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theirs were much shorter than the doctors.  I’m guessing they were interns.  The individuals approached my bed and stood over me.  All four pairs of assorted eye shapes and colors peered at me like a lab rat.  It was irritating. One of the interns took hold of the hand controller from my side and adjusted my bed.  The back rose until I was just about sitting upright.  He then removed a pen light from his pocket and shined it into my eyes.  I attempted to smack his hand away but suddenly realized I was still in restraints.
    “Get the fuck away from me!”  I growled at him.  However, he persisted to aim the light into my eyes.
    “All right, that’s enough guys.  I’ll meet you in the hallway.”  The doctor directed.  The intern continued for another three seconds then followed the rest out of the room.
    “Duane, can I ask you a question?”  The doctor suddenly inquired while examining my vitals on the heart monitor.
    “What?”
    “If I took these leather restraints off your wrists and ankles, what is the first thing you would do?”  He sauntered towards my bedside.  His right index finger and thumb caressed the stubble around his chin while his arms crossed over his stomach.  The inquisitive doctor seemed interested in hearing my response. 
    “These restraints are the only reason why the man that killed her is still alive.”
    “Do you really think retribution will make you feel better?”  The doctor asked.
    “I’m certain it will.”
    “How can you be so sure?”
    “Because I can’t feel any worse than what I’m feeling now.”
    After the doctor readjusted my bed, he turned the light off and strolled out of my room. I tried to continue sleeping. The recording, however, lingers in my head and it’s haunting.  Every time I dozed off I was startled awake by her cries and the resounding gunshots.  When I finally drifted off I relived the harrowing events in my dreams; pleading to the gunman to "Let her live!  Just shoot me!"  But he still refuses and it plays out the same way. 
    The doctor prescribed me with antipsychotic and antidepressant medications.  It's supposed to suppress my hallucinations and tempers.  I hate having to take the prescriptions.  It feels like I'm being muzzled.  My girlfriend was murdered and I can't even grieve.  I missed her funeral because I was getting a bullet surgically dislodged from my brain.  The bastard shot her two more times after he shot me.  "TWO MORE GOT-DAMN TIMES!"   He wanted to be certain she was dead.  He executed her.  Hoyt!  He’s still on the loose.  He'd be lucky if the police find him before I do.
     
    I'm scheduled for physical therapy in the morning.  I have been confined to this bed for a week.  I'm eager to have these restraints removed.  It's mortifying to have a nurse put a bed pan underneath me so I can remove my bowels or have them hold a plastic container while I urinate in it.  Even having them scrub my body with a sponge, brush my teeth and feed me like I'm an old helpless man humiliates me.
    Later on at night, I awakened from a nap and found myself lying on the frigid concrete ground in a narrow downtown alley.  "How did I get here?"   It was the typical downtown alley infested with rats scurrying through sizable piles of garbage bags.  There were potholes the size of canyons that I’m certain have busted many car tires.  There also was an abhorrent stench of urine.  It's drizzling but the distant flashes of lightning in the black clouds reveal an approaching thunderstorm.  I'm still wearing this ridiculous hospital gown and I'm bare foot. 
    Suddenly I got an earful of wet footsteps behind me.  I spun around and caught sight of a man wearing a black balaclava ski mask clenching a sawed-off rifle.  It's Hoyt.  Just as our eyes met he lurched.  The rifle fumbled out of his hands and plunged into a puddle.  He took a couple of subtle steps backwards while holding out his quivering hands before him.