Impact (Fuzed Trilogy Book 1)

by David E Stevens

  Why were men so squeamish when it came to blood and needles? While he carefully studied the wall, she studied him. He had short, curly, dark hair with unusual, almost red, highlights. A strong jaw gave him a good masculine face, very handsome but approachable.

  Finishing with a Band-Aid, she said, “That takes care of the IV. Now, we’ll remove your EKG leads.”

  He looked back at her with some relief and smiled. His eyes were gray. No, not gray. They were a color she’d never seen. They looked as though someone had mixed all the eye colors in a blender, sort of a steel-gray with flecks of brown, green, and blue mixed in, beautiful and intense.

  She opened the top of his gown and pulled the EKG leads off his chest, remembering how surprised she was that he had no scars. After arriving without an identity, they checked every square inch of his body for identifying marks. His skin was perfect and he had no dental work. Even children usually had some fillings or scars. “Just one more thing and you’ll be free.” She knew removing the urinary catheter was going to be uncomfortable and awkward. Distracting him, she said, “I don’t know if you are ... or were into tech stuff, but everyone’s talking about the new app that’s being released by iMagination tomorrow. It’s supposed to work on any device and across every operating system.”

  Grimacing, with one eye closed, he asked, “What does it do?”

  She continued casually, “Everything. It’s supposed to be the ultimate personal digital assistant and eclipse Siri.” She smiled. “It combines GPS, calendar, language translator, video phone, search engine, practically every app ever invented into one seamless program.” She shrugged. “Kind of the mother of all apps.”

  Clenching the bedrail, he whispered, “Expensive?”

  “They’re offering it for free, at least for now. I’m sure once we’re all addicted to it, they’ll charge for upgrades, like everything else.”

  As she finished and cleaned him up, she thought he definitely had the body of a professional athlete. He could have been Michelangelo’s model for David, except David wasn’t quite as buff ... in some areas. “OK, we’re done.”

  He nodded without making eye contact.

  “I’ll put in an order for some food. Other than hamburgers, is there anything else you’d like?”

  He shook his head.

  Pulling her gloves off, she said, “I’ll be right back.” Despite her reassurance, amnesia was not common, particularly with no sign of trauma. She had watched his face when he learned how they’d found him. He had been genuinely surprised and confused. She tried to imagine what it would be like to lose her identity. Her heart went out to him. An amnesiac with perfect health, the body of an athlete, and no identifying marks or history, he was the most interesting case she’d ever seen.

  As she left, he let out a relieved sigh. That was uncomfortable and made more so because she was a beautiful woman. Making sure no one was around, he slid his feet to the floor. Standing up slowly, a wave of vertigo swept through him. He steadied himself against the bed rail, waiting until it passed. Then, carefully, let go and stretched. He actually felt remarkably well. The little ache he’d always had in his back from soccer and karate tournaments wasn’t there. His right knee, injured in a hard skydiving landing, didn’t twinge at all. In fact, he felt better than he could remember. He navigated carefully to the small bathroom, closed the door and went straight to the mirror over the sink.

  He froze.

  Someone else stared back. He actually tilted his head to prove it was him. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected ... but not this! They had totally altered his appearance. Only his six-foot height remained. He had to admit, the face in the mirror was better looking. Although he still appeared to be the same age, on a scale from zero to ten, he’d gone from an average looking five to a nine.

  He smiled ... at least he’d never have to work on his tan again. His skin was right between the whitest white guy and the blackest black guy.

  He peeled his hospital gown down and studied his upper body in the mirror. He’d always played sports, but now he looked like an Olympic athlete. He didn’t have huge, bulging muscles, but they were very well developed and proportioned with little body fat. If he hadn’t seen his face, he’d swear his body belonged to a twenty-year-old.

  The small mirror only reflected the top half of his body. As he dropped the gown and stepped back from the mirror, he looked down. “Oh my God!” He wasn’t circumcised anymore! For some reason, this was the biggest shock of all.

  There was a loud knock at the door. Elizabeth’s voice asked, “Are you alright? Do you need help?”

  “Uh ... no. Everything’s, uh ... fine in here ... thank you.”

  “All right.”

  Looking back in the mirror, he quietly asked, “Why would they have reversed...?”

  The truth finally sank in. Glancing at his hand as he flexed his fingers, he said quietly, “They didn’t fix your body ... they replaced it.” He frowned. “That’s not possible. Even if you can clone a body, you can’t just stuff someone’s consciousness into it.” He looked back at the mirror. “Can you?”

  The answer frowned back at him.

  Stepping close to the mirror and leaning forward, he carefully studied the shape of his eyes, nose and cheekbones. He examined his skin color, hair, and the proportions of his body. He shook his head as if to knock the thought loose, but the evidence was there. Into the mirror, he said, “You, my friend, look like you have a grandparent from every continent.” He frowned and added, “Jesse and friends clearly don’t have any ethical issues with creating a genetic Frankenstein.”

  He put his hospital gown back on but looked back in the mirror one more time. With a slight headshake, he said to his reflection, “If they’re this cavalier about creation, how concerned might they be about ... termination?”

  6

  IDENTIFY

  Elizabeth grabbed a quick lunch in the cafeteria with two other nurses.

  Between mouthfuls, a young nurse named Leslee Wong, asked Elizabeth, “So? What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “How many mysterious John Doe patients do we have?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “He seems pretty normal.”

  “And very cute.” Frowning, Leslee asked, “Think he was abducted by aliens?”

  Lesia Rabb, a beautiful Queen Latifah look-a-like, and the ICU Charge Nurse, laughed. “More like a brainwashed government agent.”

  “My mom doesn’t care who I marry, but Dad insists on a nice Chinese guy.” Staring at the ceiling, Leslee added, “But I bet I could get a guy like this by him.”

  Lesia shook her head. “Sorry, Leslee, he’s clearly a brother with some mixed blood.” Winking at Elizabeth, she added, “If no one claims him, I may have to take him home.”

  “But you’re married,” Leslee said with a sincere frown.

  With a look of mock surprise, she said, “Oh, yeah.”

  Elizabeth laughed. She wasn’t surprised they found him attractive, but she was surprised that each assumed he was primarily of their race. She too had assumed he was Caucasian with some mixed ancestry.

  Walking back to the unit with Lesia, Elizabeth said, “He really is a fascinating mixture, isn’t he? It adds to the mystery and makes him — I mean the case — very interesting.”

  Lesia looked at her with raised eyebrows and a slight smile.

  He sat up in his bed with his arms crossed, staring at the wall and thinking. His appearance actually made a weird kind of sense. They improved food crops and livestock by combining different genetic lines. If they were trying to cull the best attributes from the population — the one in a hundred million abilities Jesse mentioned — they would have to pull genes from every race. His old body had already been a combination of French, English and Irish with some Native American and African in the mix, but now he was sure he was all that and more. If nothing else, he’d have fun filling out the forms that ask for ethnic background.

  He looked up as Elizabe
th came into his room.

  “Remember anything?”

  “Nothing new.”

  As she took his vital signs, she said softly, “John Doe is a bit impersonal. Is there something you’d like us to call you?”

  To be on the safe side, he decided to use his middle name, Joshua. When he was young, his mother called him Josh almost exclusively.

  “Uh, Josh sounds familiar.”

  “Josh it is.”

  Seeing the needle in her hand, he asked, “Think they’ll run out of things to test before I run out of blood?”

  She shrugged with a smile. “It’s possible.”

  He wasn’t going to watch her draw blood, so he studied her. With a cute, dimpled smile, she had the proverbial girl-next-door beauty, mixed with exotic, dark eyes. About five-foot-nine, she looked like a natural blonde, but with a surprisingly dark olive complexion. It was hard to tell with scrubs, but she looked like she had a trim, athletic body with curves in the right places. She also carried herself with confidence, which he always found attractive. As she pulled her gloves off, he saw a wedding ring.

  Finishing up, she said, “All the tests so far indicate you’re in exceptionally good health.” She leaned over conspiratorially. “In fact, better health than all of the hospital staff.”

  He nodded but his eyes unfocused as he thought, Great. I have an enhanced body, and I’m sitting on its butt. He had to get out of here.

  Misinterpreting his expression, she said, “It must be awful to lose your identity.”

  He smiled. “Probably somewhere between losing your mind and your car keys.”

  She laughed.

  “So what’s the staff’s theory on me?”

  “Oh, you don’t want to know.”

  “I could use some humor right now.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

  “Please.”

  “Well, let’s see. You were in a witness protection program that went bad. You were a troublesome CIA agent whose memory was erased. Hmmm ... oh yeah, you’re a secret sleeper agent planted by a foreign country.”

  Laughing, he asked, “How’d they come up with that one?”

  “Well, you have a nice mocha complexion,” she smiled, “and you’re not....” She suddenly appeared uncomfortable. “I mean you’re....” She blushed.

  He wanted to help but had no idea where she was going.

  Finally, she blurted out, “You’re not circumcised.”

  It was his turn to blush.

  Continuing quickly, she said, “You were unconscious for several days. You got a lot of attention because of the mystery, and, of course, the nursing staff knows what you look like in your birthday suit.”

  He had unconsciously pulled his bed sheet up.

  Clearly suppressing a laugh, she added, “Sorry, TMI.” Saving him from further embarrassment, she continued, “The other ideas go from being neuralyzed by the Men In Black to alien abduction and clone experiments.”

  He laughed, but then stopped. He realized the last one might actually be correct.

  She looked at him curiously. “You OK?”

  With complete honesty, he said, “I’m sorry. The ideas really are funny, but I realized I can’t be sure that one of them might not be true.” Quickly changing the subject, he asked, “What about you, Elizabeth? Where are you from?”

  “Oh, we don’t need to talk about me.”

  “Well, right now, we can’t really talk about where I’m from.”

  She gave him a touché smile and said, “I was born in Austin, Texas, the oldest of several brothers and sisters. My childhood was good, if a little boring.”

  “Why did you go into nursing?”

  “I actually started out as a computer major. My dad had a computer repair business, and I spent hours on his lap learning from him. Loved helping people with their computer problems, but realized most computer jobs don’t interact with people. I like helping people directly, so I tried nursing. Love it.”

  “Miss computers?”

  “No, I still help my friends with them and like to play with the latest tech.”

  “Kids?”

  She looked down and said softly, “No.” She paused. “I ... I was married for a few months, but he died in a motorcycle accident.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s been over a year. I don’t think about it much anymore.” She paused. “I’d better get on with my rounds.”

  Not wanting her to leave on that note, he read her nametag, and asked, “Is Edvardsen Scandinavian?”

  “Yes, it’s my maiden name.”

  “That would explain the blonde hair but....”

  “Yeah, I know.” She laughed. “The skin and eyes don’t match. I think I have some relatives from India.”

  “Well, the combination works beautifully.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. I need to get back to work. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “You already have.”

  They locked eyes for a fraction of a second and then she said, “They’ll be moving you out of ICU soon, but I’ll check in with you before then.”

  Elizabeth updated his stats on the computer in the hall. She paused. Josh seemed like a nice guy. He was intelligent, easy to talk to and funny. The bad news was there was something seriously wrong with his brain. Or ... he was hiding something, something bad enough he’d be willing to give up his identity. Either way, he was probably trouble. So, why was she smiling?

  As she walked down the hall, she saw Dr. Dutton talking to the hospital administrator, Ned Brockmeyer. Hearing him ask about their John Doe, she joined them.

  Dutton was saying, “We ran the entire alphabet soup of tests: CT, MRI, EEG, etc. They all came back normal.” She corrected herself, “No, actually, they all came back perfect.”

  Brockmeyer smiled. “Hope his insurance is equally healthy. Have the police identified him yet?”

  Dutton shook her head. “No, his fingerprints haven’t turned up anything. They’re checking DNA.”

  Brockmeyer frowned. “Great, that means a huge diagnostic bill and no insurance.”

  “The next step is to bring in a psychiatrist,” Dutton added. “Severe emotional trauma can also cause amnesia.”

  “A psychiatrist?” Brockmeyer shook his head sharply. “Absolutely not! That’s just more charges we’ll never get reimbursed for. He’s taking up a bed that could be used by, uh, other patients.”

  Elizabeth knew Brockmeyer meant “insured” patients. Short and bald with a Napoleon complex, he had the compassion of a brick.

  Dutton nodded in agreement. “You’re right of course.” Looking thoughtful, she asked, “If he turned out to be some kind of terrorist, the hospital wouldn’t be held liable ... would we?”

  Brockmeyer frowned, and with an exaggerated sigh, he said, “OK, we can have a shrink check him out, but I want you to make sure Homeland Security is involved. If he turns out to be dangerous,” he smiled unpleasantly, “it’ll be their problem.”

  As Brockmeyer scurried off, Dutton winked at Elizabeth.

  Josh devoured the food they brought up. It was just a hamburger and French fries, but it was different somehow. He realized he was experiencing complex flavors he’d never tasted before. After he finished eating, he was bored. There were no TVs in ICU, and he was playing with the blood pressure monitor when Elizabeth returned. She was a welcome diversion even though he suspected she was just going to draw more blood.

  With a smile, she said, “Good news. Since all your tests are negative, they’re bringing in a mind specialist.”

  He frowned. “A psychiatrist?”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s Dr. Sheri Lopez!”

  He looked at her blankly.

  “Sorry. She’s a well-known psychiatrist and bestselling author. She even had her own daytime TV talk show. You don’t recognize the name at all?”

  “No.” He honestly didn’t, but he’d never watched much TV.

  “She’ll be in tomorrow morning.�
�

  He nodded, wondering if a psychiatrist would see through his amnesia claim.

  “They’re moving you to a regular room in a few hours.”

  He would no longer be under Elizabeth’s care and probably wouldn’t see her again. She was the closest thing he had to a friend. “Thanks. Thanks for taking care of me.”

  She smiled. “You’re a lot noisier than most of my neuro patients.” Winking, she added, “I’ll check in on you after you’re relocated.”

  After they moved him to a new room and found him a bathrobe, he watched the news networks. Interspersed between the moral and legal tribulations of celebrities, he picked up a little information about his missing year. He also discovered his new body needed only a few hours of sleep.

  Jesse indicated they had given him the ability to communicate at any time. He had no idea how, but with their obviously advanced medical technology, some type of communication implant was possible.

  It was late at night, and the nurse had made her rounds. He made sure no one was outside in the hall. Feeling stupid, like trying to make a phone call without a phone, he said, “Jesse, this is....” He stopped, realizing he wasn’t even sure what to call himself anymore. Since it felt like he was talking on a radio, he decided to use his call sign. “Jesse, this is Fuzed, over. Can you read me?” He tried one more time.

  He shook his head, realizing how ridiculous it was. He knew no one was going to answer him. They’d probably contact him after he was released from the hospital. He had to get out of here but not in a bathrobe.

  7

  PSYCH

  Early the next morning, a woman entered his room. Petite, professional and attractive, she had black hair, a nice tan and dark, penetrating eyes. With a stylish sports jacket and silk blouse, he suspected her clothes weren’t from Wal-Mart. As he shook her hand, the diamond encrusted Rolex confirmed it.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Sheri Lopez.”