Raymond staggered backward, his breath coming in jagged gasps, as his gun slipped from his trembling hand and hit the ground.
The realization of what he'd done washed over him, freezing him in place.
A faint echo of a heartbeat pulsed in his ears, but it was drowned out by the chaos around him.
"Elena! Elena!" Rico's voice cut through the like a razor.
Shoving Damon aside, he dropped to his knees beside his sister, gently cradling her pale, lifeless face. "El, come on. Look at me, El. Please, look at me."
Desperation flooded his voice, a fear he'd never dared to confront clawing its way to the surface.
He turned, his eyes blazing with fury and panic, locking onto Damon, who stood frozen, shock etched into every line of his face. "What the hell are you waiting for?" Rico snapped, his voice cracking. "Start the damn car!"
Damon jerked back to reality, his stunned expression giving way to urgency. Scrambling to his feet, he sprinted toward the car and threw himself into the driver's seat, fumbling with the keys before managing to get the engine roaring to life. "Get in!" he shouted.
Rico carefully lifted Elena, carrying her limp body with a tenderness that belied the terror searing through him.
Climbing into the back seat with her, he positioned her head in his lap, his hands pressing gently against the wound, as Damon pressed down hard on the accelerator and the car shot forward, tearing through the streets.
---
St. John Hospital
"Help! Somebody help us!" Rico burst from the car, his voice echoing through the quiet hospital as he staggered out, holding Elena tightly.
Within seconds, a team of nurses and doctors hurried toward them, a stretcher wheeled at the ready.
They carefully pried Elena from Rico's arms and transferred her onto the stretcher, working quickly to assess her injuries as they rushed her through the automatic doors and down the corridor.
Damon and Rico trailed closely behind, their eyes glued to Elena's unconscious form as the medical team disappeared through the doors to the operating room, which swung shut with a brutal finality, leaving them alone and helpless.
---
Meanwhile, James and Mary were enjoying a quiet morning in their garden, sipping tea beneath the yellow sun, blissfully unaware of the nightmare unfolding miles away.
The shrill ring of James's phone shattered the tranquility. He answered, his brow furrowing at the unmistakable panic in Rico's voice.
"Mom… Dad…" Rico's voice was strained, thick with fear. "It's El… she's been shot."
Mary's hand flew to her mouth, her teacup rattling as she set it down. James froze, his fingers tightening around his own cup until it slipped from his grip, shattering against the stone patio.
The scalding tea splashed over his foot, but he barely felt it, his thoughts consumed by a single question: Was his daughter still alive?
"Where is she?" he demanded, the steadiness in his voice belied by the terror in his eyes.
"St. John Hospital," Rico replied, his words choked. "They're taking her into surgery."
"We're on our way," James said, cutting the call as he leapt to his feet. Without another word, he grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her toward the car.
The driver was nowhere in sight, so James slid into the driver's seat himself, his hands shaking as he turned the key and sped down the winding streets.
---
Inside the Operating Room
Bright lights cast a harsh glow over the operating table as the medical team worked with tense urgency.
Elena lay motionless beneath the layers of sterile sheets, her face pale, her breaths shallow and uneven.
The steady beeping of the heart monitor echoed in the silence, each beat a fragile tether to life.
"Pulse is weak," murmured one of the nurses, glancing anxiously at the surgeon. "She's lost a lot of blood."
The surgeon nodded, his face a mask of concentration. "We're going to need transfusions and a vascular clamp, now. Prep her for immediate blood replacement."
The team sprang into action, passing the necessary instruments with practiced precision.
A nurse carefully inserted an IV into Elena's arm, her gloved hands steady, yet there was a hint of nervousness in her gaze as she glanced at the monitors.
The surgeon leaned over, examining the wound closely. "The bullet went in near her shoulder," he muttered, mostly to himself. "It's dangerously close to the artery… if we don't remove it carefully, she could bleed out."
One of the assisting doctors handed him a set of forceps, and he moved them slowly toward the wound, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Alright, I need you all focused," he said firmly. "Let's bring her back."
---
Outside, Damon and Rico sat side by side in the cold, sterile waiting room, a silence heavy with despair hanging between them. Damon stared at his hands, the weight of his own helplessness pressing down on him, while Rico's fists clenched and unclenched, anger, fear, and guilt swirling in his mind.
Time dragged on, each second feeling like a year as they waited, their ears straining for any sound, any hint of news.
The doors to the waiting room swung open, and they looked up to see James and Mary rushing in, their faces pale with fear.
Rico sprang to his feet, crossing the room in a few long strides. "Dad, Mom…" His voice broke as he spoke, his composure crumbling at the sight of them.
Mary pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him as if he were a child again, her own tears slipping down her cheeks.
"How… how is she?" James managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rico shook his head. "They're operating. The doctors haven't said anything yet." His voice was thick with the weight of helplessness, a rare vulnerability that tore at James and Mary's hearts.
They settled into the hard plastic chairs, a silent vigil forming as they waited, each of them lost in their own private fears.