13. Silas
13
SILAS
“ D o you remember anything, sir?” The short bald man shining an annoying bright light into my left pupil asks me. He’s the third person to ask me that question in the last two hours.
“Other than waking up about a week ago, no, sir,” I respond politely, and blink my eyes furiously when he pulls the light away. The brightness may be gone, but that stupid white spot in my eyes is still there, blocking my vision. “Can you tell me what happened?”
He rolls backward on his wheelie stool and looks over my chart that’s open on the computer screen hanging on the wall. “You were brought in as a John Doe. Some hikers found you hanging from a tree by a torn parachute.”
Fragments of images flash through my mind, but I can’t grab hold of any of them long enough to really get a sense of what happened. “How long have I been here?” I ask hoarsely, and wince at the pain in my throat.
“It’s been 73 days,” the doctor responds automatically without looking away from the screen. The clicking of his fingers on the keyboard and the monitor are the only two sounds in the room, but my head is pounding. I’ve been here for almost three months. Why the fuck don’t I remember anything?
“You had some pretty extensive burns along your right side, your left tibia was fractured, you had a concussion and a large cerebral hematoma that needed to be surgically decompressed. There were several gashes along your left arm and your right thigh that needed to be cleaned and sutured closed.” He rattles off my injuries like he’s reading them from a grocery list.
I look down at my body for the first time and notice that both my legs are bare and the muscles are noticeably atrophied. There are freshly healed scars along my thigh and arms. I reach up and touch the back of my head to feel a small knot where a suture had once been. “Anything else?” I ask as I lift up the blanket and take in the healed burnt flesh along my right side.
“They had to keep you in a medically induced coma to control your pain and prevent you from doing any further damage. Apparently, you woke up a few times in a rage, screaming about a plane and a woman named Emelia.” He finally looks up at me and clicks his pen repeatedly in his pocket. “Do you remember your name?”
I hesitate for a moment. My name is Silas Kennedy and I thought I died in a plane crash trying to save the one woman I thought I couldn’t live without. “No, sir,” I say with a slight shake of my head. “Everything is still foggy.”
He nods again and closes out the chart on the computer. “It may take some time to fully regain your memories. Best we can figure is that you were in the plane that went down a few miles outside of town. You were the only survivor.”
My heart stops beating in my chest and I struggle to inhale. The only survivor? Was Emelia on that plane? Did I fail? “When can I leave?” I ask and clear my throat of the remaining irritation.
“Well, since you don’t know who you are and there is no one here to claim you, I can’t let you go until you’re medically cleared.”
I sit up in the bed and wince at the tinge of pain in my side. “I want to leave. Now. Bring me whatever forms you have. I’ll sign them.”
He blinks at me in shock and just shakes his head. “I’m afraid I can’t recommend that.”
“Well then it’s a good thing I’m not asking for a recommendation.” I channel my inner Declan and narrow my eyes at him. “Bring me the forms. I’m done here.”
The doctor nods his head and stumbles over his own feet as he leaves the room muttering, “Right away, sir.”
I lean back onto the mostly flattened pillow and stare up at the ceiling, trying to piece together the broken memories of my existence from the last three months. I remember getting on the plane with a stunt that would make the Fast and Furious proud. Then I remember killing the pilot and that fucking Italian asshole. The empty car. The plane ripping in two. My parachute deploying, but then being cut by metal as another explosion sent the plane spiraling into pieces.
Then I remember waking up in agony. It felt like my skin was being boiled off and my head was being split open by a dull ax. Doctors running around me in a panic, yelling orders to secure an OR for immediate use. My leg also felt like it was being hacked off by a dull blade.
And then I felt nothing but a quiet stillness.
A numbness.
A darkness.
I felt absolutely nothing at all.
I blink the tears from my eyes and take a deep steadying breath. I need to get the fuck out of here and figure out where everyone else is. I need to go home.
A nurse walks into the room with a small stack of papers. “I will need you to sign these AMA forms to acknowledge that we do not recommend you leaving the facility. As well as the rest of the discharge paperwork.”
“Of course.” I look her up and down and realize that she’s the nurse who was in the room with me when I woke up last week. Her wild red hair gives her away almost immediately. I take the pen from her and sign my name on all the dotted lines.
She narrows her eyes at me and purses her lips. “I thought you didn’t remember your name,” she remarks, and gives me a knowing look.
I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe I just made one up that sounds cool,” I retort, and hand the pen back to her.
“I brought you a pair of scrubs. Your clothes were quite literally toast when you arrived here.” She smiles and sets a pair of ugly green surgical scrubs on the foot of the bed. “When you’re finished, just head to the right. The elevators are at the end of the hall. There’s a payphone in the main lobby. You can call an Uber from there.”
“Thank you,” I respond sincerely as she closes the door behind her. I sit on the bed for several seconds before I finally swing my legs over. My head swims and my entire body shudders with agony. “Fuck,” I bite out through clenched teeth and scowl down at my broken body. Everything is mostly healed, but my muscles are stiff and weak from not being used in the last several weeks.
I throw the sheet the rest of the way off my legs and stare down at my scarred and mottled skin. My thighs and calves look like Deadpool’s face. The fresh skin is still bright pink and inflamed. With a deep breath, I bend my knee and slide one leg and then the other into the pant legs.
Holy fucking shitballs.
My eyes blur with tears and I fall back against the pillows with the pants only pulled up to my knees. I pant shallowly through the pain and grit my teeth, trying to bend my legs and get the scrubs the rest of the way up to my hips. I manage to get them halfway up my thighs before heat washes over my entire body and my head swims with darkness threatening my vision. I’m going to pass out just from putting fucking pants on.
The door opens slowly and the redhead pops her head around the corner. “You doing okay in here?” Her voice holds a hint of humor.
I drop my hands and sink back into the semi-flat pillow, not even caring that I’m practically naked in front of her. She’s probably already seen everything multiple times now. “I didn’t realize… how much it would…hurt,” I pant out, and squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of nausea rolls through my stomach.
“Those burns were pretty bad, dude. Not to mention, you’ve been lying in a bed for weeks without moving your legs. You were intubated for a while too, so your breathing is not going to be what you’re used to. Everything needs to be taken in small steps.” She comes over to stand in front of me and helps me pull the pants over my ass and ties the string for me.
“Thank you,” I say softly, and let her help me shrug out of the hospital gown and into the scrub top. Moving my arms is painful, but not as bad as my legs. They got the majority of the damage. I clench and unclench my fists as she takes a few steps back.
“No problem. There’s a car waiting for you downstairs.” She pulls out a cellphone and holds it out to me, but I make no moves to take it. “It’s just a phone. Take it.”
“Where’d it come from?” I ask warily, staring at the electronic like she’s handing me a piranha.
“Does it matter?” she asks, and gives it a shake in my direction. “Look, I’ve got people that I’m sure are in the same line of work that you are. And I know they’d do anything to get back to their family if they were in your position.”
“And what position do you think I’m in?” I ask her in a low voice.
She squares her shoulders and tilts her chin up with a hint of defiance. “If I told you that, then I’d have to kill you. And I’ve worked my ass off to keep you alive for the last several weeks. So that would be a shame and a waste of my time and skills.”
“Fair point well made,” I acknowledge with a smirk.
She holds out her hands to help me stand. “Besides, you need to get back to that woman and tell her that you love her.”
I place my hands in hers and groan in pain as I stand on wobbly legs. “How do you know about her?” I mutter, and clench my jaw so hard my teeth hurt.
“You screamed her name for two days straight when you first came in. And someone named Hayden. You were hellbent on finding both of them.” She sets the pace as we walk to the door one step at a time.
Each time my feet lift and reconnect with the floor, a sharp pain shoots up my legs. I look up and watch the door move closer at a glacial pace. The realization that I’m not going to be able to get anywhere quickly makes my stomach turn to lead. At this rate, I’ll get back home by my eightieth birthday.
After several strings of curses, a few breaks to catch my breath and not pass out, and one very long elevator ride, I’m standing next to a black sedan. “Thank you,” I say again, and look for a nametag, but there isn’t one.
She waves me off and opens the door for me. “Don’t mention it, really.” Her fingers grip my hand tightly as I groan in pain with the effort to bend and sink into the car. “I firmly believe in karma, so I’ve hopefully scored some brownie points in that category.”
I nod once and focus on trying to get my breathing back under control. “What’s your name?” I ask her as she puts her hand on the door to close it.
Her eyes meet mine and I can see the gears turning in her mind. She’s trying to calculate if she should tell me, or just let me go without knowing any details about her. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and her brows furrow in concentration as she assesses me. She’s a smart one, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s in this life.
I hold up my hand with a small smirk, because that’s all I can manage with the amount of pain I’m trying to control. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’m fine with not knowing.”
She nods once and then looks at the driver, who’s watching us impassively through the mirror. “Solovyov,” she says softly before closing the door in my face.
I let the word sink into my skin. The name isn’t one I’m familiar with, but the origin is obvious. What is a Russian doll doing working in the ICU of a hospital in plain sight? My eyes watch her figure as she disappears through the sliding doors.
“Where are we going, my man?” the driver asks, breaking my train of thought.
I give him the address and then settle back into the seat as he puts the car in gear and drives away.
Where am I going?
Home.
I’m going the fuck home.