"oh no," he groans, grabbing his jacket as he rushes out the door. looks like I'll have to play first responder until EMS arrives.
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Warren stands, looking out his office's floor-to-ceiling window, enraptured by the sight. Unbelievable.
Warren writes back: How did you die? When the storm comes about, he jumps at the sound, abnormally loud as it is. He steps to his window, momentarily distracted from his conversation of sorts with the apparition. Could the two be connected? he thinks. In response to the voice in his head, he looks about the room. He can't tell if anyone else heard it, but it definitely didnt sound like the PA system and no one else was liable to be around in the admin offices of the hospital at this hour, save skeleton crew wandering about. How will I stand? I don't know, I hadn't really thought about it.
Ah, just like a movie. I can't believe this is happening. Dr. Mulheer writes on the paper: I'm no expert but the stories say you must confront the circumstance of your death... or something that troubled you in life. When he "hands" the pencil back, he watches for it to move and tries to visualize the movement of any apparition.
Startled at first when the pencil moved, Warren could do nothing but watch the spectacle. Mind racing, he knew that even the most dedicated hospital pranksters could not put on a production such as this. Moments later, he wrote on the paper "How?"
"Hmm, odd. No lights reflecting from outside, and I don't really feel that tired..." he mumbles to himself.
Warren looks around his office, and takes particular note of how the light is coming through the blinds. Perhaps some weird reflection...
Warren compiles the reports and does his best to remove any bias or rumor before submitting the report to the police for use in their paperwork.
The doctor settles into his work, although doesn't get his hands dirty. The scene isn't severe enough for him to be able to get away with that without a tongue-lashing from the Senior Director, if she caught on.
Dr. Mulheer parks his car as quickly as he can, and tries to enter the building. When he approaches the inevitable police cordon, he points to his hospital ID and asks if anyone is hurt.
By that time of day, Warren is usually in his home catching up on required professional reading, or more seldomly, reading for pleasure. The phone rings. Hospital personnel recall. Although these were almost universally bad circumstances, at least he might be DOING something. He quickly changed from sweatpants and a tshirt into a button up shirt and the first pair of slacks he could grab. Slipping on loafers, he takes the steps two at a time down to the parking garage. Turning news radio on to see what fresh hell awaited him at the hospital, he began to drive.
"Yes, if my work schedule clears i might do the same. But who knows?"
"Hi. Yeah, lemme know what you find out. It does sound pretty interesting, made all the more intriguing by the fact that they cant get any more information out of her."
Dr. Mulheer finds his way out of the office for lunch, and against better judgement gets pasta for lunch. Better than cafeteria food, anyway. The news is all that's on at the local bistro, and he hears the anchors mull over the same few topics as he hopes against the odds that his espresso will save him from the cheese-and-starch-induced lethargy on the horizon. Tired of hearing the same few facts. I'd like to hear the real story.
Warren pulls into his parking spot and heads into his office in the hospital. He peeks into the open rooms along the hallway as he heads to his office. An old habit since moving out of the role of 'worker' and into the role of 'supervisor' years ago, he checks to see if everyone is doing everything just right. He missed the hands-on time with the machines, but he certainly didn't miss the pay compared to what he was getting now. He turns into his office, takes his jacket off and places it on a hangar. Taking his lab coat off of the hook behind the door and replacing it with his suit jacket, he dons the coat and checks his email. "Emails, emails, emails. Brilliant leap in communication, catastrophic setback for productivity..."
Warren, mind consumed with running late, manages to mutter "Heh, yeah. Must be going!" before closing his car door and heading out.
"Thanks for the tip! Seems the radio always plays the traffic report after i am hopelessly stuck in traffic."
hah, no problem. i imagine him living in a relatively upscale condo of some description, although the disparity in price from the lower floors to the upper floors can suit characters of a variety of means (although i imagine at least 1 point of wealth's worth of living arrangements)
"Now that is interesting..." Warren muses to himself. He turns his attention from the TV back to his laptop and does a quick search for Isabella Riveria, looking particularly for any shared contacts they might have. Moments later, he realizes that he is, once again, going to be late for work. Regardless, he spends more time than is necessary to put on a nice suit before heading to work, a step up from what most of his colleagues wore. He then walks at a brisk pace out the door and skips steps on the way down to the parking garage of his complex, hops in his car and drives to work. |