Untitled story - chapter three

Chapter 3.

I wake up in a haze. All I can see is a blurry white light.
Slowly, the room slips into focus.
I'm in a small hospital room, pale green walls and worn down floor surround me.
A machine next to my bed is beeping, and I got all kinds of tubes in me.
I feel numb, it's probably morphine. Why am I in a hospital exactly? Everything is a blur.
I rack my brain trying to figure it out. Slowly, things fall back in place.
I remember the hits, and then what?
I went home, went to sleep... It's all coming back, now. Three guys...
Two morons, and the other one, the shadow.
My head and chest start to hurt. I hate getting shot.
Bastard. At least when I shoot people, I make sure they die.
No point in trying to get up, looks like I'm stuck here for now.

A doctor comes in, he looks at his chart and asks me how I'm feeling.
"Like I got shot," I reply.
I ask him when I can leave. He tells me to relax, that I need rest to recover.
I was lucky, apparently. The bullet slowed down when it went through the other guy.
My rib stopped it. The bullet cracked the rib, but didn't hurt any vital organs. Lucky me.
The other guy wasn't so lucky. The doctor leaves.
This is just great.
If somebody wanted me dead, it would be no problem getting to me here.
I'm a sitting duck.
I guess I have to wait, either to get better, or to get killed.
I feel exhausted. A gunshot wound really drains you.
I fall asleep.

It's the same scene from last night, in my apartment.
I hear the echoing footsteps in the hall outside.
I see myself from a third person perspective.
Everything is in a surreal gray scale, and the walls are symmetrically twisted.
Other than that it looks the same.
The door opens and the two goons sneak in.
I see myself grab one of them. I know what's going to happen next.
The thugs head bursts open and a stream of blue-ish blood splash out unrealistic.
The shadow steps over the body. I try to focus on his face, but he's no more than a silhouette.
He raises his gun, slowly.
The flame from the gun lights up the room, and for a second, I see his face.
I don't think I've seen him before the shooting, he doesn't look familiar.

The gunshot echoes as the bullet flies trough the air in slow motion.
It hits the goon and goes right through him, into me.
I fall down, but my eyes are still open. I look straight ahead.
The shadow drops his gun on the ground, next to the corpse, and picks up the other gun.
Everything goes dark, and I wake up.

What the hell? Did that happen, or did I just dream it up?
If felt like it could be a lost memory, subconsciously brought up through the dream.
Is that even possible? Right now, it's all I have to go by.
Weird stuff.

I look up and see a nurse checking my IV.
I ask her when I can leave and get the same response the doctor gave me.
"Need to rest... Lucky to be alive." Yeah, really lucky.
I try to remember every detail of the dream.
If that last part really happened, and I just remembered it now, what could that mean?
Was the whole thing planned? If it was, I have to admit it's a pretty smart scheme.
It would probably look like we shot each other, and the shadow walks free and clear.

Time moves slowly when you're stuck in a hospital bed, expecting to get killed at any minute.
I fall asleep and wake up every ten minutes or so.
After a while, the doctor comes back.
I ask when I can leave and is once again told to relax and rest.
Is that what they teach them at med-school? "Relax and rest?"
Enough rest already.

"Mr. Winters?" I look up.

A guy in a suit, federal agent by the look of it.
Yep, he informs me he's from the FBI.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
He gives me some bullshit about "immunity" if I testify against my employers.
Yeah, like I'm high up enough to have contact with the bosses directly.
I decline and suggest where he can put that deal of his.

"We know you're not part of the crew, but still have valuable information."

"No," I say. "I'm not working with anyone specifically."

"Like the Triads?"

They knew about that? He's done his homework.
Triads, Chinese gangsters.
I still have friends in Chinatown connected to them, and I can call in a favor or two,
if I'm ever in serious trouble.

He looks at his watch, and turns on the television.
He flips trough the channels, and stops when he sees what he was looking for.
It's a news show. A woman is reading the latest crimes and catastrophes.

"... A well organized operation, leaving five dead, and four injured.
The attacks all took place on the night on May 15.
The victims where all key figures in the controversial committee against organized crime.
Officials say..." The fed turns off the television.

I recognized three of the victims that were shown, all of them were my targets from the other night.
He takes off his shades.

"Why do you think you're still alive? They hit you at your home, killing you here should be no problem."

I don't say anything.

"We've concealed your identity, kept you hidden. We've had our eyes on you for some time now."

If the feds knew about me, couldn't they have stopped those murders.
Something isn't right here.
He tells me to think about his offer, and leaves me more tired and confused than ever.
Human shadows, possibly corrupt federal agents, a strange conspiracy against organized crime...
I feel more tired than I've ever felt in my entire life.
This is too much to lay on someone who's just been shot.