Fuck. Seriously?I still can’t answer, and it’s starting to really piss me off. I wrack my brain to remember what Dr. Simms called me earlier. “James?”
“You say it like you aren’t sure.”
All three people share a look. It’s now that I realize only two of them are doctors. The third is dressed in…fatigues?
Using my good hand, I thumb to him. “Who’s he?”
All three look disappointed, and the guy in fatigues steps closer. “You don’t know who I am?”
“Should I?”
He shrugs as he addresses the other two. “We only crossed paths briefly. Once in meeting then again during drills. And honestly, soldiers and officers tend to blur together after a while. I meet so many of them, I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup, even if his face were completely recognizable.”
My left hand comes off the bed to feel my face. Holy shit it’s swollen. I need to get in front of a mirror. I go to swing my legs off the bed but am stopped when Dr. Schulz places an arm across my chest.
“No getting out of bed just yet,” he says. “You still have a catheter in.”
“Well, take it out. Hell, I’ll do it myself.”
“All in good time,” Dr. Simms says in the reassuring tone of a doctor with a practiced bedside manner.
I turn to the built guy wearing the fatigues. “Want to tell me why I should know you? And while you’re at it, why are you dressed in fatigues?”
“I’m Colonel Fernandez, commanding officer of your unit.”
Commanding officer? Soldier? Fatigues?I sit up despite the throbbing in my head. “Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Dr. Schulz adjusts the pillow behind me. “You’ve been in an accident, Lieutenant.”
“Yeah? No shit.”
“Might want to watch that tone in the presence of your commanding officer,” that colonel guy warns.
I’m completely and utterly baffled.What the hell is going on?
“Let’s try again, shall we?” Dr. Simms asks. “Can you tell us your name? Yourfullname?”
The muscle man glares at me, and even though all I want to do is yell at these people for not telling me a single goddamn thing about what’s happening, I decide against any further belligerence. Instead, I just shake my head, mostly because I’mstill unnerved as to why I can’t remember something as simple as my own name.
“How about your hometown?” Dr. Schulz says. “Can you tell me where you grew up?”
I don’t say anything. I don’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. There’s just… nothing.
I try to rustle up the name of my hometown. A beloved family pet. My high school. The girl who took my virginity. Shouldn’t all of these things be seared into my brain for all of eternity? Pinching the bridge of my nose, I concentrate as hard as I can. But…fuck… the only memories I can recall are of this room, that window, Dr. Simms, and the beeping of the machines. I huff in frustration.
“You took a pretty big blow to the head,” Simms says sympathetically. “Temporary memory loss isn’t completely unexpected after blunt force trauma, increased ICP, and we can’t rule out PTSD at this point.”
“Why would I have PTSD?” I look between the three of them. “Listen, you obviously know more about my situation than you’re telling me. Please just tell me what happened.”
“Lieutenant,” the colonel says, “your vehicle hit an IED in a combat zone. You were medevacked here to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.”
My eyes go wide. Well, one of them does anyway, the other still feels swollen shut. “As inGermany?”
Dr. Simms studies me, then says to the others, “It’s amazing. He can’t recall details about himself or remember who the colonel is, but he knows about Landstuhl, partial-thickness burns, and ICP.”
They have a whispered conversation among themselves while my mind is reeling over the bits and pieces of information they’ve fed me.
I wave my good hand. “Excuse me!” They stop talking and look my way. “Someone care to explain more about my vehicle hitting an IED in a combat zone? What the hell was I doing in a combat zone?”
