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Hello, this is the first time I've shown anyone anything I've written. Please have a read and feel free to comment.
Chapter one (1738 words)
He woke slowly, gradually, as if slowly drifting to the surface of a deep, dark lake. There were dark things in that lake, and even though he was barely conscious he could feel himself struggling to get away from them.
With every moment bringing him closer to full wakefulness, so the pain came closer too. A bright, sharp pain, not muggy and clouded like his mind. He used to pain to try and focus himself, to bring himself out of his stupor. With a deep breath and a final effort, Pete opened his eyes.
Bright daylight streamed in though the window, it hurt his eyes and he took a moment or two to adjust, his head was pounding. It appeared his left eye was swollen and still half shut. He was in a hospital bed, that much was clear. He looked down at himself. There was an IV attached to his right arm, which was also heavily bandaged from the wrist to just below his elbow. The crease in his elbow had not only the IV attached but also several red needle marks. His upper arm had a pretty impressive bruise, and a nasty looking graze covering most of it.
More wires and tubes disappeared under the sheet that covered his left arm and most of his legs, the purpose of those wires was a mystery, but he was too weak to try to take a look.
He was wearing blue striped pyjama trousers, above that he was unclothed except for more bandages, which covered the right side of his chest. He suspected a few broken ribs under there, as this was the source of the pain that had helped bring him around.
His left arm, although tucked under the sheet, appeared to be in much better shape than the right. He wondered which hospital he was at, and how long he'd been here for. He slowly turned his aching head and looked around for some kind of button to call a nurse, but couldn't see one close by. He rested his eyes for a moment, took a few, painful breaths, then opened them again.
The room was basic, quite large and was painted light cream. There was a generic painting of a bunch of flowers in a vase on the wall opposite him, and a window to his right, through which he could see blue sky. To the left was a closed door, he wondered when someone would come to check on him. He waited a while, wanting someone to come and tell him what the hell had happened to him, but he grew drowsy. Whether it was the drugs or his poor aching head, he couldn't fight it and eventually returned to sleep.
Hearing voices jolted him awake some time later. The light from the window had changed, it had a golden edge now, and it threw a yellow-orange rectangle onto the wall above the flower picture. He'd obviously been asleep for quite some time, he was in more pain now, presumably they had given him some kind of painkiller earlier and now it was wearing off. Two men he didn't recognise were at the foot of the bed. The men were talking in low, urgent voices and hadn't noticed he was awake yet. One seemed of an age similar to Pete's, so mid thirties. He had close-cropped dark hair and was wearing a grey suit with a navy blue tie. The other, older man was a few inches shorter than the one in the suit, he was grey haired and was wearing a white doctor's coat and had a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Both men seemed agitated and their voices were getting louder when the younger man glanced around and saw Pete looking up at them. He quickly shushed his companion and nodded his head at Pete to make the other man aware he was awake. The older man turned to Pete and took a step forward.
“Ah, Mr. Marshall, you're awake at last,” the old man glanced down at a clipboard he was holding and made a note on it. “How are you feeling?”
Pete opened his mouth to talk, “Like shit, what happened to me?” his throat was dry and felt raw, his voice didn't sound like his own.
The older man glanced at the younger, Pete noticed the guy in the suit give a minuscule nod. “Mr Marshall, 4 days ago you were brought here after jumping out of a moving car on the freeway, you have some quite nasty injuries as I'm sure you can see.”
“And feel, yeah,” Pete croaked, he paused to take a breath, thinking about the doctors words, he'd jumped from a moving car.... what the hell? He closed his eyes for a moment, “Are my family here?”
The younger man stepped forward with a sideways glance at the doctor “is there anyone we can call for you Mr Marshall?” he looked down at Pete's face intently.
Pete opened his mouth, then slowly closed it again. To his horror he realised he had no idea who they could call. How could he not know?! Had he lost his mind? Oh Jesus, how hard had he hit his head?
“............I don't know”
“Do you have a family, Mr Marshall?”
“I don't know.....I …..I can't remember, what's the matter with me??” Pete's voice was getting faster and louder he could feel his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He knew he was verging on panic.
The older man glanced at the younger, who again gave a tiny nod, the doctor quickly stepped to the side of the room and returned with a needle.
“Mr Marshall you've been through a lot, it's quite normal for people to sometimes wake up with a touch of amnesia after a head injury, try not to worry. “
“Don't worry?! How badly am I hurt? What kind of head injury......?”
Before he could object, the doctor leaned over the bed, and carefully inserted the needle into Pete's arm, next to where the IV went in. “You must be in a lot of pain, this will help you rest and we'll see what we can find out for you” the doctor told him.
Pete opened his mouth to say answer him, but it was no use, he could already feel the drug start to take effect, he struggled uselessly against it for a moment,
The younger man turned to Pete again and started to say something, but the words echoed in his ears, he sounded a long way away, Pete's mind was swimming already, back across the dark lake. The men in the room with him faded into the watery blackness as Pete resigned himself to it's embrace.
When he woke again it was night. The room was dark apart from a thin line of light from underneath the door. He lay in the silence for a long moment before remembering the conversation with the two men. Confusion swept over him again. The doctor had said he'd jumped out of a moving car, something he had no recollection of whatsoever, why would anyone do such a thing? Had he been suicidal?
He looked down at his bandaged right arm again and felt misery and helplessness wash over him. He wanted the doctor to come back.
He tried to focus on what he could remember, he let his mind wander backwards and hoped it would be able to give him a clue about how he had ended up here. He knew his name, and after a moment's thought, his age - 35, that was a good start, he supposed.
He also knew what he would look like when he eventually got to look in a mirror He'd have short, dark brown hair, and hazel eyes. He knew he'd always thought himself to be reasonably good looking, and he wondered again how badly he'd hurt his face. As well as his eye being swollen he could feel the tightness of a healing graze across his left cheek and forehead.
Aside from those few basic facts about himself, he found there was what felt like a huge empty space in his mind, which he supposed should be filled with family, friends, a job and whatever else he did to pass his time. He felt a wave of fear again, closed his eyes and tried to stay calm. Soon the doctor would return and he would be able to answer some questions and help him get better. He was alive, that was the main thing, and lucky to be, by the looks of things.
He was more awake now than he'd been earlier when the men were here, and felt a bit more aware, the foggy, dazed feeling in his head was fading as the sedative wore off. Questions buzzed in his mind, more now than ever, but something more pressing came to his attention. His mouth felt as dry as sandpaper, and he wondered suddenly when he'd last had a drink.
Moving his stiff neck slowly, he looked around. the bed, his eyes were getting used to the dark now and he saw a jug of water and a paper cup on a small table on the left hand side of the bed. Relieved, he raised his left arm. It was still tucked under the covers so he pulled it towards him warily, in case it was hurt. It didn't move far before his wrist got caught on something he couldn't see. Confused, he carefully attempted to move his injured right arm for the first time, very slowly, he raised it, not taking his eyes off the bandages and the IV. The pain throbbed as the arm moved, there was just enough tube attached to his arm that he could move it gingerly across the bed to lift the sheet, he grasped it with two fingers and pulled it carefully away. Dropping it to one side, he slowly lowered his right arm back to where it had been.
He hadn't noticed he'd been holding his breath till he let the air out in a relieved gasp that hurt his chest. He raised his left hand again, looked over to it, and that was when he realised it was handcuffed to the bed.
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