Sawyer's mouth felt as if he'd been marching in the desert. There was no moisture, even when he ran his tongue along his lips. He cracked his eyes open to be blinded by the bright sunlight streaming through the open curtains.
Had it been a dream?
, he thought to himself. He sat up and looked around the room. It was the same room, the same hideously tan walls meant to soothe, but made him want to vomit. The older equipment, humming and beeping. The well used dry erase board with his nurse's information on it, the date and the day's doctor. As he skimmed over the neatly handwritten information, he stopped at the date. It had been two weeks since the incident at the mall.
Two weeks! What the hell?
He lay back on the bed and rubbed his throbbing head.
A million thoughts ran through his head. As he lay there trying to sort everything out, he heard singing. Only it was in his head, and it was a woman singing. It took him a minute to realize it was in Chinese, Mandarin to be exact, and that he understood the words. The singing continued as the door opened and a young Chinese woman entered the room backwards. Sawyer couldn't help but admire her shapely derriere. She had used it to open the door while she pulled a well used adjustable table into the room. The table had a pile of paperwork, what looked like an IV bag and several needles.
"Oh, you're awake," she said. While her accent wasn't thick, but he could tell English wasn't her native language. She abandoned her table and came to his bedside. "Try not to speak, you've been in a coma for two weeks. No need to damage your vocal chords."
Her name tag read Lien-hua, the same name on the dry erase board. She was a little more than five foot tall, trim athletic build with small supple breasts. Her glossy jet black hair was pulled into a ponytail at the center of her head, and the ends touched between her shoulder blades. She bustled around him, like an angry honey bee, taking his vitals, changing out the empty IV bags all the while asking simple questions about how he was felling, that only required a nod or a shake of the head. She moved so fast and efficiently that when she was done, Sawyer had a headache. She left the room with her rolling table, and the room quieted down.
She returned a few minutes later with a large insulated cup. "Now, I want you to chew on these ice chips for now until Dr. Pierre-Louis sees you." He nodded and reached for the cup. As he took the cup, his fingers brushed against hers, and he was rocked by a jolt. Her memories, fantasies, emotions washed over him like a large wave crashing on the shore. He had looked into her very soul, and knew her better than she knew herself. Sawyer clenched his eyes, trying to stem the flow of emotional information. When he opened his eyes, she was double checking his hookups.
He was about to whisper a question when the door opened and a man's head popped in. He was older, his mustache had more gray than brown. The harsh florescent lights reflected off of his bald head.
"Hey, yer awake," he said pushing the door open, and stepping in. He was tall, and thick, not overly fat, but fat on top of cords of muscle. His belly was protruding ever so slightly from the opening of his rumpled sport's jacket, that had obviously seen better days. There was a large dark stain on the left lapel of the sport's jacket that looked suspiciously like mustard. The right cuff had frayed on the inside as if it had been rubbing against something. Everything about him smelled like a cop. The way he walked, the way he carried himself, confident yet cautious. His eyes were quickly scanning the room as if looking for threats.
The cop was followed by a younger woman, she was his polar opposite. Short and thin, her light colored hair was stylishly cut short, as to deter its use as a hand hold. Her pant suit was immaculate, not a speck of lint or stray hairs and was neatly pressed. The top two buttons of her shirt were unbuttoned, allowing a glimpse of a small-chained gold necklace. She carried herself as if she always had something to prove to someone.
"We're lucky yer awake, been stopping by everyday just to talk to ya," the man said reaching into his sport's coat producing a worn leather wallet that with a flick of his wrist opened to reveal a gold badge. "I'm Detective Sergeant Richard Sanders, this is my partner Detective Ronnie Mars." Sawyer looked over to the woman who merely nodded towards him. "We'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind." He said producing a small digital recorder.
Lien-hua giggled, "You're Veronica Mars?" Mars' eyes narrowed to slits.
Asian slut, probably slept with half the staff.
She was about to lash out with an insult when Sanders snapped his head at the younger detective and shook his head. He knew how much she hated that she and the television show shared the same name. Lien-hua smiled sweetly and looked to Sawyer. He laid his hand on her arm reassuringly and nodded. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said leaning over the bed rail. "If you want me to throw them out, just hit the call button," she said quietly. Sawyer nodded. She smiled at him and left the room. He couldn't help but admire her on the way out.
Sanders chuckled, "I've been chasing that little girl for two years now." Mars rolled her eyes in disgust. Sawyer opened his mind and could hear her.
Sanders, you're an idiot.
Sawyer took an ice chip and slipped it between his lips. The cold wetness was like heaven. Within seconds the ice was gone and he was fishing out another piece to replace it. Sanders began the interview by asking simple questions. His interview was concise and well thought out. Sanders asked the questions as if he already knew the answers. Sawyer whispered his answers the best he could, taking them step by step from the time he heard the malfunctioning rifle to the first shots. Sanders would jot a note here or there, relying on the recorder to record everything else. Mars would interject a question or two here and there, clarifying something that he had said.
She didn't disguise her dislike of him, or his actions. Thinking that he was some some sort of glory hound.
This is a waste of time,
Mars thought openly.
