Free Exit Wound by Alexandra Moore

walls were dripping with a feeling of false hope and serenity, and the smell of antibacterial soap and saline brought back memories that I wanted to forget. Memories of Mackynsie and memories of the night we said goodbye to our mother when she was admitted into the treatment facility.
    I flagged one of the nurses and asked about Everett. The annoyed look that flashed across her face when I went to the window to ask for information told me I was doing so too frequently. They didn’t have any answers for me. They only had answers for his family.
    “His family is all the way in New York, I’m all he’s got. Please, tell me something!"
    The nurse slid a glass door shut to cut me off, and if it weren’t for the menacing security guard in the corner, I would have slammed my fist into that glass. Instead I saw my reflection bouncing off the glass, and that’s when I realized I was splattered with blood. The EMT hadn’t been wiping my face from the tears but had been wiping away blood that had sprayed my porcelain skin.
    I rushed back over to my seat to wait all over again. I didn’t want to check the time—I was too scared to know how much had passed.
    They say no news is good news; I had to believe that meant he would be okay. However, each time the clock ticked in the nearby corner with the wooden carving of Jesus on the cross, I swore I could hear each gunshot replaying in my head. Except it didn’t stop after six. It went on for the repeating sixty seconds that passed.
    I would hear the doors open and a rush of people enter, and I would hope that it was someone I knew—someone that was here for Everett. It never was.
    I had nearly fallen asleep, curled up in the waiting room chair, when I heard someone mention Everett’s name. I peered up drowsily and spotted the familiar figure standing at the check-in desk.
    “I’m here for Everett Thompson. He’s my younger brother.”
    “Is anyone here with him?” Ryker asked, and when the nurse pointed over to me, Ryker did a double take before turning back to the nurse and in a low, angry tone he chastised her.
    “And you didn’t let her back. Why? I don’t care what hospital policy is! I almost couldn’t make it! What if something had happened? At least she was here. Yes, I will fill out this paperwork. Let her back. She’s as close to family as he has around here.”
    When the doors to the ER opened up thanks to one of the nurses at their station, I practically sprinted through. It wasn’t hard to find out where Everett had been; I saw a janitor mopping up the blood and another one throwing out bloody sheets.
    “He’s in the ICU,” one of the nurses told me. “Follow the red arrows.”
    When I found the ICU, I stared around until the on-call nurse asked, “Are you here to visit someone, ma’am?”
    I nodded. “Everett Thompson.”
    She smiled sweetly as if she knew that I needed the smile to get through what I was about to see.
    “This way, sweetheart.” She grabbed a clipboard and led me through the ICU after being let in with her badge. When I saw him, it took everything in me not to run up to him.
    “He’s resting, but it isn’t really good. Right now, he’s as stable as he can be, but we don’t know if he’ll make it through the night.” She told me this in a quiet, calm tone. I wanted to yell and to scream.
    “What should I expect?” I didn’t look at her, and my voice held no hope. I was numb, and I knew she must have seen it.
    “You should prepare for the worst. You should prepare to say goodbye.” For once, I didn’t care if my tears fell and made my face flushed red with the hot emotion I was feeling.
    “Okay, thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say. What did you say to someone who tells you you’re not going to be leaving with one of your best friends?
    I walked up to his bed and sat down next to him. I took his hand in mine and felt the coldness in it. I wasn’t a praying type of person. I often questioned the worth of prayers