As I Fade (One Breath at a Time: Book 1) (9 page)

Straining my eyes, I laboriously focused on him. His movements dispersed like water and oil; however, his white shirt with five metal buttons trailing down the center of his chest stood out like shiny pennies in the bottom of a sparkling pool.

I rubbed my eyelids, detecting a thick layer of a gooey Vaseline substance. It certainly was not an expensive spa cream. I blinked several times hoping it would remove the sticky residue. To my chagrin this added no relief; it had seeped into my eyes, only making matters worse.

His dark hair with gray streaks weaved in and out of my sight. I continued to blink rapidly, causing my eyes to water. My vision began to clear. Within a few minutes, his entire image manifested. He stood just a few feet away from my bedside.

I considered him rather attractive. He was fairly tall, lean, and distinguished looking. I would have guessed him to be in his early forties, but his eyes were shrewd, making him look much older: Wiser, keen, and highly intelligent.

In one hand, he held a clipboard and in the other a pen. He flipped indolently through attached pages, absorbed and unaware of my observation. When he noticed me intently staring at him, he lowered the metal clipboard to his side

“You are awake, finally,” he said, leaning into the path of my eyes. I scanned his face. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Perhaps, I had seen him before. I summed it up as just one of those familiar faces.

“
Hello,” I managed to say in a raspy whisper. My esophagus constricted, which caused a coughing spell.

“
Would you like some water?”

“
Yes, please,” I answered automatically, lifting my head, holding waves of nausea at bay.

What happened to me?

“I’ve been really worried about you.”

“
You have?”

“
Yes, very much.”

“
I’m confused. Who are you?”

“
Your physician. Don’t you remember me?”

Remember? Physician?

Startled further, I had not
even
remembered being taken to the hospital or why; aside from the pain that riddled my body.

“
I have been checking in on you often. You are quite an interesting young lady.” I detected a cheeky sarcasm in his tone. The sound of his voice didn’t ring any bells. Although his voice held a fatherly inflection, I didn’t recognize him. He was not dressed like any doctor I had ever seen either.

“
Sorry...I don’t remember you,” I said, forcing a smile and then closing my eyes. I tried to fish him out of my memory but came up blank.

“
It’s okay. We had only spoken briefly. Actually, I did most of the talking, and you stared through me. I don’t blame you though...considering.”

I followed his voice around the room behind me, sensing his every move. I listened to the sound of his footsteps clicking against the floor, and the water trickling into a glass. He continued to drone on about my condition, which only raised my blood pressure.

I momentarily closed my eyes tighter, in my best attempt to tune him out. I wished it could have been as easy to shut off my hearing. At that point, I would not have minded suffering from half of the conditions that Helen Keller had. Deaf, mute, and—I won’t go there.

From the inclined position of the bed, I turned toward the only window in the room. A delicate slice of light streamed through an outdated rolled-down shade. There was a dilapidated metal screen attached to the exterior of the window. From what I could see outside it was early morning, dark sky and raining hard. The sound of the rain resonated with a sense of loneliness and abandonment. What a surreal feeling it was to wake up in a hospital, especially in another country, completely alone!

“So where am I?” I inquisitively asked. Duh! It was obvious where I was. “I mean, what hospital is this?” I added under my breath, “Jeez, my head is killing me.” Eyelids clinched, I lightly massaged my temples with both palms. The pain was unforgivable!

“
Easy...you have stitches. Do you remember what happened to you?”

I coughed, clearing my throat to speak. “No,” I said, stretching my neck in his direction as he made his way back to my bedside.

“Here, drink this, slowly.” He handed me the glass of water.

“
Oh, thank you. I’m so thirsty.” Immediately, I sipped down the water. What a disappointment. It was lukewarm and not what I expected. I rolled my tongue over the roof of my mouth, repulsed by the taste of the water. “Can I please get some bottled water?”

“
Bottled water? I do not—”

I chimed in. “Never mind. Thanks anyway. I guess this will do.” I took another sip of the lukewarm water and almost gagged.

A distressed look crossed over his aging, yet handsome face. “Our water supply is not fully restored. I apologize. The well was severely damaged by those nincompoops.”

Nincompoops? Gangs?
I wondered.

“
Oh...it’s okay.” I knitted my brows together, braving down another sip. I wondered if the water could have been contaminated.

Woman dies at a local hospital, not from falling into a well, but from drinking water from it.

“Miss Eden, the hospital has been trying to locate your next of kin. It has not been an easy task.”

“
Why not?” I asked, grimacing when my lips tightened. They felt extremely dry, as if they would split.

“
So they can visit with you...we thought you would want them to know—”

I interjected, “Yes, of course, but there’s no reason for them to travel so far now. I’m feeling better. Well, all but this headache.”

“I understand,” he said then added, “shouldn’t you allow them to make that decision? I am sure they would want to be here for you.”

“
Yes, I’m sure they would want to be, but even so, it would take hours for them to arrive—they live in New York City. By the time they book flights, I’ll be home,” I said, feeling puzzled. A panic-stricken thud hit against the inside wall of my chest.

Am I going to die?
I was afraid to ask. I didn’t understand the urgency of my family having to travel all the way to Paris.

He sighed deeply. “So you’re not from Paris, but New York?” His pitch heightened. “That explains a lot,” he said with a meaningful edge.

“No. I mean yes. I’m from Manhattan, New York,” I affirmed.

“
This certainly puts us off course, New York, uh. An American. That is not what you have been saying in your sleep.”

“
Oh, gosh, I sometimes talk in my sleep, or, so I’ve been told. I’m not sure why I would say—”

He interjected. “Yes, you sure do.”

“I’m sorry about that.” I could feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. I hoped I hadn’t said anything inappropriate.

“
No harm done. We have learned quite a bit about you.”

“
Oh crap—I can only imagine.” I laughed shortly.

He appeared to bite his tongue. Under his breath, I thought I heard him say, “Language.” He then asked, “Do you have
any
family here in Paris?”

“
I don’t think so, but my memory is still a bit fuzzy, maybe...”

“
Well, Miss Eden, at least you know who and where you are, some people wake up and don’t remember anything. Let alone
who
they are.”

I nodded and blinked at the same time, trying to digest everything he was saying. “Yes, I understand. I’m glad I’m not that bad off,” I said, managing to smile.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. When you arrived, you were in terrible condition, with a significant head injury and other obvious injuries. Short-term memory loss can be expected—considering all you must have been through. We are just grateful to see that you are conscious now and stable. We will do some simple memory tests to see how much you remember. But there’s no hurry. We don’t want to rush you into trying to remember everything at once—it is a process and it can take months.”

I didn’t like the tone in his voice—it sounded as if he had a long-term plan for me. Still, what had I been through? Did he know? Perhaps it was a good thing I’d lost my memory?

“Everything is so jumbled. I don’t remember much at all. When did you say my memory would come back?” I blinked, trying to clear my mind.

He shook his head. “I didn’t. There is no telling when—in all honesty, your memory may never come back. As I said, it is just something that time will tell and, perhaps require long-term therapy.” He moved in closer to me and softly said, “Try to relax. We will figure this out together.”

“What’s to figure out? You said it would take time, but either way I don’t think I need therapy.” I certainly didn’t want anyone probing into my psyche. I had too many secrets stashed away. I needed time to catch my breath and process my thoughts. “I’m certain that I’m fine for the most part.”

Obviously, trying to change the subject, he asked, “I’m curious, who were you talking to before I stepped into the room?”

“No one,” I responded offering a smile. “Why?”

“
I’m not the only one who’s heard you talking to someone. My nursing staff claims that every time before they’d enter the room it sounded as if you were having a full-blown conversation with someone.”

“
No, I haven’t talked to anyone—not on the phone, and I haven’t had any visitors either that I know of,” I replied, feeling a bit confused. “This is the first time I’ve been awake—since—unless I forgot that too. I mean.” My throat constricted.

“
Well, I didn’t think you had, but perhaps...” He paused suspiciously. His eyes flashed across to the bedside table and mine followed, stopping on a black rotary phone.
How antiquated,
I thought. He continued. “Perhaps, you woke up and called someone and you don’t remember.”

“
No, I don’t think so but...either way, can I use it now?”

He spoke at the same time as me, “Hmm, I didn’t think the telephone worked.” He glanced at it. “I was told the storm knocked out all the lines. They are always in need of repairs.”

“Really. I don’t know.” I shrugged, shook my head and eagerly inquired, “By the way, have you seen my cell?” My eyes darted back to the side table.

His eyes followed mine. “Your cell?” he asked, imitating my pitch. His intelligent expression turned blank. He shifted his analytical eyes, sternly appraising me.

“Yes. I’m sure there are notes that I would’ve written to myself somewhere in my phone or on my calendar
app
. I do that sort of thing—you know, making lists,” I rambled on under my breath, essentially to myself as I scanned the room for my belongings. “I also probably updated my Facebook page to where I went last...there must be something there that will jiggle my memory.”

“
Actually, we did find an interesting note.” He threw his hand into the air, and his eyes brightened. “Let me get it...but first...please, excuse me for one moment.” He promptly trekked over to the phone, put the receiver to his ear and mumbled, “It’s dead. I guess you weren’t talking on it,” he said, pushing out his lower lip. He pulled a pair of ridiculously tiny scissors from his pocket and snipped the phone wires from the wall. He glanced over toward me and muttered something about,
the telephone service being overrated.

My mouth dropped open and I started to protest, but suddenly the words withdrew from my thoughts and I just lay there, jaw agape. Perhaps it was actually the pain in my head that pulled me away from responding. I stared blankly into space. While I was at a loss for words, my mind was ticking.

Who was this man, a doctor—and a telephone repairman, too?

I eyeballed him as he stuck his head outside of the room.

What is he up to?

He spoke in an inaudible whisper to someone whom I couldn’t see and then exited.

“What’s going on?” I called to him. It was too late; he’d slipped into the hall.

My eyes slowly roamed around the room. Nothing but plain bluish-gray walls enclosed me. They were bare—no artwork. I peered upward to the ceiling at the double-bladed fan. It also looked a bit dated like the phone; however, it added a nostalgic touch to the room. I supposed that is what the commercial designer was going for.

To my right on the side-table was a single lonely lamp providing inadequate lighting. Lonely...hmm, there was a single word describing how I felt.
Lonely and single.
Or so it appeared that way.

No visitors surrounded me with happy clown faces, hiding what they were really thinking behind big, bright, goofy smiles. There were no familiar eyes, anticipating stares, or concerned expressions, glad to see that I was alive. Nothing worthy of a Kodak moment.

My eyes drew to the left, over my shoulder, and slightly behind the bed where I noticed a heart monitor staring back at me. At least, that is what it looked like. It was turned off.

A good sign,
I thought, considering my condition.