Summary:
The evening takes a sudden turn for the worst when a convict on parole decides to rob Odyssey’s local Ice Parlor & Discovery Emporium—Whit’s End. A violent getaway breaks out when a responding officer arrives to the shop, leaving one injured, one in critical condition, and one in a horrible state of shock. Everyone now just wants to find justice, and peace as they make it through this emotionally turbulent event.
(If this were an actual Odyssey episode, Paul McCusker would come on to give a pre-episode content/parental warning.)
Whit was pacing a spot in the Odyssey Memorial Hospital’s waiting room. Eugene had been hurried off for emergency surgery—as he’d still been bleeding the whole ambulance ride—and Connie had been taken to be looked at by a doctor. For the moment, Whit had been asked to wait before seeing either of his young friends, to which he obliged. Afterall, he’d called June Kendall from the shop and said that she should come to the hospital. He’d have to wait for her anyways, knowing she’d probably arrive in a frantic state.
Feeling a headache coming on, courtesy of the stress from the evening’s frenzy, Whit took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. While also rubbing at his tired eyes, he was approached by someone. “Whit?!” Looking at the woman, Whit put his glasses back on and saw an—as predicted—frantic looking June. “Where’s my baby?! Where’s Connie?! Is she okay?!”
“June, hold on, just take a second!” He held his hands up in a gesture for the worried mother to calm down. Reluctantly, June took a moment to catch her breath. “What happened? Can I see her?” She then asked, her tone lowered but still sounding scared. Keeping his own tone low to avoid any eavesdroppers, Whit stepped closer to June. “The shop was robbed by a man with a gun.” Her eyes widened in horror. “Connie wasn’t shot, but Eugene and the responding officer were.”
“Oh goodness…!” June brought a hand up to her mouth, trying to process this information. “A-And, Connie was there?” Whit nodded. “She wasn’t… shot?” He shook his head ‘no’. “But she was in an awful state of shock when we found her. The doctor is with her now.” He explained. Holding back her tears, June then asked, “Okay… Well, what about Eugene? And the officer?”
“They’re both alive, but I’m afraid… that Eugene isn’t doing as well as the officer.” Whit told her, he himself looking and sounding equally as worried as June. “He’s still in surgery right now.” June slowly and shakily shook her head. “That’s terrible…” Whit hummed. Before either could continue the conversation, a nurse approached them. “Mr. Whittaker?”
“Yes?” The nurse then noticed June standing with him. “Oh, you must be Connie’s mother.” She nodded. “Come with me, I’ll take you both to see her.” The nurse said, gesturing for them to follow her—to which they did.
﹝•••﹞
Still sitting on the edge of the examination table, Connie had her hands clasped together tightly, and resting between her knees. Her chin was to her chest, and she was still a bit shaky. Dr. Morton was standing just nearby, noting something down in a chart. Her patient didn’t notice the brief glance of pity she gave her, before continuing to write away.
In her mind’s eye, Connie was replaying what had happened that evening. The gunshots, the police cars, the ambulance sirens. On the ride to the hospital, Candace had deemed it was best she keep her attention directed outside—to not look through the small window between them that showed into the back of the ambulance. Connie wasn’t sure if Candace had noticed her looking briefly anyways via the center view mirror. She’d looked just long enough to see the alarming state her friend was in.
Both Lisa and her partner were continuously working to keep Eugene stable, but Connie had noticed how sickeningly pale he looked. It was somehow even more frightening to see than when the robber had initially fired at him. But what was even more frightening, was the fact that Eugene wasn’t even a Christian. So, if he didn’t make it tonight…
Shuddering, Connie looked up—trying to distract herself with the various posters and potted plants about the room. Anything to take her mind off the worry, and the slowly growing guilt. She somehow felt responsible for what had happened. There was a specific phrase in place—told her by Whit—for Connie to tell the officer to discreetly inform him that something was wrong, without anyone getting hurt, and without the armed man being tipped off. But then, why hadn’t she said the line? Why did she clam up? People got hurt because she’d said the wrong thing!
Feeling tears beginning to well in her eyes again, Connie brought a hand up to wipe them away. The doctor then turned to look in the direction of the door, just as two people arrived. “Connie!” She looked up, and saw her mom entering the room. “Mom!” Getting down from the exam table, Connie was then pulled into a tight hug from her mother. “Oh thank goodness you’re okay!” Connie buried her face into her mom’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her back. She then began sobbing all over again. “M-Mom…!”
“I’m here, sweetheart…!” June said, quietly shushing her—even swaying gently. “You’re okay, now…!” Whit gave them a sympathetic look, but turned his attention to the doctor. “How is she, Dr. Morton?” Setting the chart aside, Dr. Morton gave Whit a nod. “She’s uninjured. Really, she’s just more in shock than anything.” He hummed in agreement. “And seeing as she’s not physically injured, I have been asked to remind her to go head to the station to give a statement.”
“Oh, that’s right…” Both turned to see Connie still crying into her mother’s shoulder. June was still holding her daughter tightly, with her head resting on top of Connie’s. They then looked back at each other with uncertainty. “I’m not sure that’s going to happen tonight.” Dr. Morton nodded in agreement with Whit’s guess. Whit then went over to the mother and daughter—placing a hand on Connie’s shoulder, gently rubbing it.
June looked over at Dr. Morton. “Can I take Connie home now?” Dr. Morton gave the two a sympathetic look. “Yes, you can. Physically, she’s fine.” She answered. “Okay.” Gently, June pulled back from the hug. She placed a hand under her daughter’s chin to get her to look at her. “Sweetheart?” She wiped the tear tracks from Connie’s cheeks. “We’re going to go home, alright?” Whit was also looking at her. “Try to get some rest, alright?” He asked. Connie nodded once, before collapsing into her mother’s side. June left the room, with an arm wrapped around Connie’s shoulders as she led her along.
Once the two were gone, Whit looked to Dr. Morton again. “You don’t happen to have news on Eugene, do you?” Dr. Morton shook her head ‘no’. “Nothing other than he’s still in surgery. I was going to go check in on him now.” She explained. “If you come with me, I can take you to another waiting area closer to the operating room.” She offered. “Thank you, Dr. Morton.”
“Don’t mention it. This way.”
﹝•••﹞
Not a moment after Whit was led to a smaller waiting area by Dr. Morton, did she leave the room to see about what was going on in the operating room. Whit had tried sitting down in one of the many empty seats—there were only two others occupied by two other tired looking folk—but caught himself anxiously thrumming his fingers atop his knees. Sighing a quiet, exasperated sigh to himself, he stood up and crossed his arms in front of himself. One of the others waiting briefly glanced at him, before looking back at the magazine they were skimming.
Whit had begun thinking about pacing around the arrangement of seats again, to try and dispel some of his nervous energy, but Dr. Morton returned. Her presence made him completely forget the idea altogether. Seeing as there were two other people in the waiting area, Dr. Morton gestured for Whit to join her in the hallway to speak. He did so, walking through the double doors. “Well? How is he?”
“Eugene’s still in surgery,” Dr. Morton answered. “And because of that, I wasn’t told very much.” She clasped her hands in front of herself, brow knitting together in a very serious expression. “As we speak, the surgeons are trying to keep him from bleeding out.” Whit’s tired eyes slowly widened. She continued. “The bullet struck a major blood vessel close to his heart, and was lodged in the left scapula—his shoulder blade. Because of the way the bullet was lodged, it kept him from bleeding out worse before arriving at the hospital.”
“And now he’s bleeding worse because they removed the bullet…?” Whit presumed. Dr. Morton nodded. “From what I was told, the bleeding is quite severe.” She said to him, “Whit, this is quite severe.” Still trying not to jump to terrible conclusions, Whit asked, “How severe?” Dr. Morton’s serious look changed to one of sympathy. “At this very moment, Eugene is fighting for his life, and I’m afraid things aren’t looking very good.” Whit could feel his heart drop. Not Eugene… Not like this…! He thought to himself.
Sighing, Dr. Morton unclasped her hands and moved them to her white coat’s pockets. “I’ll keep you updated on his condition as best I can, but for now, you’ll just have to keep waiting.” Taking a shaky breath, Whit nodded. “Of course… I understand.” He answered.
Before leaving down the hall again, Dr. Morton then offered, “Is there anything I can get you? Anything you maybe need?” Whit stopped to think for a minute. An idea had come to him. “Yes, actually. I need to use a phone.” Dr. Morton nodded. “Not a problem. Come with me, there’s one just in this room.” She answered, turning to walk over to a small, nearby room off to the side. Whit followed, going inside and seeing the phone on an end table. Dr. Morton continued on without a word as she noticed Whit picking up the receiver.
﹝•••﹞
Sitting down in the cozy, fireplace lit living room with a warm mug of coffee, with the day’s work done, was always Tom Riley’s favorite part of the day. Usually, he’d be sitting alongside his wife, Agnes, but she’d been feeling run down by the time evening came. So, as she rested in bed, Tom simply seized the quiet and the crackling fireplace, as he sipped away at his coffee—listening to the rain gently fall on the windows of the house.
However, his quiet evening was interrupted when the phone in the kitchen rang. On any other night, Tom would usually let it ring. If whoever was calling had something important enough to say, they’d leave a message for him to listen to when he had a minute to return to the kitchen. But, on this evening, the farmer had a feeling that maybe he ought not to let the phone ring.
With a quiet hum, Tom set his coffee down on an end table, and got up from the worn couch. He made his way back into the kitchen, where the phone continued to ring. Unhooking the receiver, he held it to his ear and greeted with, “Hi, Tom Riley speakin’.”
“Tom? It’s Whit.” Came the caller’s reply. “Oh! Evenin’, Whit.” Tom said happily. “How are ya?” There was a small sigh on Whit’s end before he answered. “I need to ask you something.” Nodding—even if Whit couldn’t see—Tom agreed, saying, “Sure thing. What is it?” He wondered. “Tonight’s been pretty, eh, eventful to put it lightly. The shop was robbed.” Tom’s eyes widened. “Whit’s End robbed? Well, what in the world-!”
“Tom, Eugene’s in critical condition.” All the questions Tom wanted to ask were silenced upon hearing that. “Oh my…” Whit continued. “I need you to start praying. Eugene absolutely needs to make it, because i-if he doesn’t…” Whit took a breath to steady his tone. “No, I know. Of course I’ll start prayin’, right now, Whit.” Tom assured him, tone completely sincere. “And be sure you call other folks to pray, also.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Whit answered. “Thank you, Tom.” He then said, adding with, “I’ll fill you in on the rest of the details later.” Tom waved a hand—another unseen gesture. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, just worry ‘bout Eugene for now, alright?” Whit hummed. “Right… I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, Whit.” There was a click, and the call ended. Hanging the receiver back on the hook, Tom sighed. Thrumming his fingers once on the kitchen counter, the farmer closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Lord…” He paused a second or two, “please protect and heal Eugene…”
﹝•••﹞
June had been absent minded the whole time she’d been… doing whatever it was she’d been doing in the first place. Blinking, she looked down to see her just-cleaned-coffee mug sitting to dry next to the kitchen sink. That’s right. She’d been sitting at her kitchen table drinking some coffee before Whit had called her.
Turning her back to the sink, June leaned against the edge of the counter top. She crossed her arms, and simply stood there. Thinking. Worrying. It was scary to think—no, witness—a night taking such a dramatic turn so quickly. It was just that very morning that June had been having a nice, simple lunch with her daughter, before bidding her farewell as she went off for her shift at Whit’s End. Like so many days before, all was normal.
Brow knit together in worry and stress, June exhaled a little shakily. She held a hand up to her lip, as if keeping it from quivering. A gunman at Whit’s End of all places! And her daughter had been right in the middle of it all! For all June knew, she could’ve very well have stared down the barrel of the madman’s gun—on top of witnessing him shoot two people. Never in a million years would June ever think that something this severe would ever happen at Whit’s End.
June was suddenly pulled from her thoughts when, from upstairs, she could hear Connie crying again. Last she’d checked, she’d fallen asleep on top of her bed covers, and still in her outfit. Standing up straight, June immediately went upstairs to check on Connie.
Arriving at the door of her daughter’s bedroom, June slowly opened the door to find Connie sat up on her bed, leaned against the wall with her legs pulled up. Tutting, the sympathetic mother went and sat beside her. She wrapped her arms around Connie’s shaking shoulders, leading her daughter to lean into her mother’s side. Then, June began rubbing her back again, quietly shushing her in a soothing manner.
Through her crying, Connie tried to say something. It sounded to the effects of what had happened earlier that evening. But it came out as anything but clear. Despite not understanding what Connie had said, June didn’t ask her to repeat. Instead, she quietly said, “I know… I’m sorry, sweetheart…!” While continuing to hold her daughter close. “I’m… so sorry, Connie…!” Connie had gripped onto the back of her mom’s sweatshirt as the two of them hugged, her balled fists shaking along with her crying. “You’re safe now, hun… Mom’s here…”
“… b-but…” Connie gave up on her reply and simply buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. The two remained that way for a long time that evening.
﹝•••﹞
After having spoken with George Barclay, Whit finally hung up the phone. He sighed shakily, turning to go take his leave of the small room and to return to the waiting area. However, he paused. It was quiet here. A bit more private. There were even a couple of chairs.
No longer seeing the point of returning to the waiting area, Whit went to sit in one of the chairs. The moment he did, he clasped his hand together and bowed his head—beginning to pray. Praying that Eugene would survive despite his injuries. Praying that God would grant Connie peace after tonight, having witnessed how frightened and traumatized she was. Praying that something this horrible would never happen again. Whit even went on to pray for the man responsible for this.
Of course, having the police find and arrest the man was the priority, but even a man as perverse as him isn’t too wicked for God to reach. Though the law and the Justice system can do their very best to ensure the man is brought to justice that is due him, only a truly changed heart can ensure such a man to walk righteously following such a cruel act.
So, remaining in that small, quiet, off-to-the-side room of Odyssey General Hospital, Whit just continued to pray.
﹝•••﹞
Dr. Morton had scanned the small waiting area, assuming that Mr. Whittaker had returned after using the phone. She did a double take, noticing that he was in fact not present. Turning around, she went to check the other room where she had last seen him. Whit was still there, however now was sitting on one of the chairs with his hands clasped together—resting his chin atop them. He was staring at no particular spot in the wall, and had his glasses hanging from the neck of his sweater vest. “Whit?”
“Hm-?” Blinking several times, Whit looked over to the doorway. He promptly put his glasses back on, then stood up to meet Dr. Morton. “Is there any news?” The doctor nodded. In response to seeing the despondent look on Whit’s face, Dr. Morton faintly smiled. “Eugene’s stable now.” Whit could feel his physical tenseness begin to dissipate upon hearing those words. “Thank the Lord…!”
“They’ve gotten the bleeding under control,” Dr. Morton continued. “Now, they just need to run an x-ray to see the extent of the injury to his shoulder blade—you’ll remember I mentioned how the bullet had lodged into it.” Whit gave a nod, indicating he did. “He’ll be able to rest and recover once that’s been tended to.” She explained. Whit dragged a hand over his tired face, feeling utterly relieved. “I-I’m… glad to hear it!” Dr. Morton’s faint smile grew to one of a more genuine look.
“In the meantime,” Dr. Morton began. “It is getting quite late, and I suggest you go home for the rest of the night.” Whit quietly chuckled. “I take it that’s likely a “doctor’s order”?” Dr. Morton shook her head. “Only if you protest.” She answered jokingly. “I won’t, don’t worry.” Whit said to her. “Good. Now, get some rest, and I’m sure I will see you tomorrow.”
“Of course. Good night, Dr. Morton.” Whit said to her, before then going to leave the room. He paused, and looked over at her again. “And, thank you.” Dr. Morton nodded. “Don’t mention it. Goodnight.” With that, Whit finally left—heading on to leave the hospital, and returning home.
﹝•••﹞
Sitting behind the wheel of his car, Whit had to take a moment to collect himself before the drive back to his house. In all honesty, the stress from this frightening evening had really gotten to him. Now that he was relieved of the majority of his worry, now that Eugene was no longer in danger, and that Connie was safe at her home with June, Whit had begun to shake a little bit. He sighed, thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel with one hand, and fiddling with his car keys in the other.
What a night… Whit thought to himself. Looking out the front windshield of the car, he was met with a few twinkling stars in the sky—as the sun had begun to set. “Lord, please, just give us peace in the following days.” He quietly asked, still looking at the sky. Despite everything that had happened, the sky was still beautiful that night. All the fear didn’t cease the stars from shining like always. It left Whit with a sense of hope that peace would, and could come, like it had before.
With this renewed hope, Whit turned the keys in his car’s ignition, and pulled out of the parking lot of Odyssey General Hospital.
originally posted to AO3, here.