• Silence pervaded the air. The sterile walls had long ago stopped the echoing of the EKG machine’s rhythmic tones. A single figure sat in a chair pulled up alongside a hospital bed. He shifted back and forth in his seat, muttering under his breath an oath of loyalty, and a plead for divine intervention. His hands worked nervously over the beads of a scarlet rosary, one given to him when he was barely old enough to speak the words it went with. He squinted his eyes shut in an attempt at ignoring the strong smell of ammonia and bleach, but the odors obliviously continued their march through his nostrils. To him, they might as well have been the stench of decay. His lips stilled. A single hand lifted in a practiced movement, touching forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder. He exhaled deeply, the pain of a sleep-deprived man whispering gently at its decrescendo, and then began his laborious speech again.

    His grip around the rosary tightened more at the sound of footsteps outside the door. A nervous nurse poked her head in, and then quietly slid out. She took one more glance through the room’s window before retreating quietly back to her desk. The man shook his head in silence, inwardly wishing to simply be left alone with his beloved Maria. His body loosened, but his grip did not.

    The man opened his eyes to take in the scene before him. The stark white sheets reflected the fluorescent overhead light’s glow, blinding his eyes. They closed, as they had been for hours, and his grip tightened even more. His fingernails cut into his palms, painting the rosary an even deeper ruby red; still he did not let go. His lips began to accelerate, the calmed tone beginning to escalate in pitch. His raspy voice grew to an audible level for a moment, and just as quickly disappeared. The sound of his own voice had been frightening.

    Footsteps again slammed against the man’s conscious mind as the nurse again entered the doorway. She walked over to the man to explain the situation, but the man simply tuned out the nasally voice in his ear. The words meant nothing to him; all that mattered was the maddening silence. The nurse slumped her shoulders and shook her head. She understood that reasoning with the man was of no use. She turned to leave the room, but not before placing a glass of water on the table. The glass was welcomed by half a dozen others of its kind, all left untouched since they were abandoned.

    The man hunched his body over even farther, bringing his feet off the ground. His chin nestled itself between his knees. His head bobbed up and down comically as he continued the recitation. The top half of his jaw see-sawed his skull repeatedly with each syllable, giving him the look of a muñeco. His hands, sticky and stained, renewed their vice on the rosary. He shook slightly, goosebumps washing over his umber skin.

    Suddenly, a hand rested on the man’s shoulder. A bearded figure in a white coat shifted to sit beside the man, offering support. The man paid no attention to the newcomer and his attempts at consolation. He cared only for the bed in front of him. The hand squeezed his shoulder, causing the man to raise his voice.

    “...full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art…”

    The hand again squeezed his shoulder, attempting to break the man’s concentration, yet the man held strong.

    “… blessed is the fruit of thy womb…”

    Frustrated, the figure leaned in and whispered into the man’s ear. He tried to pull the man out of his trance, to coax him into stopping. “Come along,” the figure spoke, “You can’t stay here any longer.” Yet still the man’s lips pressed on.

    The figure motioned with his free hand to a pair of men outside the door. They came in and assertively held the man’s arms, lifting him slightly in the chair. A fire broke out in the man’s mind, a panic spreading throughout him. I cannot leave her side, he thought, or she will surely die. He thrashed wildly at the guards, causing the doctor to take a step back from the chair. The man jumped to his feet, struggling against his assailants, his entire body radiating heat. The gentle oath became a raging flood in the cramped space, resounding through the halls and spilling into patients’ rooms.

    “HOLY MARY, MOTHER OF GOD, PRAY FOR US SINNERS, NOW AND AT THE HOUR OF OUR DEATHS. AMEN. HAIL MARY, FULL OF GRACE, THE LORD IS WITH THEE; BLESSED ART THOU AMONGST WOMEN, AND BLESSED IS THE FRUIT OF THY WOMB, JESUS. HOLY MARY, MOTHER OF GOD, PRAY FOR US SINNERS, NOW AND AT THE HOUR OF OUR DEATHS. AMEN. HAIL MARY…”

    His words were silenced as a needle slid into his neck. The shock of the miniscule stab quieted him, and the words began to dribble instead of flow. His body became limp in the guards' arms, his grip finally loosening around the bloodstained rosary. It began to slip from his grasp, yet caught on the end of uncut fingernails. The wooden beads rolled smoothly, slowly, threatening to leave, yet they stayed for a few moments more. Finally, the two guards harshly lifted the man from the ground, taking him from the room. The rosary was jarred from its place, suspending itself in air before delicately falling to the sheet beneath it. The group left the room until silence reigned once more.

    The rosary placidly sat on starched sheets, the red of the man’s blood spreading from the wooden beads. The white of the sheets turned to a dark, bitter brown. The nurse peeked in through the window, surveying the scene. She shook her head solemnly and left the window behind. She went back to her duties, back to her normal routine, back to normalcy.

    The man’s feet dragged uselessly across the tiled floor as he was pulled further down the hallway. His eyes gently fluttered opened for a moment, He looked down the hall and into Maria's room; a hot tear stung at his eye. He shut them violently, trying to repress what he had seen, but the image was burned into his mind. The room had sheltered an overturned chair, a table lined with cups, a rosary on a lone bed...

    ...and nothing more.