Bumping along, roughly, in the ambulance; Mark watched in horror as The General had another "cardiac episode" as the Paramedic called it.
By the time they reached Allegheny ER he had experienced two more smaller episodes.
The ER physician, a bespectacled balding man, peered over the top of his glasses addressing Mark as son while giving him the prognosis.
"He has had at least two major heart attacks and several smaller episodes of cardiac oxygen deprivation over the past few hours. His heart is badly damaged. It is somewhat of a miracle he is still alive, now. I'm sorry, son. He probably won't last the night."
They moved him into an unused hospice room and placed him on oxygen as a comfort measure. It was dimly lit instead of the harsh hospital florescent lighting with its annoying buzz (like there were bees in your skull trying to find a way out).Mark knew about the bees. They had driven him to near craziness during his early days after the explosion. They had replaced the antiseptic smell of the ER with a light floral scent. Maybe Rose or Lily of the Valley. It was hard to tell. The walls were a restful peach. Mossy and sage green accents highlighted the matching peach bedspread on the full sized (but still hospital) bed.
Every aspect of the room was well thought out, to help make dying (for the patient and the family) a less stressful experience. As if, thought Mark, that were possible.
When they were finally alone, The General motioned him to come closer to the bedside, and then clawed the coke-bottle green mask away from his nose and mouth.
"...eed you to isten..."
he formed the words carefully, although some were abbreviated with the tremendous effort it took to breathe.
""Dad, it is okay...I am sorry about what I said to you before..." Mark began to apologize.
The old man's eyes flashed anger and he repeated his command more forcefully.
"...amn it, ark, shu the uck up...eed you to isten. "
The General was still, very much in there, somewhere.
Mark listened.
So much of it choppy, garbled, long pauses for breath then beginning again, some of it made no sense at all and he wondered if some other type damage was done when The General's body was deprived of oxygen.
But as he sorted through names he did not recognize Mygina and "...TEVEN" who The General adamantly insisted was his son (although everyone knew that he had only daughters) and that
"...ast'rd k'lled h'm an' I cou'dn elp st'p it."
and listened to his tear-clotted confession about Jerry.
"...amn it, s'n...I di it for yo...wht kin f a fri'nd oes wht he di to yo...???"
"I lov' oo, son"
when he wiped the tears from his dad's face, The General turned and looked him sternly in the eye and added
"...ucking 'octor was t'ying oo get c'los oo Trac...she tol' me sh was sc'red f h'm. H' k'led er...b'cau'se sh' w'nted oo be b'ck w'th yo..."
Then he closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. He had finished what he had to say and drifted into sleep from the exertion.
He never spoke again.
The ER doctor's prognosis was inaccurate.
The old man lived until 9:42 AM.
Completing his watch.
Always The General.
His Last Words, a lie.
One that would never be questioned, or discovered.