is the case.

The sun glares through the open blinds as it rises past the horizon and, as Taylor allows her attention to be drawn to the blinding sight, she can't help but reminisce on the shattered memories of the relationship she had thrown away. Make that relationships.

In a neighboring room not too far down the same hall, another couple faces the grave consequences of a night that—although shadowed by the recent murders—will forever be etched into the town's history. The two victims that had somehow managed to escape the crazed murderer are side-by-side, one sitting in a chair and the other lying down stiffly, and it can only be viewed as a blessing that they are still here. Still breathing.

Even if one of them is slowly drawing their oxygen through a narrow tube.

But for once, Casey finds her attention not focused on that. Instead, her eyes are locked onto the black box trembling in her left palm and, amidst the choked desolation lingering inside of her, she finds herself captivated by the leather exterior alone. As she slowly pries the small lid open with her other hand daylight reflects from the diamond solitaire and, although she had already expected what could have been tucked inside of the compact box, her jaw instantly drops as she covers her mouth in shock.

The beautiful, flawless stone blossoms from the platinum band that rests in a small slit between two velvet cushions. The polished gem sparkles, almost as if it were being featured in some sort of advertisement, as she pulls it from its display. Trying not to drop it as her hands continue to shake uncontrollably, she immediately notices the infinity symbol engraved into the ring's inner core and she reaches up to gently graze her matching necklace with her index finger.

Suddenly, the monitor next to her beeps twice and the ventilator bag dramatically contracts. She peers up to see Riley, eyes still shut, as his chest expands and he draws in a heavy breath. Her eyes widen as she jumps to her feet and tightly clasps onto the bed's railing, the ring falling to the sheets tucked under his forearm.

"Riley..." she struggles to speak, hoping that it was an indicator that his body is easing its way back to breathing on its own. "Wake up. Please."

His eyelids twitch and, for a brief moment, she expects them to flutter open and for his brown eyes to gaze into hers. But instead, he continues to lie in his vegetative state and she continues to rely on hope. And at this point, that's really all she has left.

At the rounded desk centered just outside of the ICU, Dr. Adrian Navarro slides a clipboard to the receptionist sitting behind the computer. He uses the collar of his white coat to wipe at a dribble of sweat running down his right cheek. "Vitals seem fine. Kerry, make a note to gradually decrease the anesthetic."