He'd stayed at the hospital for two weeks. Two weeks wasn't nearly enough time to recover from being shot eleven times. It would have been better if he could have stayed longer, but unfortunately, in the end, he wasn't given a choice.
The ones who'd shot him had came back for him.
How they'd found out he wasn't dead like they thought, he had no idea. But they came.
There were only two of them and they came walking in at a time when no one else was in the room. At first he couldn't place their faces. He had only just woken up a few minutes ago and was still half asleep. As one of the men picked up a pillow from the chair next to his bed, he suddenly remembered them from the shootout. Before he could do or say anything, the one with the pillow and had pushed it down on his face and the other held him down to stop him from struggling.
The moment before he passed out and everything went black, he felt the pillow and men pulled from him.
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He'd woken up half an hour later, the nurse who liked to visit and talk with him sitting in the chair at his bedside. When he was properly wide awake she related to him what had happened.
She had been coming to check on him, to find out if he needed anything. When she had entered the room and saw what was taking place, she'd started yelling and the two hefty orderlies who had just come out of the next room came rushing through the door in time to pull them off her patient. Blows were traded, the orderlies prevailed and the two assailants were left groaning on the floor.
Meanwhile, a doctor had shown up demanding answers. Everyone began talking, then shouting at the same time until the nurse yelled at them all to shut up and not disturb her patient. She had then proceeded to order the doctor and orderlies to ‘remove yourselves from the room and take the murdering bastards with you while I make sure the poor lad is all right.'
Once out in the corridor, the orderlies notified the doctor what had happened. The two men then pulled out badges, demanding the orderlies to unhand them, that they were interfering with official FBI business and would all be arrested for obstructing justice. The hospital staff weren't having a bar of it and the whole situation quickly deteriorated into another scuffle, which ended with the two men getting free and escaping.
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There was silence for a while after the nurse had finished her tale. He was having difficulty taking in all that she had told him. Part of what she'd said at the end had also caused him to recall something from one of his memories.
At the warehouse, all the people shooting at him, they had all been wearing identical navy blue jackets emblazoned with large yellow letters. FBI.
Shit.
He was starting to get confused and more than a bit panicky. Did this now mean that he was a bad guy and the FBI was after him? But if that was really the case, why would the need to dump his body in a river where nobody was likely to find it or smother him with a pillow while he was laid up in the hospital instead of just arresting him? Were they really the FBI or were they counterfeit feds.
He was getting scared. They'd tried to kill him twice now. What was to stop them coming back and trying again? They knew right where he was.
He'd decided right then that he was leaving the hospital that night, whether he was ready for it or not. He wasn't going to stick around and wait for them to come after him again.
After waiting a few hours, he'd gotten changed into the clothes the nurse had brought for him a few days ago. He'd had nothing and she'd felt sorry for him. So she'd gifted him with a bag full of goodies to cheer him up. Inside the backpack she'd handed to him he'd found a pair of jeans, new underwear and socks, a few t-shirts, a sweater, a pair of sneakers, toiletries, a book, a pack of cards and a stash of snacks.
After getting changed, he had read his chart to find out what prescriptions he was meant to be taking. He cursed to himself when he found it was all gobbledy-gook to him. Well, he'd just have to wing it. Checking that no one was outside, he'd left his room and went in search of a supply room. Earlier he'd lifted his nurse's keys, so he'd have no trouble getting in. The second one he'd found had what he needed. He grabbed as much antibiotics, pain meds (not as strong as he'd been taking up to now though, he couldn't afford to be all doped up), bandages as he could as well as anything else that looked as if it could be useful. He also found some doctor's scrubs and changed into a set. He added the surgical bandanna to the mix to hide his head wound and the patch of hair they'd had to shave. He paused then dropped a handful of scalpels into the pack as well. He would need something with which to defend himself.
Praying no one had noticed him gone from his bed yet, he left the supply room and walked confidently, as if he belonged there, towards the nearest exit and out into the night.
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