Marked (2 page)

The doctor’s back and he must be rounding with the interns again.  His voice is in teacher mode.  I think he’s answering a question.  “She has lost a considerable amount of hair due to her head scraping along the pavement.  Some will grow back, some won’t.  The areas that will be grafted will not grow hair.”

I guess I’m getting that haircut I’ve been considering.  I really hope no one shows me a mirror anytime soon.  Am I going to spend the rest of my life looking like a monster?  A wave of pain sweeps over me like the tide coming in, reminding me that my appearance won’t matter if I don’t survive my injuries.  I would gladly spend life as a monster if they can make this pain go away. 

“How did her car turn on its side?”

“I heard she literally broke it in half wrapping it around a tree or something.”

“Did her toxicology reports come back?  I can’t wait to see what her blood alcohol level was.  She’ll definitely be looking at some time for killing that guy.”

These new voices are swirling inside of my head.  One almost indistinguishable from the next amongst the bursts of pain that explode in my mind.  Even the gender of the speaker is getting lost somewhere between my ears and my brain.  The pain however is not.  I try to open my eyes to let them know I’m awake but I can’t make my eyelids move.  I try to scream but my vocal cords refuse to cooperate since there is a large tube shoved down my throat.  The drugs they’re giving me have shut down every part of my body except my brain and its pain sensors.  I’ve read about this happening to patients in one of my med school books.  I never even considered the idea that one day it would happen to me.

My arm is lifted painfully from the bed.  Are they blind?  Can’t they see that I’m hurt?  “Instead of worrying about what ‘time’ she will be doing, perhaps you should be concentrating on her treatment plan.”  This is the first voice again and he’s closer now.  He must be the one trying to tear my arm out of its socket while rubbing salt in my wounds.  When I’m a doctor, I plan to have a lot more bedside manner than this.  I want so desperately to wrench my arm out of his tortuous grasp but all I can manage is making my fingers move slightly. 

That’s enough to elicit a softly muttered oath as my arm is lowered back to the bed.  I think it was supposed to be gently.  It wasn’t.  A second later, my left eyelid is pulled up to my hairline and a bright, white light is shined into my eye.  If I could speak, it wouldn’t be a softly muttered oath I’d be saying.

“What is it?” I hear a voice say from somewhere else in the room.  I can tell it’s a female voice this time.  My mind must be clearing a little bit.

“I believe she’s awake.”  As the deep, smooth voice says this, he lets my eyelid drop closed.  Only to wrench the other one about halfway around my scalp.  I hear gasps around the room but I can’t see anyone.  The light he’s shining at me is too bright.  “I don’t understand.  She has enough Propofol running through her to keep a man twice her size under.  Up her dosage by another ten cc’s and I want an EEG.  I want to know why she keeps waking up.”  I’ve woken up before?  I don’t remember that.

The people he’s speaking to must not be responding as quickly as he wants them to because he growls, “Now!”  I hear people scurrying from the room as he drops my eyelid back in place.

“Who are you?” the man’s voice says quietly.  More to himself than me because he must know I’m not really in a position to answer him.  “We’ve already increased your meds dangerously higher than should be possible in a person your size.  Your body can’t withstand this much longer.  Your organs are going to start shutting down.”

He’s saying this to me as if I’m intentionally fighting the medication.  I’d take offense if I had any way of showing it.  Instead, I’m going to lie here and be grateful that he figured out that I can still feel the pain.  There’s a promise in his voice that he’ll make it go away again.  A warm rush of fluid through my arm a moment later proves this to be true as the higher dosage blessedly brings an end to my consciousness.

I only seem to swim to the edge of the darkness when I hear the deep voice of my doctor.  “As you can see, her tissue is well on its way to recovering on its own.

A voice that makes me think of a rat speaks.  “How can she be healing this quickly?  At this rate, she won’t even need one skin graft let alone the seven we originally planned on.”

“Are you impressed with her ability to heal or disappointed that you will not be able to add that new dock at your summer home?”  I hear the disdain in this second voice.  I recognize it as the doctor who figured out I was conscious before.  

“Are you implying that I operate on my patients solely for profit?” the other voice growls. 

“I believe your surgical record speaks for itself.”  More disdain.  Laced together with a healthy amount of disparagement.  Obviously this guy is not out to make friends.

“If you have a problem with my record then be my guest, bring it before the review board.”  This other voice is a little higher now with its false bravado.

“I just may do that, but not today.”  I think he means it.  And he agreed to let this guy operate on me?  So much for my warm and fuzzy feelings for him.  If my pain wasn’t much better, I’d probably dislike him.  “For now, it appears that your consultation on this patient is no longer needed.”  Yeah! 

I hear a puff of air expelled angrily and then footsteps walking to the door.  If hospital doors could slam, I’m pretty sure he would have slammed it.  I sigh in relief that he’s gone even though I have no idea who he was.  The air just feels cleaner now. 

“You’re awake again.  Unbelievable.”  A depression in the bed tells me that the doctor has sat down on it.  I don’t think these things are made for two.  “I’m not quite sure what to do with you.  We couldn’t keep you intubated because you kept gagging.  If we give you any more medication to keep you unconscious, we’d probably kill you.”  I, for one, think we should skip that option.  “You have no living next of kin.  What do we do with you?” 

My parents died in a plane crash a few years back when I was doing my undergrad out of state.  My dad was the pilot and must have had engine trouble.  The plane went down in a fiery blaze, killing them both.  I flew home to take care of things and almost let my grief keep me from going back to college.  Until I realized that my parents would be furious if they knew that.  So, I went back to my classes and drowned myself in school to help me forget the pain.

The doctor has stopped talking.  If he’s waiting for a response from me, I don’t have one for him.  I’ve never been sick before let alone hospitalized.  At least, not that I can remember.  My memory of my childhood is sketchy since I almost drowned in the Atlantic when I was sixteen.  My father rescued me, almost killing himself in the process.  He was the one who ended up in the hospital for weeks fighting pneumonia.  I barely had a cough.

Picking my hand up gently this time, the doctor strokes my palm softly with his thumb.  “I think your wounds have healed enough that we can manage the pain with you conscious.  I’m going to gradually reduce the anesthetic while maintaining the pain meds.  You should be fully awake with muscle control in a few hours. Then we can discuss your treatment plan more thoroughly.”

Now that I am more aware, his voice glides over me like silk, leaving goose bumps in its wake.  But not all of them are the good kind of goose bumps.  I have never reacted to anyone like this before.  It’s a strange cross between craving his touch and wanting to tear my hand out of his and keep it out of his reach.  I’m glad I can’t talk; otherwise I’d probably be blathering something stupid right about now to cover up how I’m feeling.  I sure hope my ability to blush is also paralyzed. 

I hear a squawky voice coming from somewhere above my head.  “How can I help you?”

“This is Dr. Palis.  I would like to talk to the nurse assigned to room 2452.  Send her in here.”  His voice has gone from silk to sandpaper in less than a minute. 

I feel him rise from the bed and hear his footsteps as he walks away from me.  After a moment, I hear hushed voices as he lays out his plans with the nurse for my treatment.  Soon, I should be able to move again.  But right now, I’m going back to sleep.

I can see!  I’ve managed to open both eyes and now I can take in the bland walls and bed rails of my hospital room.  I can even move my arm a little bit.  I don’t know how long it’s been since the doctor decided to let me wake up but I’m sure happy he did.  I hated being trapped in a motionless body.  My periods of consciousness may have been brief, but they were long enough to set off my claustrophobia.

I try moving my arm into my lap and after a couple of tries I am able to do it even though it’s incredibly painful.  It’s wrapped loosely in gauze to help prevent infection, but the gauze is sticking to my healing tissue and pulls on it with every movement of mine.  I probably should have just left it at my side.  But I’m too excited to once again have kinetic control over my body.  I attempt to move my other arm but a blinding pain shoots through my head and an image follows right after. 

It’s an image of the devil come to life.  He’s huge and black with bright blue eyes and yellow teeth.  Those teeth are clearly visible because he is leering at me as if I’m dinner.  Then the whole memory comes crashing back.

It can’t be real.  There could not have been a devil in the road that split my car in half.  It’s not possible.  I must have imagined it.  Or I was dreaming.  Could I have fallen asleep at the wheel?  That could explain why I don’t remember the accident. 

I have been working late hours at the gym after my classes and trying to fit studying in between the two.  I’m lucky to get four or five hours of sleep a night.  The accident must have happened after I left work, so of course I would be tired.

But it seems so real.  My memory of this creature that was strong enough to tear my car in two is so vivid I can almost imagine him, or it, standing in front of me right now.  But then again it sounds like I suffered a head injury.  I’m probably just going crazy.  Oh god.  Does that mean I’ll start having other hallucinations?

Hallucinations like a girl racing into my hospital room and skidding to a stop by my bed.  She must be a hallucination because I certainly don’t know who she is or why she’d be coming to visit me.  She’s definitely not on staff here.  She’s wearing skinny jeans that I’m pretty sure were painted on and a black tank top with a laughing skull on it.  She has a black backpack slung over one shoulder and black work boots.  Her hair is several shades of red.  None of them natural.  She’s not pulling off the look, though.  Regardless of the black theme she has going on, her freckles and fresh, innocent looking face claim that she’s a good little Catholic school girl instead of a Goth or punk.  She has several silver and black bracelets and an unfortunate piercing on her eyebrow.  I don’t understand piercings.  That had to of hurt.  A lot.  Unless she’s a hallucination.  Then she probably didn’t feel a thing.

Before I can ask who she is, she goes into a wild spiel.  “Look, you don’t know me and you really have no reason to trust me but I’m here to save your life.  You have to believe that’s what I’m here to do because I’m going to have to take you out of here and that will be so much easier if you just trust me and not make me explain right now.  I know you’re in pain and everything but you’re going to have to just kind of suck it up otherwise you’ll be dead and I don’t think you want to be dead. So I’m just going to pull this IV,” she speed walks over to the other side of my bed and grabs my right arm, “and we’ll get you ready to go.  I wish I had some pain medication for you but all I have is some Tylenol but it’s better than nothing I guess.”

As she’s talking, she undoes the tape around my IV site and then pulls the slender little tube out of my arm.  I would try to stop her but I still don’t have enough muscle control.  But I’m pretty sure I can talk.  “What are you doing?” I slur like a drunk. 

She looks up at me as she applies pressure to the IV site with the blanket.  “I’m Brielle and I told you why I’m here.  I’m saving you’re life.  There are some bad dudes coming for you and I’m the only one who knows that and can get you out of here before they kill you.  I can’t waste time saying everything twice, you know.  You’re going to have to keep up otherwise we’re in trouble.”  She lifts the blanket up to see if I’ve stopped bleeding, sees that I haven’t and then presses it back down on my arm.  “Man, you’re a bleeder.  I didn’t expect it to take this long.”

“Sorry to be such a bother,” I slur, oozing sarcasm from every pore of my body.  “You need to get out of here or I’m going to call for help.”  My voice is growing stronger as adrenalin surges into my system.  I’m gaining more muscle control as well.  I reach for the nurse call button but she gets to it first.  “Hey,” I say as forcefully as I can, “give it back!”

“So a bunch of nosy nurses can come in here and cause trouble?  Uh uh.  We need to do this solo.  Can you walk because I didn’t see a wheelchair on my way up here.  I thought they would have some lying around waiting to be used but I didn’t see any free ones.  I figured it would draw too much attention if I pushed some old guy out of his chair in the hallway.  I guess I could put him in a supply closet or something.  But really, if you could just walk it would be a whole lot easier.”

“Do you speak in anything besides monologue?” I ask, struggling to get my arm away from her.

Brielle has the decency to look sheepish.  “Sorry, I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”  She lifts up the blanket again and is pleased to see I’m not bleeding anymore.

My voice is almost normal now.  “Are you always nervous when you kidnap someone from their hospital room?” 

“Look, I know you don’t believe me but I really am here to help.  There are some…dudes coming to get you and you won’t want to end up with them.  Believe me.  I’m your best choice.”

I grab onto the covers when she tries to whip them back.  “I’m not going anywhere with you.  And who would possibly be after me or want me dead?” 

An unwanted thought pops into my head followed by a grotesque image.  I remember the devil turning into a man.  And the sounds of his screams as my car pushed him to the ground.  He was probably a man all along and my mind made him a devil because I couldn’t stand the thought that I killed him.  My mind turned him into a monster so it would be his fault instead of mine.  But really, I’m the monster.

I never thought of myself as a coward but apparently that’s what I am.  I couldn’t face my own actions.  My mind replays the accident over and over and each time, I see him as the monster that caused the accident, not me. 

Maybe someone wants to kill me for killing him.  Is his family or spouse or someone coming to take revenge?  Or is this girl tugging on my blanket the one seeking revenge?  Good thing my muscle control is coming back so I can attempt to stay covered.

“What’s going on in here?” a velvety smooth voice says from the doorway.  My eyes swing to him for a first glimpse of the man who has been responsible for my care.  And the sight of him is enough to make me let go of the blanket; nearly sending the girl flying backwards across the room.  Tall, blond and beautiful are the words that come to mind.  He has the face of a Greek god, as cliché as that sounds, and if the tautness of his shirt under his lab coat is any indication, he has the body of one as well.  His eyes are the color of a deep blue, stormy sky. The kind of sky that precedes a tornado.  Calm yet perilous.  I find myself having that feeling again of craving his touch and wanting to shout at him to get out at the same time.  I must have a head injury because no one would want to kick this guy out of their room.

“Damn it,” Brielle mutters.  “I was hoping to do this before you showed up.  Now I have to take the time to explain everything all over when we only have a few minutes.  It took me forever to get here because traffic was all backed up and now we’re running late.”

The doctor covers the distance from the door to my bed in three strides and takes up a protective stance next to me.  Like a lion.  Or a jackal who could turn on me at any time.  I have no idea where that thought came from.  Without taking his eyes off from the girl, he asks me, “Do you know this person?”

“No,” I say, wanting to reach out and touch him.  I appreciate that I don’t have the range of motion to accomplish that. 

A low growl emanates from deep in his throat.  “Get. Out. Of. This. Room.”

The girl’s eyes grow by three hundred percent but Brielle holds her ground.  “I can’t.  Not until she comes with me.  I am not going to be responsible for those monsters getting her.”

He cocks his head and crosses his arms over his chest.  “You have two seconds to leave before I call security and have you committed to the psych ward for evaluation.”  I believe he would.  I know I’d be afraid he’d do it.

But the girl isn’t.  She puts her hands on her hips and glares at him.  “Dude, you need to lighten up and focus on the important things here.  She is in danger.”  She points a finger in my direction in case it wasn’t clear who she meant.  “You can either help her or get the hell out of here and let me do it by myself.  I’d actually prefer that so feel free to go back to your other patients and forget all about us.  But some big uglies are on their way; if they’re not already in the hospital.  There’s only one way out of here that won’t be put on lockdown when these guys make their move and only I know how to get to it.” 

She is crazy.  “You’re in monologue mode again,” I tell her which earns me a snarky look in return.

She glances down at her watch.  “Shit.  We gotta go.”  She reaches for my blanket again but this time it’s the doctor’s hand that stops her. 

He grabs her by the wrist and twists it, causing her to yelp.  “Dude!  That hurts.”  She yanks her arm away from him then rubs it with her other hand. 

She starts to say something else but gets cut off by a voice coming through the overhead speakers.  “Attention hospital employees.  Code Bear.  Repeat.  Code Bear.  Please refer to your hospital policy manual for more information.”

“They’re here,” Brielle says.  She sounds like a bad horror movie.  Only she isn’t faking the terror on her face.

The doctor doesn’t think so either.  “Who are ‘they’?”

She sighs in exasperation.  “I don’t have time to explain.  But if they’re in the hospital, it’s not going to take long for them to find her.”

That overhead voice seems to want to emphasize her words.  “Code red.  Repeat.  Code red.  All personnel to take emergency action.  Complete lockdown.  Repeat.  Complete lockdown.”

The doc gives the girl one last look.  It seems that an eternity passes in the seconds he stares at her.  And she stares right back with her big, scared brown eyes.  The next thing I know, he is the one tearing back my covers and scooping me out of bed.  Nodding to the girl, he says, “Lead the way.”  I’m too stunned to say anything.