The seconds move by like falling sledgehammers dropping against his soul. It’s too much to take in, yet his eyes and his ears are forced to see and hear all of it. Every awful little bit. Tommy stumbles over a body as he makes his way to the reception room. This looks like a battleground, like some kind of national tragedy just took place on the top floor of the Plantation Hotel. Yet there is no gun-toting crazy person to be found. No bleeding wounds to be seen. No visible remnants of a bomb blast. But death is all around him. There are gasps and screams and moans and mumbling. Shouts of all kinds. Too many to make sense of. The music is still playing, making things even worse. The driving dance track by Lady Gaga only adds to the utter hysteria. I’m never gonna listen to that song again without picturing all of this. Not that he can afford to worry about ever listening to music again. He’s gotta survive this right now. The inside of the banquet room devastates him. Bodies are everywhere, dropped and discarded like a scene from a ransacked mannequin warehouse.
