Chapter 15 Steven
Chapter fifteen
Steven
Pain pulses through my skull. It’s so strong and relentless that opening my eyes is near impossible. They flutter open, barely, and a bright light obscures my vision. I shut them again, groaning at the pain that now ripples down my into jaw.
“Dr. Jones, can you hear me?”
A female’s voice, fuzzy and unfamiliar, calls to me—or I think she’s talking to me.
“Jones,” she says again, and I force my eyes open. The world around me is blurry but bright, with blaring white streams of light piercing around this person’s silhouette.
“Dr. Jones, can you blink for me?”
I blink, half because she asks, and half because she won’t stop shining another light in my eyes.
“Good,” she says. “Can you follow my finger?” She raises a blue gloved hand into view.
My vision is still blurry, and I blink faster, trying to focus and follow.
When she’s done, my gaze dips to my legs.
Except, they’re not my legs. Are they? These legs are tucked under a scratchy blue wool blanket with rails of a hospital bed bracketing them.
Those aren’t my legs.
I wiggle my feet, and the blanket moves in the exact spot my feet would move. I bend a knee, and the blanket moves again.
I jerk upright, stiff pain follows, lancing down the center of my skull and back. I collapse back onto the pillows, moaning in pain.
“Slow down,” the woman dressed in scrubs instructs. “You’re going to be sore for a while.”
“Wh–what happened? Where am I?” The question feels stupid. I’m clearly in the hospital. But why? And which hospital?
“Dr. Jones, can you tell—”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
Her eyes widen, but only briefly, before she masks it with a cautious smile. Her entire demeanor changes, as if one wrong move could scare me away.
“I’ll, uh…be right back, okay? Don’t move.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to respond before she’s out the door.
In the few seconds she’s gone, I take in the room: the sunlight pouring through the window, the wall clock insisting it’s barely 2 p.m., the whiteboard with my name scrawled at the top.
Jessee is written underneath, probably the nurse, and Dr. Ahman is listed as the attending.
There’s a string of numbers I assume are measurements of something.
But then my gaze snags on the date at the exact moment Jessee rushes back into the room.
“What is that?” I point at the board, the stiffness not leaving my body anytime soon.
“That’s today’s date,” Dr. Ahman—according to his name badge—says as he steps into the room. “January 18th.”
“That can’t be right.” I shake my head, the pain swelling with the motion. I press a palm to my forehead for relief, but no luck. “Yes, but 2026? I think your handwriting needs work.” I direct the words at the nurse, who shoots me a glare at my accusation. “Just saying. Could you fix it please?”
“She can’t fix it, Dr. Jones.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” I snap, irritation bubbling in my chest. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.
Where the heck am I? Did Liam put you up to this?
” I was confused, but now I’m just irritated.
I want to jump out of this bed, storm down the hall, and find Liam wherever he’s lurking. “Tell me where he is.”
Jessee and Dr. Ahman share a weary glance before Dr. Ahman approaches the bed.
“Steven,” he speaks gently, cautiously. And I don’t like it. “What is the last thing you remember?”
I gape at him, unamused at the lengths they’re going. But I don’t know their angle yet, so I guess I have to play the game.
“I don’t know,” I start. “I was…” I wrack my brain for my most recent memory when a pile of textbooks and a cell phone flash in my mind. “I was studying, I think.”
Jessee gasps. Must be part of the ruse.
“What?” I ask, incredulous. “Was that the wrong answer?”
Dr. Ahman sits at the foot of my bed and leans in close. “Steven, I can tell you’re irritated, but I need you to listen to me very carefully, alright?”
“If you tell me I was just unfrozen from a time capsule, I will dropkick you and find the nearest exit.”
Jessee scoffs, and Dr. Ahman smirks. “Glad to see your humor hasn’t left us.”
“Ah, so this is a joke? Thank God.” I throw my head back, letting my eyes search the room for clear signs of fakeness, but nothing comes. It all seems pretty legit to me.
“This isn’t a joke.” He places a hand on my shin. “Steven, you were attacked.”
“What?” My gaze snaps to him, and the fear swimming in both of their eyes tells me this isn’t a joke to them.
“You were attacked by a patient this morning,” he continues. “You are Dr. Steven Jones, and you work here at St. Mary’s Hospital as one of our leading ER physicians.”
I don’t say anything. His words don’t fit. None of this fits.
“You’ve worked here for eight years,” Jessee adds.
“That can’t be…no.” My dreams of finishing medical school ping around in my head like loose beads. “I’m not a doctor.”
“You are. You’re one of the best…when you’re not being a douche.” She mumbles the second part, and Ahman holds a hand up to quiet her.
“It is the year 2026.”
I blink, waiting, willing him to say ‘Just kidding.’ But he doesn’t. He watches me, letting this information sink in.
But I don’t let it. “Prove it.”
“Jessee?” Dr. Ahman glances over his shoulder, and she stands at attention. “Go grab today’s paper and Steven’s cell phone, please.”
She’s gone and back in seconds, thrusting the items over Ahman’s shoulders. He hands them to me without hesitation, wanting to prove his point. The caution in his demeanor is fading.
I eye them both prudently before gingerly taking the paper and my cell phone from his hands. But the shiny screen isn’t one I recognize.
“This isn’t—” I try, but Ahman presses the button on the side, and the screen powers on in my hand.
A buffering circle disappears quickly before a photo of a woman graces the screen.
Penetratingly beautiful green eyes, long brown hair, and a smile that can stop traffic.
She looks familiar, but the persistent pain in my head makes placing her near impossible.
“Go to your contacts and find someone you recognize,” Dr. Ahman instructs.
I click the phone icon, and a long list of names pops up on the recently called list. Not many seem familiar at first. The typical Mom and Dad are there, but that could be anyone, and I don’t waste time opening the contact to compare the numbers to my own mother and father.
I keep scrolling until a name I have known since sophomore year of college pops up.
Liam.
I arch a brow, apprehensive, then click the name.
“Jones, what’s up, man?” Liam’s muffled, unmistakable voice comes from the phone still sitting in my hand.
I hang up abruptly, full-blown, fiery anxiety coursing through my veins now.
I frantically reach for the newspaper. It’s a wadded-up mess, and I sift through the sections until I get to the front page.
Some headline about a town named Glendale is plastered on the front, and in tiny letters in the top right is the date.
January 18th, 2026.
My arms go limp, dropping the paper in my lap.
My phone buzzes next to me as Liam’s face and mine pop up on the screen.
But it’s not our faces like I remember. We’re older.
Wrinkles around our eyes and his mouth, his hair is thinner, and mine has gray in it.
The photo disappears as his missed-call notification dings.
I sit up straighter, now clicking the camera icon and bringing it to my face. My hands shake as a withered version of myself is reflected back at me. A cut on my forehead and some bruising on my cheek and neck are clears signs of being attacked. Everything crashes into me like a wave.
“I…I don’t understand.” My words stammer as heat rises up my neck. My throat constricts, and the air in my lungs turns thick and sticky. The phone buzzes again, startling the phone out of my hands. Dr. Ahman clicks the button to silence it and sets it on the side table.
The room around me starts to sway, and a chalky taste forms in my mouth. “Can I have some water?” I croak out the words, and Ahman hands me a cup.
“I know this is all a bit alarming,” he says, “but we are going to run some tests and figure out the extent of it, alright? We’ll figure this out.”
I nod as he steps out, keeping my eyes pinned on the date on the newspaper now mocking me. Jessee must sense this because she pulls it out of my lap and sets it aside.
“So…” I begin to muster an apology, but she must sense that too and waves a hand at me.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s a lot.” She gives me a gentle smile, one that tells me she knows me and I should trust her. But I’m not letting my guard down yet.
“So you don’t remember—”
Her words are cut short by a sudden commotion echoing down the hall.
“Steven!” a woman shouts before she barrels into the room, panting, with bloodshot eyes. She searches me frantically, her body not leaving the doorway, but her eyes tell me she would leap onto this bed if she could.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“That’s your wife.”
The woman’s gaze skitters over me in the bed before snapping back to my face, clocking the bruises and gash one by one. Something registers, and horror envelopes the irises of her eyes. Green eyes. Penetratingly beautiful green eyes.
“Steven?” her voice cracks as she takes a step closer.
“Yes?”
Jessee steps toward the woman and whispers something in her ear.
Her eyes threaten to well up with tears, but whatever Jessee says causes her face to shift, more neutral and unreadable, as if she’s aware showing her emotions isn’t something she should do.
And there’s something about it that gnaws at me.
I’m filled with an odd surge to spring forward and tell this stranger everything is going to be fine.
“Steven, I’m your wife. Emma.” She clasps her hands together, letting them fall below her waist.
“Wife?” I repeat. The word feels foreign, like a new taste on my tongue.