Christopher took the vial of antivenom from his pocket and loaded the injector with a quick glance at me. I flashed him a nervous smile and checked the hall. Nobody was there, so I nodded. He stepped to the IV and injected the tube where he’d watched doctors and nurses administer medication. When he finished, he pocketed the empty injector. He waited a few minutes and closed the valve, returning it to its original position.
We didn’t know how effective the antivenom would be to counteract Brandon’s serum, which was only partly composed of scorpion venom. We didn’t know if it would have any effect after three months in this state, as antivenom was usually administered within four hours of the scorpion sting. There were so many unknowns.
Christopher sat on his usual chair beside the hospital bed and told Brandon about our vacation at the cabin, focusing on the hiking and our Star Wars Marathon, not our relationship. It seemed odd to listen to Christopher while I watched Brandon for signs of movement. I didn’t want to wait here until lunch. I worried that my watching presence was intrusive and left, giving Christopher alone time with his brother.
While Christopher talked, I slipped out and went downstairs to the cafeteria for hot drinks. While I sat at the table, I let my tea steep. I allowed it to cool to the perfect drinking temperature before I collected hot coffee for Christopher. I’d been gone twenty minutes and thought he’d be ready to leave. He seldom stayed longer than that. Today’s visit should appear normal.
As soon as the elevator opened on Brandon’s floor, I noticed the difference. There was an unusual hubbub on the eighth floor, instead of its usual quiet. The hive of activity was centered at the end of the hall. My heart and feet sped up as I hurried down the hall, drinks in hand. Christopher stood outside Brandon’s room, hovering on the edge of the action but staying out of the way.
“He’s awake.” His blue eyes sparkled, though there was a crease on his forehead.
I handed him the cup of coffee.
“What happened?”I’d missed a message from Christopher saying,“He’s awake.”
His face split into a grin. “Almost as soon as you went downstairs, he opened his eyes. It took him a few minutes to get oriented while I called for the nurse. They called the doctor up here right away. They don’t know why he woke up today as there have been no changes in routine or his physiology. Right now, they’re testing his brain function.”
He kissed me. “Thank you for giving me back my brother.”
Christopher had too much energy and couldn’t stand still while we waited for more information. His pacing drove put me on edge.
Several minutes later, Brandon’s door opened, and two nurses exited.
One held the door and said, “Mr. Winters, the doctor would like to speak to you.”
I smiled in encouragement and he gave me a quick look I interpreted as excitement. The door closed behind him and I couldn’t make out words, just the faint buzz of conversation. I was okay with being excluded. I was here for Christopher. He’d share everything in due time.
The door opened again, and a nurse poked her head out.
“Ms. Bergstrom, can you join us, please?”
Curious why I was needed, I entered the crowded hospital room.
They’d pushed the ventilator against the wall, the tubing and mask removed from Brandon’s face. He sat in bed, with better color than he’d had in months, despite his three-month coma.
Christopher stood beside him, his arms crossed and his smile gone.
“I don’t know her either,” said Brandon.
My eyes narrowed as I examined Brandon again.
“What do you remember?” said the doctor.
“I’ve supposedly been in a coma for three months. I remember many things, but few people, other than colleagues. I remember my job. I’m a toxinologist and work for Real Tech and have for several years. One day, my research will make rattlesnake venom a cure for cancer.”
The doctor looked at us for confirmation, and we nodded.
Brandon continued his list. “I know my social security number, my banking information, and my computer password. My full name is Dr. Brandon Franklin Winters. I attended Yale University and completed my PhD at Stanford. My birthday is November 20th, 1985.”
I’d forgotten his birthday in the excitement of our vacation. He was a Scorpio, somewhat appropriate for someone who now studied scorpions. Of everything he’d said, I latched onto the one fact he’d stated that was incorrect. He no longer worked with rattlesnakes.
“Ask him the date,”I said to Christopher.“What year?”
“Can you tell me what year it is?” Christopher said.
“It’s 2014,” Brandon said. His eyes flicked toward his brother before he answered.
His tone bordered on rude. He straightened the covers on his bed, smoothing them to perfection. Something bothered me about his voice. It was like he was discussing the most boring of subjects, like the flavor of a fluoride treatment or the weather, not his memories.
