Chapter 2 - The Dying Light
Vincent Martini opened his eyes to the sterile, blinding light of the recovery room.
His chest felt as though it had been cracked open and filled with shattered glass.
He turned his head slowly, the heavy painkillers dulling his senses.
Mary was sitting in a chair beside his bed, holding a clipboard.
She had changed into clean scrubs, but the exhaustion on her face was deeply etched into her skin.
"You are awake," she said quietly.
Vincent stared at her, struggling to believe she was truly real.
"I thought I lost my mind in the trauma room," he rasped.
"I thought you were a hallucination."
Mary set the clipboard down on the small table.
"I am very real, Vincent."
He reached out with a trembling hand, desperate to touch her.
She pulled her hand away before his fingers could brush her skin.
"Don't," Mary warned, her voice devoid of the warmth he remembered.
Vincent swallowed hard, the rejection stinging worse than the gunshot wound.
"Why didn't you come find me?" he asked.
"For ten years, I thought my father murdered the only thing I ever loved."
Mary looked at the digital heart monitor, refusing to meet his desperate gaze.
"Because the boy I loved died in that fire too," she answered.
"The man who walked out of the ashes became the king of the underworld."
She stood up and walked toward the small metal basin resting on the counter.
She picked up the bloody bullet with a pair of sterile tweezers and held it up to the light.
"Your father did not shoot you tonight, Vincent."
Vincent frowned, confusion battling with the heavy narcotics in his blood.
"My father has been dead for five years," Vincent stated.
"I know," Mary replied.
She dropped the bullet onto his blanket.
"This is a custom-milled hollow point, Vincent."
"I have seen this exact modification a dozen times in my clinic."
Vincent stared at the distinctive cross-cut pattern on the lead.
His blood ran cold as he instantly recognized the signature ammunition.
"Rico," Vincent whispered in absolute horror.
"Your right-hand man put you on this table," Mary confirmed.
Suddenly, the bright fluorescent lights overhead flickered wildly.
The steady hum of the hospital's ventilation system ground to a halt.
The entire floor plunged into absolute, terrifying darkness.
The heavy electronic locks on the recovery room doors clicked open with a sinister clack.
Footsteps echoed heavily in the dark hallway outside.
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They had not come to check on the patient.
They had come to finish the job.
