"Oh."
Pain lanced through her head, radiating from a hot lump scabbing at her temple and migrating downward through her torso and causing her toes to curl. She didn't open her eyes at first; she raised a hand, attempting to touch the wound but found that it was impossible. Lines that led to an IV drip and electrical leads tethered her forearm to her body. She let her arm drift downward and moaned again, gritting her teeth against the hurt.
Opening her eyes was a bad thing. Bright, blinding sunlight flooded her unused pupils and she gasped at the visual assault. Brightness crystallized and prismatic reflections bounced around her eyelids until the sea of white cleared and objects dialed into focus. She was astounded to find that the first thing she saw was the screen of a beat-up color television. Some blonde was begging a dark-haired guy for something. Didn't make any sense but she didn't linger long.
Hospital room
. Her eyes took in the non-descript cream-colored curtains, the sea foam walls and the plastic serving tray. The center curtain was drawn and the television was dark on the other side, meaning that she was either alone or her roommate was sleeping. Fresh aches radiated through her body and she rose up on one arm, yanking the leads off and letting her feet seek purchase on the cold, tiled floor.
"Miss? Miss!"
The nurse's words didn't faze her; she slid the trocanter from her arm and arose, pressing a corner of sheet to the bleeding wound. "Where am I?"
"You don't know where you are?"
"Would I be asking you if I did?"
The nurse circled her with wariness. "What's your name?"
Her mind worked. She was alternately surprised and dismayed that no memories jumped into her brain and no name parted her lips. Her eyes scoured the walls for a nameplate and found none. The scrap of hospital paperwork on the tray contained no name and the plastic-encased wristband was blank, except for a few hyphenated numbers.
All at once, the fight left her. She forgot about the itchy adhesive from the electrical sites. She forgot about the weeping injury on the inside of her elbow. She even forgot about the thin hospital shift that barely covered her ass. All she could think about was the emptiness that now filled her mind and the confusion that coursed through her body.
Nurse Barb Pelinsky edged closer, her green eyes trained on the young woman. "What's your name?"
She shook her head, astonished at not finding the ready answer. "I … I don't know."
*****
Dr. Brett Washburn stepped into the room, shoving a pen into his pocket. This was the third Jane Doe they'd had this week and he was feeling a sense of excitement about this one. She was awake. He had glanced into the rooms of the other two women and noted that they were still comatose. A striking redhead with 38DD jugs and a brunette with small Bs slept with the angels, waiting for the blessed awakening.
What a waste.
Washburn pushed those thoughts aside as he approached the bed, gazing at the woman who glared back at him. Her shoulder-length black hair was tangled and her brown eyes were steady and expressive. She sat back on the bed, crossing one well-shaped leg over the other and appraising him with anger. Long, manicured nails stair-stepped intercrossed fingers and her posture drew her spine straight, giving her an almost
royal
air.
"Miss … "
"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"
Her arrogant attitude shocked him and he paused in reaching for his stethoscope. "You don't remember your name?"
"Nope."
"What do you remember?"
"I remember some white bastard beating the hell out of me."
Those words stunned him. "Do you remember what he looked like?"
"Nope." She slumped at the release of the word. "Not really. Blond hair. Light eyes, maybe green or blue. White skin."
Washburn nodded. "Good. That's a start." He nodded to the nurse. "Now, why don't you relax? You're in the hospital and you're safe."
"No, I'm not." Her measured words caught the ears of everyone in the room. "I'm not safe. Not until I know how and why I got here."
Dr. Washburn agreed. "That's great, but until then, you are my patient. Now, if you'd kindly sit down, I'd like to take your pulse."
Wearing a look of defiance, the girl known as Jane Doe allowed someone to touch her, a first since she'd been admitted eighty-six days earlier.
*****
Alex Pontorino stood patiently and watched as the doctor, two nurses and a technician left the room of the young black woman. None paid any attention to the janitorial staffer. After all, she was there to change the sheets, not to change the world. She was an inconsequential cog in the workings of life and even less important than those who could save lives.
