"Intensive Care Unit? Confirm please and share with me right away. Right?" Tyron's anxiety arose.
John ended the call and sank into the hard plastic seat near the reception area. The hospital buzzed with activity. Patients in various states of distress shuffled in and out, some supported by family members, others on stretchers pushed by efficient yet harried nurses.
The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the hum of low conversations, interrupted occasionally by the shrill beep of medical equipment. Behind the reception desk, a nurse with a kind face but weary eyes juggled phone calls and patient charts, trying to maintain order in the patient attention.
The walls of the reception area were adorned with generic landscapes intended to soothe, but the effect was lost amidst the urgency. A clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, each second adding to John's mounting anxiety. Children cried, elderly patients groaned, and the occasional bark of a doctor's orders cut through the din.
Suddenly, John's attention was drawn to a commotion at the far end of the corridor. His cousins and Rohit's wife, dressed in a mix of casual and semi-formal clothes, hurriedly descended the stairs towards the theater operation room. John's heart raced. Should he follow them? His mind whirled with questions. Why were they moving so quickly? Was there news about Damaris?
John's inner instincts battled with him. If he followed them, he might get answers sooner. But what if his presence was unwelcome? The family had been tense and on edge since the incident, and he didn't want to add to their stress.
Still, the thought of sitting in the reception area, waiting and wondering, was unbearable. He finally decided to follow them, his footsteps echoing down the sterile hallways.
As John bypassed the corridors, he noticed patients being wheeled out of the theater rooms. Some looked relieved, their faces softening as they were reunited with worried family members. Others were still groggy, the effects of anesthesia evident in their glazed eyes and mumbled words.
Nearing the group, John saw his cousins, who had spotted him as well. Their expressions were a mix of anger and disdain. Rohit's wife, a petite woman with tear-streaked cheeks, was visibly distraught. She clutched a handkerchief tightly, dabbing at her eyes as she spoke. Her voice was sharp, tinged with accusation.
"You have the nerve to show your face here, after everything you've caused!" she spat, her eyes blazing with fury.
John tried to remain calm. "I'm here to find out about Damaris. I'm worried, just like you."
"Worried? You should be ashamed!" exclaimed Rashid- a young man with a deep voice, dressed in a crisp suit. "If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened!"
Another confrontated, Robin-a stocky young man with a booming voice, added, "You've brought nothing but trouble to this family. Look at what you've done!"
John tried to defend himself, but the noise grew louder, their accusations blending into a cacophony of anger. The atmosphere was charged, and soon a doctor and a servant approached them. The doctor, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a calm demeanor, raised his hands for silence.
"Please, this is a hospital. We need to maintain a quiet environment for the patients' recovery. If you continue like this, I'll have to ask you to leave."
Rohit's wife broke down in tears, cursing John between sobs. "You're a curse on this family! Everything has gone wrong since you showed up. How can you even look at yourself in the mirror?"
Before John could respond, the doctor from the theater room emerged, still in his green scrubs. The sight of him silenced the group immediately.
Dolphin, a slim woman with sharp features, was the first to speak."Hey, doctor! How is my sister?"
The doctor looked around, his face a mask of professionalism and empathy. "Damaris is stable. The surgery was successful, and the bullet did not reach her heart. She is receiving the necessary medications and is under close observation in the ICU."
A collective sigh of relief swept through the group, but the tension remained. Rohit's wife, still trembling, asked, "Can we see her?"
The doctor shook his head gently. "I understand your concern, but ICU rules are very strict. Are you her family? Only immediate family members are allowed limited visitation, and that too under specific conditions. Right now, it's crucial that she rests and recovers without any disturbances."
"But she's our family," argued Rashid. "We need to be there for her."
"I assure you, she is receiving the best possible care," the doctor replied. "The bullet missed vital areas of the heart, which could have been catastrophic. It lodged near the sternum, and we managed to remove it without significant complications. However, the next 24 hours are critical."
John's mind raced as he processed the doctor's words. He felt a mixture of relief and guilt. Damaris was out of immediate danger, but the ordeal was far from over.
The doctor continued, "I know it's difficult, but trust us. Our team is doing everything possible. For now, please try to stay calm and supportive. That's the best way you can help her."
It was seven O'clock in the evening, and the hospital lights flickered on, casting a harsh glow over the worried faces around him. John decided that since Damaris had survived the operation, he had to go home and rest. He needed to be strong for the days ahead.
Just as he was about to leave, he noticed a crowd gathering near the entrance. Curious, he walked over and found a group of people staring at a large television mounted on the wall. The words "BREAKING NEWS!" flashed in bold letters across the screen.
John's heart skipped a beat as he saw familiar faces on the screen. Rohit and Tyron, flanked by police officers, were being led away in handcuffs. Their names were prominently displayed below their images. The news anchor's voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd.
"A prominent businessman, Rohit Francisco, is accused of shooting his own child in an attempted murder. His friend, Tyron, is also in custody. The motive behind this shocking incident remains unclear."
John felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. This was bad—really bad reputation but the truth of the matter was be spread with a lot of influence. The incident had hit the news, and the story was spreading fast. He could hear people around him discussing the broadcast in hushed, urgent tones.
"Why would he do that?" one person muttered, shaking their head in disbelief.
"I heard it was over a business deal gone wrong," another speculated. His face indicated a lot of disappointed from the skyline news.
"This is unbelievable. What kind of father shoots his own child? The law has to take it's hand and jail these calprit. What was the conflict?" a woman gasped, her voice trembling with outrage.
The news anchor continued, "The suspects are currently being held at Tangos Police Station. We will bring you more updates as the story develops."
John couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen. The public's reaction was a mix of shock, anger, and confusion. Some were visibly upset, while others seemed more interested in the scandalous nature of the news.
"I can't believe it," a man in a leather jacket said, his voice thick with disbelief. "Rohit was always such a respected figure. What went wrong?"
Another person, a young woman with glasses, shook her head. "This is just tragic. I hope the child recovers and let most high protect her."
The news had spread like wildfire, and the hospital lobby was abuzz with the latest updates. John felt a pang of guilt. His presence had clearly brought more trouble than he had anticipated.
With his family not on good terms and the public sentiment turning sour, John decided it was best to head home. He made his way to the parking area, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. As he approached his motorcycle, the familiar rumble of the engine offered a small comfort.
He rode through the evening traffic, the city lights blurring past him as he navigated the streets with a mix of exhaustion and determination. When he finally arrived at the gate of Washington Apartments- his home, the gateman, a burly man with a friendly demeanor, opened the gate and greeted him.
"Good evening, sir. Just a minute, I have a question if you don't mind."
John parked his motorcycle and turned to the gateman, curious but weary. "Sure, what is it?"
"I have some news, I overheard that Tyron- The visitor who came at night to that day to meet you is currently arrested... What's up? Maybe you can elaborate on that if you have any piece of information."
John cleared his throat and pulled out the helmet from his head. "Who gave you the news or where did you collected the information?"
Before the gateman could respond, a moment of silence filled the atmosphere. Suddenly, a prompt formed in front of John followed by a cracking mechanical voice of the system that echoed in John's mind. [DING!...