night was quiet with relief. Last night’s rain had washed away the
blood and tension. Glass pearls still remained street side, pieces
too big to be washed into the gutter, but too insignificant to be
brushed away by the city. All evidence had been dragged away, only
memories remained. The incident would have been less tragic if no one
The woman had not woken up yet. Hope that she would not, lingered in the chair next to her bed. That Hope her only visitor. The nurses patrolled the hall with one ear to her room. No calls were made when she arrived. There were no numbers to be called, no family her family anymore, just one that could not get the call.
The woman finally wakes. Hope leaves her side for the moment. Her first words are inaudible, the next are screams. The nurses are in the room before the third round starts. The woman spends the rest of the day listening to questions that she does not have answers for.
A detective picks up the case after the hospital call. Skimming the incomplete file, the detective is ready to finish before lunch. The detective arrives to ask her questions, but brings one answer. He speaks to the woman without a glance, busy watching the pen fight paper in his hand.
“Where's my husband?” The woman asks in a raspy voice.
detective pauses for a moment, then another moment searching for
sympathy. After the third moment his eyes just reaching the woman's
“He didn't make it,” the detective says, then returns to his report.