The Reporter:
Doyle paced up and down the hall of the hospital. He’d counted out five paces to one side of Helena’s door, six paces to the other. He would’ve gone five each side but felt that might’ve been strange, also at the end of the fifth step, there was a mirror at number six. Doyle couldn’t stand looking at, the dark rings under his eyes and the ashy color of his skin, which made him look like he belonged in the morgue. Add to the fact he still wore his tattered union uniform disguise, that resembled the walking wounded in the battle of San Juan Hill.
Doctor Carlyle had been correct, the two women waited for him when he arrived at the hospital. Of course, the doctors at the hospital wanted to admit him after they stitched up his arm and replaced the pitiful bandage that Helena had
