Chapter 4 – Soul Survivors

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Time was standing still again. He could feel it brush his neck as it passed him by, but he remained motionless, caught in one moment, one scene that often surfaced from deep within his memory. Something suppressed, which he so longed to keep inside was once again dragged to the forefront where it could breed and prosper, barely challenged by his feeble desire to cast it away and rid his mind of burgeoning torment.

Death. Death and dying. He had long ago reached the conclusion that they represent a strange sort of fear. One which terrifies the living but yet still manages to fascinate them, a compelling fact of life. Death is, after all, the only sure thing in life, but it is only because of life that it is known to exist.

Mark Greene pressed the button on the lift. His fingertips gently touching the plastic. It was warm in comparison to the harsh coolness of the metal which surrounded it. The soft ding interrupted his train of thought and he stepped cautiously into the elevator, watching closely as the door shut behind him. This was one visit he could not make alone. It was hard, so hard to see what he had not so long ago felt, to see as an observer a life hanging in the balance. He had seen images like this in the ER so often since his brush with death, but this was different. They were people, faces and though involved in their care it had been possible to remain emotionally unattached. They were merely travellers, whose passage happened to lead them through where he stood. Sometimes they tarried awhile, but they always continued on to wherever their journey would take them. They were of distant interest to him. This was someone more real, a person he knew, a colleague and he realised the moment he heard the news that involvement was unavoidable.    

He had almost died, and surreal as it still seemed, it was a reality he faced - faces - with every passing day. Every day as he wakes he feels a chill shivering through his body. An unmistakable coldness, and just for a minute he recalls that moment. That moment when he thought all hope was lost, when his only reason for being alive at all was to bide time until the inevitable. And for the duration of that minute he pauses, waiting for a noise, a distraction, for real life to intrude and push those thoughts away. 

In coming close to death, he had learned to appreciate life. To appreciate or despise, the choice is ours for the taking. He had found out how precious his time was, every extra day spent with Rachel, Ella and Elizabeth was cherished deep in his heart as a memory, a source of comfort to be drawn upon when he felt tired, insecure or alone. Like a child who has a favourite blanket, he keeps those images with him always, so there can never be a moment of solitude, only the laughter of his daughters ringing softly, barely audible in the back of his mind. A gentle smile played on his lips as he thought of them. To him they were the world, the reason he had fought with every fibre of his being to stay alive.

The elevator opened and he walked slowly up to where Elizabeth stood waiting by the wall. She was tired, her curls hung down loosely framing  her face. She turned as he slipped his arm in hers. They sighed collectively, leaning on each other for support as they walked towards the room.  

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"Are you there God? It's me, Dave...... or David if you're into formalities."

He laughed sardonically. It looked as though Janey's Judy Blume obsession was finally rubbing off on him after all. He could never understand why that one book held such fascination for her, just as he had surprised himself by alluding to its title at that moment. He'd always had a strange relationship with God. One which, in his mind didn't exist. The feeling was mutual, or at least he liked to think so. God didn't seem to acknowledge him and he didn't acknowledge God. Usually.

Sometimes, when he was alone he would call out in desperation. He never expected an answer, he never had any intentions of asking for help. Somehow it was just a subconscious reflex, something which happened, an involuntary gesture. When he had turned his back on everything and lay thrown upon his knees, begging the world for another chance, it was strangely comforting to believe that somewhere in the great beyond someone might be listening to him. Someone might hear his voice. Someone would be there to carry him when he felt as though he could no longer go on. In times of trouble he had someone to turn to, although he was never quite sure if that person was really there.

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Every day is so wonderful,

Then suddenly it's hard to breathe,

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In times of trouble. The trouble that was a particular constant in his life. Unwanted, but omnipresent, it followed him closely, a veiled cloud ready to engulf him at the first opportunity. It was easy to submit to it. Easier than fighting. Loneliness was choking, stifling to the extent that it often caused his eyes to water. He always suppressed his desire to cry, maintaining his cool exterior at all costs, though inside a torrent of feelings lay deeply submerged beneath these unshed tears.

It made him feel better, as though he did not lead such a solitary existence. Disobedience was a skill acquired through years of practice. It made the others laugh, it made him feel popular, wanted and needed by them. Somehow being labelled a troublemaker by an adult was never so bad when he had the support of those his own age. It was powerful, he could make them smile, or even giggle by a single smart comment or mischievous deed.     

Thinking always was painful. It lead to detailed analysis of events he tried to forget. Images of his Mom. Somehow when he was most vulnerable her face would come back to haunt him. After misdeeds her voice, telling him to do his best would echo through his mind until his conscience could not withstand any more assaults.

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Now and then I get insecure,

From all the pain. I'm so ashamed,

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Hiding behind laughter, disguising his shame by exuding confidence. It had always been so easy when he was young. Then there came a time when he was no longer funny. He had never wanted to grow up, but he had no control over it. Everyone else did, and no matter how hard he tried to cling onto his childhood it was a futile effort. Occasional lapses were now never seen as comical. They were frowned upon, treated with disgust. He felt exposed, stripped of his outer facade.

"In other words none of us thinks you're much of a doctor"

The music, the laughter stopped, momentarily extinguished by that one line which had suddenly entered his thoughts. It was out of place among his childhood memories, but yet it remained, a throbbing pulsation drowning out his previous recollections. Those words had been meant, they had been heartfelt and it was an effort for him to ignore them and return to his passive slumber.

Like the opening of Pandora's box, once heard the words seemed to amplify themselves, growing in booming intensity. He subconsciously put his hands over his ears in a vain effort to stop them penetrating through him even further...

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I am beautiful,

No matter what they say,

Words can't bring me down,

So don't you bring me down today.

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Slowly, after what was an eternity he removed his hands to find the pain more bearable. It was as though he were in a glass box and the words were bouncing time after time in awkward angles from the sides and roof. He could hear them clearly, and yet they were no longer hurting him, no longer touching him. He stretched out a hand, but there was nothing, no glass, just an empty space. There was no confinement. Just a vast openness concealed by a thin mist. Perhaps he was walking in circles, he couldn't quite tell, but in this place, wherever it was, he was taking refuge. He didn't need to cry out for help because there was no hurt, only slow revelations of times he had already passed through, of paths he had already travelled. He didn't know why he was there, if there even was a reason, but he accepted it whole-heartedly. He believed that somewhere there is a place for each person, a place where they feel safe, wanted, secure. Nowhere on Earth had yielded such a place for him. No-one on Earth had made him feel anything more than the pathetic person he knew he was. He may be alone in this vast wasteland of his own creation, but he would never feel inferior. He would never feel as though he was but a burden to the world.

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Elizabeth sat down beside him, and took his hand in hers. It was cold, lifeless and heavy. Mark stood behind her in silence, his hand resting gently upon her shoulder, a gesture of support. The familiarity of the situation had struck her deeply as soon as she had entered the room. At times she found herself blinking, making sure that the person in front of her was Dave, and not Mark. Entering the room had been the hardest part, but now she found herself searching for something to say. If there was anything that needed to be said.

As the last of the day's sunshine crept slowly in through the gaps in the blinds she squeezed his hand. As gloaming shadows were cast about the room, she found herself whispering softly to him. She remembered times past, words exchanged. Maybe he had heard the comments about him which were spoken only in his absence. Maybe somewhere inside he knew what they all thought of him. Even now she could still recall the day, early on in his years at County when she had made her opinion of his attitude perfectly clear to him. Her chosen words still resonated, distinct and perfectly articulated syllables, through the contours of her mind. She didn't regret saying them, but she wondered why they had suddenly crept into her thoughts.

She had seen him earlier that day, sitting motionless, pensive on the stairs. He had been scrunched over, gently stroking the cracks in the tiles with his finger tips, gazing fixedly at the grime as it oozed out from the unwashed corners. News of his dismissal had spread quickly, a ripple effect flowing speedily from department to department. Weaver always had been a force to be reckoned with. Whatever argument had occurred between them had instigated some sort of explosive realisation for Dave. His downward progression had been rapid. He was one person who she had expected to take anything and everything in his stride. Looking at him now, she could only realise how wrong she was.

His shattered form lay still, limbs stretched out awkwardly and slowly deteriorating. Perhaps he was giving up, maybe he was through with life. He was broken, beyond repair. This might have been his way of leaving everything he once knew behind. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, or even if he knew she was there, but even so, in her heart she spoke to him, willing him to struggle on:  

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You are beautiful,

No matter what they say,

Words can't bring you down,

Don't let them bring you down today.

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Authors Note:

Thank you for reading. I think that's the longest chapter I've written so far! A special thanks to all who have reviewed so far – The She Devil, Bek, Shattered Reality, LIBlonde, batmite, Elisa, Zimbing, Dru, Queen-Misift-01, Juleah and Ashley.

The song words are of course from Beautiful by Christina Aguilera, not completely correct, but roughly the same!

On a final note, I won't be able to update for a while because of exams, but I will as soon as possible. As always, please review!

~*~TinyStar~*~