Chase wasn't sure what the whole logistics of the nightmare had been. "So, the guy was killed to save someone else? Do you feel guilty that he's dead or just guilty that you were involved in the cover-up? Because honestly, both just mean you're human. Someone every fucking one of us is guilty of. Pretty much why I stopped believing in heaven and hell, because not a single fucking person on the face of this earth is guilt-free of sin or bad things. We all are. This has just happened. You're in shock. You need to give it time."

"Psychotic episode. I was performing a biopsy and he grabbed the scalpel and stabbed me in the chest. Lacerated my heart. I should have known better because his presenting issue was a psychotic episode, but everyone can have lapses in judgement that can cause an pile of shit for them." It was probably one of the hardest times of Chase's life, and that was saying something considering the crap he had been through since he was a kid. Feeling like you had your independence on the line, and possibly losing the quality of your life forever. Really make you reassess, well, absolutely fucking everything. He shrugged. "There was no other choice. I lost a hell of a lot. Lost my wife, lost my confidence, nearly lost my job, nearly got a murder record. It was only my boss saving my arse that prevented it. The reason I really lived with it ultimately was knowing I saved a lot of lives in exchange for one. It didn't stop the guilt, though. Maybe I'm just a cold-hearted bastard without a conscience and a selfish streak a mile wide to not want to waste my own live over something I can't wind the clock back and change."