I tried to think about something else but wasn’t having much luck. Out of desperation I sent my eyes searching for something on which to focus, and my gaze fell across the illuminated elevator control panel in front of me. I locked onto it and struggled to concentrate. After a moment it seemed to work as my mind shifted gears. Of course, I should have known it wouldn’t last. My brain seemed intent on continuing the self-torture and wasn’t about to let a little thing like switching trains of thought stop it from doing so.

With less than ten seconds respite of staring blankly at the glowing lights, my thoughts wandered right back into the darkness. My subconscious was in control, and the luminance in front of me simply triggered another morbid reminder of why we were here. Without warning I now found myself wondering about the light described by many who have come back from the brink of death. Technically, I myself had suffered clinical death on more than one occasion, but all I remembered of it was darkness. My own experience made me think perhaps the proverbial light was just a trick of the synapses. Nothing more than a hazy glare brought about by an oxygen-deprived brain being bombarded with intensely focused illumination, especially in a place like this. I hadn’t been to a hospital yet that wasn’t filled with harsh brilliance, and this one was no different.

Of course, since the myth of the bright light was just another thought about death rolling around in my skull, it really wasn’t helping matters any. If anything, the implications of finality it brought just made the acid churn of guilt eat away at my stomach even more, especially when I found myself wondering what Constance would see if she crossed over.

I simply couldn’t get away from it. No matter how hard I tried to think of something else-anything besides dying-I couldn’t.