The Waiting Room Novel Novels & Stories

The traffic outside the window felt distant. Unreal. Memories played through my mind like scenes from an old movie. The seventeen-year-old boy who used to pull me out of class. When Everett came back from a meeting, he found me sitting there. He crossed the room immediately. "What's wrong? What did the lawyer say?" I looked up at him. His eyes were always warm. Steady. Like sunlight in spring. Just looking at him made something inside me relax. "Sawyer's sick. Late-stage stomach cancer. He wants to see me one last time."

“I NEED YOU KNOW MORE THAN EVER.” SOFIA. The nurse nods and takes us both in turn. A quick needle. A small vial. She disappears back through the doors with both samples. And then we wait. The waiting room is not full but it is not empty either. There are other people here with their own emergencies, their own terrible waits. A man with his head in his hands in the corner. An older woman telling her rosary beads beside the window. The particular suspended quality of a place where everyone is waiting for news that will change something.

"Because I’m never letting you go. And because out there... in that waiting room... you have a whole pack of sharks making sure the world stays exactly where it belongs: away from you." As the sun began to rise over the Dallas skyline, painting the clouds in hues of bruised purple and gold, the group stayed. They didn't leave for their five-star hotels or their private resorts. They didn't check their emails or take business calls. They stayed in that waiting room, drinking bitter hospital coffee and leaning on one another.

I was tired of exiting the group already. I sat in the hard plastic chair of the general hospital waiting room and I read all of them. Then I turned my phone face down on my knee. The waiting room felt sad. A man three chairs away was sleeping with his mouth open. A woman near the door kept bouncing a baby on her knee even though the baby was not crying. A television mounted on the wall was playing a news channel with the volume too low to hear. I did not cry. I bit the inside of my cheek and I counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I got to fifteen before the burning behind my eyes settled into something quieter. Something I could carry.

I could not tell which was the bigger betrayal of logic: my son or that damn man who made nonsense sound sensible. Now I stood in a gray building with an overzealous AC system and white lights that made everyone look guiltier. The waiting room felt like a theater before the curtain: quiet and taut. Reporters whispered behind double doors. An old printer chattered in the corner. The vending machine coffee smelled like it had outlived its warranty. I sat alone, legs crossed, case files on my lap. My fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the folder, almost like a countdown. Then the door across the room opened.

Chapter Ninety Three: Facing the Truth Thorne's POV The waiting room was quiet, except for the soft whir of the air conditioner. I sat, my eyes glued to the clock on the wall. Every second that passed took an eternity. My fingers tapped restlessly against my knee, unsure if I really wanted to be here.

OPHELIA The clock continued to tick mockingly on the wall opposite us, marking time passing painfully slowly. It was only the end of November, but it was already viciously cold in the waiting room as if it was already full-blown winter. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I felt as if I was freezing to death, even as I was with Nicholas's jacket on and his arms were wrapped around me. Minutes became an hour, and an hour becames hours. I had lost track of how long we had been sitting in the waiting room by the time a doctor appeared, asking if we were here to see Rianne Thomas and Dave Hank. Rianne's mother and I jumped out of our seats, both with expectant expressions on our faces.

Waiting meant sitting still while fear did whatever it wanted inside your head. Waiting meant imagining things. Waiting meant worst case scenarios multiplying every second. Jessica looked around. Only now noticing the waiting room properly. Pale walls. Plastic chairs. Soft beeping sounds somewhere in the distance. A television mounted high in the corner playing something nobody was watching. People sat scattered around the room. A man rubbing his forehead. A woman holding tissues. Someone staring down at the floor. Hospitals always looked the same. Jessica wondered if they designed them that way on purpose. Neutral colours.

I was quite careful about this, though telling Joe I would check in a hotel, I watched him leave and right after, I called a cab and booked a room in a motel, under my mother's name, not wanting to expose Keith being married, as well as myself. Finally sitting down on the soft bed, I sigh out loud and look around the room for the first time since being here, because I was too in my head to see much. Now that I'm here, I really appreciate what I see, the room is clean( thank God), cream white and soft brown theme, nice and earthy. The silence doesn't even bother me, with my new surroundings, I find myself relaxing and wanting to feed off the atmosphere.

“Dunno about you all, but I’m thinking’ no way in hell that girl killed herself. Which means whoever killed her is probably still in here somewhere. Waiting on us to make the next move.” Andrew could only nod slowly. And ignore, best as he could, the rain trickling down the glass doors. 6:30 PM They sat in the waiting area, which consisted of several plastic and metal folding chairs, a cushioned bench pressed against the wall between the bathrooms, and a plain coffee table strewn with old magazines, coloring books and TV Guides.