Thinking to herself, she tries to rationalise it all. Tries to retrace the steps from the beginning of the night, to the end. Where the first patient died, and what he died from. When the first person was shot, and who shot them. Why the agents came, and why no one believed they had at all.
Then she understands it.
She looks upon the empty parking lot with bloodshot eyes. Recognizes the glint of freshly cleaned windows. How the wet spots ice over on the sidewalk, larger than they were before. Yet she still feels the stench burning up her nostrils. Still sees the terror gripping tightly to the surviors. And feels the growing fear in her own chest, constricting her breathing, as she watches the last men in black discuss what to do next. And as she stands in the cold looking back under the neon red lettering "ER", she feels the question rip into her mind and overtake her every thought.
Because sometimes erasing can be simple. One swipe on the page and a past mistake can be instantly forgotten. However other times this is not the case. Other times the eraser leaves a spirit behind. So what happens when you can’t erase the mark? What happens when the mistake can be seen by anyone, and everyone? What do you do when the problem is just... too... big?