Who is she? How’d she get here? And why can’t I stop counting the colors in her eyes?
ROUND FOUR
JANE DOE
I just want to sleep. To cuddle into my blankets and close my eyes. If unconsciousness promised a reprieve from the headache sawing my skull straight down the middle, I’d take it. But my stomach swirls with sickness, and my palms sweat, despite the shivers tormenting me.
I’m so freakin’ cold. So insanely achy and sore. But no matter how tempting sleep is, I can’t find the strength to close my eyes and leave the door unwatched.
Everything hurts. My body. My hands. My feet and legs. My chest aches, and every time I move, it’s like lightning bolts scorch through my neck and into my back. My lips feel like sandpaper, and my eyes are excruciatingly dry. But closing them is out of the question. Even blinking feels like an eternity in the dark. Watching the door is my only comfort, as nurses wander past, visiting their other patients, and as Doctor Oliver Darling goes about his day in a long, white coat that almost covers blue jeans and a button-up shirt.
Every time he passes, he glances this way. Every time our gazes meet, he smiles.
But then he’s gone again, and when he’s gone, it’s just me… alone with my thoughts, except my thoughts are mostly empty. Ifeelsick. Ifeelscared. Ifeellike I need to watch the door like my life depends on it. But I don’t know why, and I can’t see past the dirty glass shielding my brain from whatever is hidden on the other side.
Lost my memories.
Something about a brain bleed. A hematoma. Risk of stroke. Blindness.Don’t move too fast, ma’am. Don’t get up. If you need to pee, press the button and a nurse will help you. If you’re hungry, let us know. But if you can get by without eating, that’s better for now, just in case we need to do surgery later.
How the hell does someone lose their memories?
I mean… on a logical, intellectual level, I understand. But this ismybrain. This isme.
Except… who am I?
My jaw trembles, achingly persistent enough to make my teeth chatter and my entire face hurt. So I pull my blankets a little higher, tucking my hands under my chin. And still, my shivering persists.
Sniffling, I swallow and look to the television bolted to the wall, its twelve inches by twelve inches hardly enough screen to make out the details written at the bottom. But I catch a long stretch of highway behind a thick-coated reporter, snow covering the tree line on both sides, and wind blowing the reporter’s fur-lined hood back.
A woman was struck down by a vehicle last night…
You can see shards of glass and a portion of the driver’s headlight right behind me…
The victim is alive and currently in Plainview General Hospital, while the driver is cooperating with local police as they piece together what happened…
“They haven’t mentioned your memory loss.”
I startle and wrench my gaze toward the door.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Contrite, Ollie drops his hands into his pockets and wanders into the room, tilting his head forward so dirty blonde, almost brown hair falls onto his forehead. His nose is crooked—just a little—and his jaw is square. He has striking blue eyes, almost as blue as I wish the sky was outside. Anything to bring a little warmth to my frozen limbs. But he uses those blue eyes like he knows they’re a superpower.
Like he knows they’re comforting to a patient who feels none otherwise.
Stopping beside my bed, he takes my wrist in his hand, wrapping his fingers around and pressing his fingertips to my pulse, and while he does that, he reads the machine hooked up beside me. “Your resting heart rate is still too high.” Dismissing the machine, he brings his focus back down. “I need you to relax. This kind of stress on your heart is dangerous.”
“Not doing it on purpose.” I press my free hand to my chest, to thethud-thud-thudpounding entirely too fast against my diaphragm. “Every time I try to rest, my brain gets loud with questions. But I don’t know the answers.”
“I could give you something.” He cocks his hip and restsagainst the side of my bed. “Knock you out for a good long while and give you a chance to rest.”
“I don’t want to.” I dig my head into my pillow and drag my other hand under the covers. “I’m tired, but every time I close my eyes, my heart sprints faster.” I bring my shoulders up in a shrug. “Maybe I’m afraid of the dark.”
“That would suck. And,” he adds, his eyes warming the side of my face. “Makes me wonder why you’d be walking along a mostly empty stretch of road in the middle of the night. People who are afraid of the dark usually stay inside once the sun goes down, no?”
“I d-don?—”
“Are you cold?” He rubs my shoulder with rough, body-jolting swipes of his hand. “You need extra blankets?”
I clamp my lips shut and nod. Short, sharp, and thankfully, to the point. He shoves off the bed and heads into the hall, returning mere seconds later with an entire stack of crisp white blankets.
