Anywhere but Here (part 2)

     Something seemed different that day.  A faint purple-orange glow shined through the sheer drapery hanging over the bedroom window.  I walked, still dazed with sleep, to the kitchen.  I remove the used coffee filter and grounds from the coffee maker and dispose of them.  I made the coffee and headed toward the bathroom.  I made my way through my normal Saturday morning routine, yet something still seemed different.  I poured a cup of coffee and strolled to the living room.  I sat on the couch and turned on the news.  The news castor ran through the overnight headlines in the usual fashion, yet something seemed different.
     I sat quietly sipped slowly on the hot coffee.  A loud knocking on the front door shattered the quiet morning.  I answered the door.  A police officer and a man wearing a tan tweed sport coat and thinning hair, stood outside the door.
     “Mr. Mullhaney?” the man in the sport coat spoke.
     “Yes, what’s going on?” I questioned back.
     “I am Detective Winston, may we come in? There has been an accident.”
     “Yes, of course,” I showed then in, “But, I don’t really understand.
     “Sir, do you know where your wife and children are?”
     “Asleep in their beds, I just left my wife there a moment ago. LISA!”  I shouted down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “I don’t understand, Detective, what are you getting at?”
     “Does your wife drive a Chevrolet SUV?”
     “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything? LISA!”
     “I am sorry to inform you, Mr. Mullhaney, but your wife, your son, and your daughter were involved in a traffic accident earlier this morning. They did not survive.”
     I shook my head.
     “That is not possible,” I turned and started down the hall, “My wife is asleep in our bed. LISA! LISA!” I opened the door to our bedroom.  What I was sure was my sleeping wife, was nothing more than a wadded up comforter. My mouth went dry.  I turned, rushing to my children’s bedrooms.  Their beds were empty and my blood ran cold. I turned around again and nearly collided with the Detective and the officer.
     “Mr. Mullhaney, I need you to come with us to the hospital.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and I stared blankly. “Sir, Sir, Sir,” His words echoed in my head. “Sir, Sir, Sir…”
     My eyes blinked open and those words still echoed, only not from the detective but from a paramedic.  My eyes and mind began to focus.  The replay of that warm April morning when I first learned I had lost my family quickly vanished.  The smell of liquor stung my nose as the paramedics slowly helped me sit up.  The cuts on my hands and arms felt like fire.  I glanced around.  From the little room behind the counter of the little convenience store four other paramedics carried a large heavy black bag.  They stepped gingerly past me. 
     I didn’t say anything.  A blood pressure cuff was strapped around my arm and pumped up.  My shirt was cut off of me and a stethoscope was placed to my chest.  The medics moved quickly around me.
     “Sir, we are going to have you transported to Mercy General to be checked out further.  Do you understand what I am saying to you?”  I looked up to see a man standing over me.  He was wearing a tan tweed sport coat.  I recognized him right off.  He was older and fatter, and his thinning hair was all but gone.  He now wore a thick grey moustache.  He was the Detective who, two year ago, informed me my life as I had known it was over.