Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
The end of his statement is unheard courtesy of my exiting onto the busy downtown sidewalk.
Regardless of the crowded circumstances, I don’t cease my efforts to continue running.
Lights and sounds and people are blurs as I sprint for the hospital with the news of their accident doing everything in its power to slow my stride.
I can’t believe this is happening.
I can’t believe I may lose my entire family all over again.
I barely survived losing the one I was born into.
I don’t know what’ll happen to me if I lose the one, I helped create.
I opt out of following traffic patterns and pedestrian signs.
I dash through back alleys, cut off cars waiting to turn, and even trample through a construction site to shave off any extra seconds possible.
Damn near bursting through the sliding glass entry barely precedes me roaring, “Where is my wife?!”
The young woman behind the front counter area pauses mid sip of her beverage while the older woman doesn’t even bother ceasing the phone conversation she’s actively conducting.
“Where is my son?!”
Her expression of fear simply deepens as her eyes sweep across my scar and sweat drenched face down to my tattered shirt and jacket that I appear to be bursting out.
“Where are they?!” Additional outrage over not being answered quick enough rips another monstrous rumble from me. “Speak!”
“Sh-sh-sh-should I call security?” the pale faced female attempts to ask the one with umber skin.
“Not necc!” Jessie suddenly squeaks out, calling my attention to right where she’s frantically waving. “Totally not necc! His family’s just been in an accident and-”
“Where?!” is attached to a hysterical lunge towards her. “Where. Are. They?!” Her arms instantly extend in opposing directions prompting another beastlike growl to appear behind my gritted teeth. “Where?!”
“Opposites wings!”
More grumbles of frustration echo around the area prior to me erupting, “What?!”
“Go easy on the girl, Wilcox.” Holmes suddenly insists, his breath still short and choppy from attempting to follow me. “She’s clearly already fucking scared. And you currently look like something out of a fucked up werewolf movie.”
“And you’re currently out of shape,” Park chastises in an even tone. “I see fitness tests need to be moved to quarterly and conducted in the field going forward.”
Groans out of my guard are overruled by my son’s nanny nervously explaining, “Wy is in the pediatric wing on the right side of the hospital, and Bryn is still unconscious in the ER which is to the left.”
Is this some sort of fucked up The Dark Knight joker created test?
Am I really being asked right here, right now to choose who matters more to me the same way he was?
Why?!
For what fucking reason?!
That villainous genius was trying to prove to the actual Bruce Wayne that he was not in control.
That he couldn’t control everything despite his belief that he could.
Is that why some all-powerful writer out in the universe is doing this to me?
To reiterate the same?
To remind me that I cannot control all things, all the time, everywhere?!
That the world doesn’t literally bend to my whim because I command it to?
Demand that it does?
“Hill is waiting with Lauren,” Park calmly informs. “I need to be briefed on the details of situation, so I’m going to head for them.” A small, almost sympathetic smile is presented. “Holmes, accompany Wilcox and Rous to assess the situation with Wyland. I’ll debrief Hurst at a later time.”
“Yes, sir,” Holmes states in a steadier tone.
Thankful someone else is thinking clearly leads to me tipping my head in gratitude at Park who slyly reciprocates the action.
I wanna see Bryn.
I wanna be with Bryn.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
Her mother still in the waiting area indicates no one is allowed into her room; therefore, there’s no real Dawes vs. Dent scenario here.
My son needs me.
And the truth is…even if she were awake…with him is where she’d want me to be.
Protecting him.
Comforting him.
Putting him first.
Something I clearly need to fucking work on.
Our trip from the main lobby to the one specifically for children is executed in an uneasy emotional fog. Fear that I’m the reason they’re in the hospital – much like I was the reason my parents were on that plane – latches itself onto the nape of my neck and grapples for control.
Claws at my subconscious.
Coos that this is my fault, that of course it’s my fault, that it has to be my fault for being in a meeting for my company rather than enjoying the company of my family.
Perhaps it’s right.
None of this would’ve been possible if I would’ve been there.
Playing with him.
Spending time with her.
Focused on them as opposed to the wealth I want to give them.
The pride I want them to have in our name.
Our legacy.
“Wilcox,” Holmes firmly speaks. “Out of the elevator, sir.”
My perplexity by our abrupt arrival to the pediatric floor is being kept poorly hidden by nodding and throat clearing. With the sound of the doors dinging closed behind me, I direct my question to Jessie, “Room number?”