...

One

Awake. I winced at the light, then realized the room was dark. An unfamiliar space. Was I safe? I scanned the room through my lashes, looking for threats. A beeping electrocardiograph. A suspended IV bottle. My left leg, encased in a plaster cast and elevated in a sling. A pair of dark windows, chairs, two closed doors, an empty bed. Hospital.

The EKG’s beeping was accelerating, so I forced myself to remain calm. It was difficult. My intuition told me I was imprisoned by enemies, in danger. I tried to understand. I was in the hospital, clearly with a broken leg. I wasn’t imprisoned. I wasn’t in danger. I was alone in the room.

But was I? There could be someone in the closet, under the bed, just outside the door. A paranoid list sprang to mind unbidden as the beeping accelerated again. I took a deep breath and controlled myself.

Confusion is normal after a head injury, I told myself. Was that what had happened? I tried to remember and couldn’t. I tried to bring to mind other memories, and only called up a great emptiness. Faint images of school. A red house. Children. My childhood, I supposed. But nothing detailed, and nothing recent. Retrograde amnesia. Uncommon, but again pointed to head injury. I must be waking from a coma, which explained the dream I’d just been having. Might’ve even done this a couple times already and just couldn’t remember.

I relaxed a little and took stock. I felt weak and ached all over, but nothing that seemed major. My leg felt alright. I had a bit of a headache. I was really craving a smoke. I began making plans to leave. The cast would have to wait to remove, so I’d have reduced mobility for a while. I’d check the closet for crutches. For clothes, too. The EKG would start alarming when I removed it, so I’d have to move fast. Would it be worth it to hide in the closet and take out whoever came to check?

I stopped myself. Why would I do any of those things? Was I still in a partial dream-state? The right thing to do was to go back to sleep. I closed my eyes, but I wasn’t tired. Part of me was insistent: I needed to get out as soon as I possibly could. I couldn’t ignore it, but I could let my more rational self take the lead.

I turned on the nurse call light and adjusted my bed to a sitting position. A few minutes later, the door opened and a nurse walked in with a tentative expression.

“Hello-“ I started, then almost choked. Something was wrong with my voice. I powered through it; if anything seemed to be wrong with me it’d be a problem. “Sorry to trouble you, but could I bother you for a cigarette and a glass of water? And something to eat if there’s anything to be had at this time of night.”

Whatever she was expecting, that wasn’t it. She blinked and studied my face. I attempted a disarming smile. Maybe it worked, because she retrieved a cigarette from her pocket, lit it, and handed it to me. I took a grateful pull on it as she turned for the door. “Just don’t burn yourself,” she said doubtfully, “I’ll see about that food.”

“I needed that,” I said, after she’d left, testing my voice. Still something wrong, but not such a shock this time. Something about how it felt in my throat. It didn’t hurt, but it felt like it should have. Chalk another point for brain trauma, I supposed. I finished my smoke and put it out in the ashtray next to my bed. After a few minutes, the nurse was back with a tray: a glass of water, a sandwich, and a chocolate chip cookie.

“Anything else will have to wait for breakfast,” she said. “Try to get some sleep.”

“I’m not actually feeling that tired,” I said while peeking into the sandwich. Ham, lettuce, and cheese. Not exactly fine dining but the sight of food seemed to reactivate my stomach. “In fact, I’d really like to check out. I’m feeling pretty sick of this place.” I started in on the food.

That surprised her. “Sir, that’s-“ she started, but then I began coughing, having some trouble with the food. She moved to help me, but I waved her off and took a drink of water. I wondered how long it’d been since I ate something solid. “’Scuse me,” I said, “you were saying?”

She looked like she already regretted entertaining my requests. “Sir, you’ve been in a serious accident and suffered severe injuries.” She spoke gently, like to a frightened animal or a confused octogenarian. Or to someone suffering a brain injury, I suppose, though it pissed me off at the time. “You’ve been comatose for nearly two weeks. You’ll need to stay here at least another two weeks, probably a month, until we can be certain there’s no permanent brain damage.”

I nodded graciously as I finished the sandwich and contemplated my next move. Definitely needed to keep the amnesia to myself. “Well, I see why that’d usually be necessary. But I’ve got my full faculties. And you can’t exactly keep me prisoner.” Her expression soured. “I’m not saying you need to let me walk out into the night,” I added. “Just call the family member you would’ve called tomorrow morning and they can come get me.” It was a gamble, but not a terrible one.

She thought about it. “Alright,” she said, “it’s not how this is done, but if you insist.”

“And bring me some clothes!” I hollered as she left. I’d reached the edge of what being polite would get me (it was a cigarette and a sandwich) and now found that I was willing to really kick up a fuss. Emboldened, I reached over, turned the volume on the EKG off, and pulled off the monitors. I removed the IV drip from my wrist, eased my leg out of the sling and carefully got out of bed. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I braced myself. The dizziness passed quickly, but as I walked across the room it started again. The floor seemed to pull away from me. I stumbled but made it to the closet. 

A quick search turned up a pair of crutches and a box of junk: probably my belongings. I found a wallet inside and risked examining the contents. There was fifty dollars cash inside, and the driver’s license belonged to one “Seth Derrick,” born 1942, currently residing in New York state. No other helpful clues or notes. I made my way to the attached bathroom. In the mirror I saw a stranger: a barely handsome man with a few days of stubble and a nest of red-brown hair. I resigned myself to the fact that was what I had to work with, though it wasn’t the face—or name!—I would have picked. There wasn’t anything in the bathroom to shave with, so I splashed some water on my face and left it at that.

I cooled my heels for fifteen minutes looking out the window before I realized she wasn’t coming back. It wouldn’t have taken her that long to call my contact, so most likely she’d said whatever I wanted to hear and then left me here to fall back asleep and forget about it. Boy, that made me mad. But being mad wasn’t going to help so I turned it off.

That’s what I would’ve done, I realized. Someone waking from a coma would almost certainly have post-traumatic amnesia, meaning they’d be waking up and falling asleep and not remembering anything.

Now how the hell did I know that? Was I a doctor? A nurse? No, neither seemed quite right. The healer in me told me that I should go back to sleep like a good patient.

But there was another, stronger voice. The fighter in me insisted that time was of the essence. I considered my options. Going out and chasing down that nurse would likely just make them call security. At best I’d be confined to my room. At worst, sedated. I could fight them off, sure, I felt confident about that, even slowed down by the cast, but was that really the best way to go about it?

There were eyes in the night sky. I don’t know how else to say it. I was staring out the window thinking when I realized there were a pair of eyes staring at me. A woman’s eyes. I stood up, startled, and they were gone.

A hallucination, the healer said. Maybe that should’ve made me feel like I was crazy. But I wasn’t in the mood to trust the healer right now, so it made me feel more justified in the certainty that I should leave.

Fifteen more minutes and I had my plan.

In the private toilet I grabbed a garbage bag and dumped my box of belongings into it. Then, using my crutches for support, I left my room and limped down the hall. Until I found the elevator. There it was, just past the nurses station. I went straight for it, past the nurse on duty.

She wasn’t the nurse I’d talked to before, and when she saw me she nearly dropped her cigarette.

“Mr. Derrick! You shouldn’t be out of bed! You’ve been in—”

“A serious car accident, and then a coma for two weeks, I know.” I didn’t stop moving and made it to the elevator. I mashed the button. A sign by the elevator indicated that this was the fourth floor. I also noted the location of the emergency stairwell, nearby.

The nurse stood up. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh, just getting a breath of fresh air.” The doors slid open and I entered. The nurse rushed around the desk and toward the elevator as I hammered the door close button.

“Mr. Derrick!” The doors slid close right before she got there.

I hit the button for the fifth floor. The elevator went up and the doors opened. I hit all the buttons, then got off and calmly switched to the stairs. I’m not sure the nurse on five even looked up.

I waited in the stairwell until I heard a door below open and shut, followed by someone quickly descending. I took it easy getting back down to four then limped back to the nurse’s station which was now unmanned. Things were going smoothly.

There was a phonebook by the phone, which helped considerably. I called myself a cab. Then, I searched the drawers and things until I found the file for Seth Derrick. I opened that up, found the sheet that looked like contact information, and put it in my bag. I’d have time to read it later. The elevator dinged. Time was up. No time to tidy up after myself, I went as fast as I could toward the stairwell, barely using the crutches, and made it just in time.

This time I didn’t allow myself any leisure. I went down the stairs as quickly as I could, down four stories until I reached the emergency exit. ‘Alarm Will Sound,’ the door warned me. I considered this, then opened it anyway. An alarm went off.

I dove into a bush, which was about as uncomfortable as it gets; remember, I still wasn’t wearing pants. Things started getting real exciting, and it wasn’t long before there were enough people that I felt more confident in being lost in the crowd.

Despite the commotion, the cab I’d called was waiting for me. As I crutched up to it, I heard a voice shout my name. I didn’t wait to find out what they wanted.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said as I climbed in.

“What’s going on?” the cabbie asked.

“Never mind. Just get driving.” He shrugged and did as I asked. We pulled out of the lot as sirens became audible in the distance. I allowed myself to relax marginally. I’d escaped. Surely that should ease some of the urgency I was feeling.

It didn’t.

I directed the cab to the address on my license. He politely didn’t comment on my state of dress. I’m sure he’d seen worse. As we drove, I watched the night sky.

I didn’t see the eyes again.