Concealed in the Shadows

by Gabrielle Arrowsmith

  “She’s waking up,” a masculine voice announces. “You talk to her this time. I’ll be right outside the door.”

  “Hi there. My name is Dellaphine and I’m your nurse. Della, if you like. How are you doing?” asks a woman with a funny accent. She sits on the edge of the bed I lie in. She blinks blankly as I hesitate to answer.

  “I don’t know,” I answer.

  “Do you feel nauseous at all?” she asks with an overly friendly grin that makes me feel as though she’s talking to a child.

  “I don’t think so,” I decide. The nurse anxiously places something that was in her hand on a nearby tray. I follow the clinking and see that the device, some kind of shot, rests beside blood-crusted surgical tools that line the tray.

  “That’s good. Last time you got sick,” the nurse says. “I don’t know if it was because of the concussion or the fluid you had in your lungs. You’re lucky we found you. You had swallowed enough water to become very sick from secondary drowning.”

  Last time? Drowning? What is she talking about?

  “Just remember we’re here to help you, okay? What’s your name, darling?”

  Something is wrong. “I don’t know,” I realize. Am I supposed to know this person? Am I supposed to know where I am or how I got here? I’m sure I’m supposed to know my name, but I don’t. I don’t know my own name. My heart begins to race.

  “It’s okay, honey. You can trust us. We’re here to help you,” she repeats.

  “Help me with what?” I wonder out loud.

  She ponders this for a second. “We’re here to help you get away from Miles.”

  “Who’s Miles?” I ask her. What has happened to me?

  “Galv!” the woman calls. She stands up from the bed and adjusts her garments.

  “I heard,” a man sighs at the doorway. I don’t think I was supposed to know he was there. He paces in and pulls up a rolling chair beside the bed I lay in. “My name is Galvesten and I’m your doctor. Do you remember who this is?” he motions toward the nurse who stands and smiles awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

  “Dellaphine,” I answer. “What happened to me?”

  “Della, yes. It seems like you are experiencing amnesia. Do you know what that is?”

  “It’s where you can’t remember,” I answer.

  “Right. Good. That’s a good sign. This happens sometimes. It’s probably very temporary. You’ll start remembering soon,” he assures. “I know it’s tough, but the more relaxed you can be, the better for your recovery.”

  Now I notice that I do feel dizzy and nauseous. I also see that both of my wrists are wrapped in bandages. I don’t know who I am but I’m worried that I tried to kill myself. Something about that burns deep within me. “Did I hurt myself?” I ask, slightly lifting my wrists, but too ashamed to lift my eyes.

  “No,” Dellaphine responds quickly, realizing my reference before the doctor does. “I’ve got this, Galv,” the woman says to the doctor. He cautiously removes himself from the room. “Listen. And try to trust me, okay? You used to live in Miles County. Does that sound familiar to you?”

  “No,” I admit.

  “That’s okay, you will remember, hon,” she assures. This Della seems very sweet. I do feel like she reminds me of someone. At the same time, I feel like it bothers me that she’s using all of these terms of endearment with me. I’m torn with how I feel about her, and utterly confused about everything else.

  “My head hurts some. I had a concussion?” I ask.

  “Have,” she corrects. “You had to have hit it pretty hard. I can get you some more medicine to take the pain down if you’d like.”

  “Do you know how I hit my head?” I ask. I am more concerned with finding out who I am and why I’m here than with feeling better. Della and I hear two knocks against the doorframe.

  “Come in,” Della invites amiably. A young man walks through the doorway. He is of average height with a toned build and has light, ashen hair. I take him to be some kind of laborer, who spent most of his summer days under the hot sun. “Oh, it’s you. Shouldn’t I see you with an icepack on that face?” I take a closer look at his bronzed face. One of the lids above his tranquil, green eyes is red and puffy. The skin below that eye is yellowing from the inside corner. In fact, the whole left side of his face is swollen a smidge wider than the right. His tanned skin reddens when he becomes aware of my persistent peer.

  “I’m fine, Del,” he snickers. “Doc said she might have amnesia,” he says as he looks to me. He and the nurse exchange a look and she nods. They’ve agreed upon something secretive, and I’m irritated that I’m not let in on the secret since it clearly pertains to me.

  “I’m Cy,” he says. His expression is a mix of concern and bashfulness. The tone he uses to introduce himself and his shyness signify that this is probably his first introduction to me. His warmth and soft eyes are inviting, but why is he here if we don’t know each other?

  “Do I know you?” I ask.

  “No,” he responds, looking a little dejected to say so.

  “Do you know me?

  “Kind of,” he decides after a moment of deliberation. He lifts his hand and begins to nibble on his thumbnail, as if putting something to his face takes the pressure off him.

  “Do you know my name?”

  “Sorry, I don’t,” he confesses. I conclude that he doesn’t know who I am any more than I do right now.

  “I feel like my name starts with a V,” I offer to the nurse.

  “Oh, okay!” Della chirps. “We’ll try to help you think of it. Um, Victoria?” she guesses. I shake my head, but I’m not really sure either way.

  “Veronica?” Cy suggests, entering the room. He seems to appreciate a direction in this conversation between strangers.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You just stop us if you hear something that seems familiar,” Della instructs.

  “Venus?” Cy tries.

  “Venus?” Della cracks at Cy. “Does she look like a Venus?”

  I don’t know. I have no idea what I look like.

  “Hey! Inside names can be quite creative,” Cy remarks sarcastically. What does he mean by inside names?

  “Is there a mirror?” I ask, deciding looking at one might be a better avenue to finding out who I am. Della and Cy stop their babbling abruptly when they realize why I’m asking to see a mirror. Della mumbles as she sifts through a couple of large, zip-up briefcase bags on the floor. Cy leaves the room and goes down what must be a hallway to look for one. The way Della rummages about the room makes me wonder if she really works here.

  “There’s one in that bathroom at the end of the hall,” Cy peeks his head back in to inform us. “We’d have to move the generator and the light.” I look up and notice that the source of light in the room is a high-wattage lamp clamped above the bed. It’s plugged into a heavy-looking machine that has chords tangled all about it.

  “We’d have to move the patient,” Della coyly adds. The patient, the lonesome girl who is devoid of a name. Here I sit, too attached to machines and wires to venture down a hallway. I’m clearly in a less-than-healthy state, yet there is no one that knows or cares about me enough to support me during my recovery. There must be someone. Maybe no one knows that I’m hurt and that I’m here, wherever here is.

  “Here.” Cleverly, Cy removes the medical instruments from the shiny tray that stands at the head of the bed next to an IV stand. The apparatuses haven’t been cleaned, but the blood does not faze him. No one touches a stranger’s blood with their bare hands in a hospital. I may not know much else right now, but I know that. This room is eerie and these people are too peculiar. I have an uncanny intuition that all is not right here.

  Cy holds the makeshift mirror in front of me. I see a young woman whose eyes I’m drawn to. They’re deep-set, yet prominent. The blue-green iris is outlined heavily in dark blue, offsetting the golden ring that surrounds the pupil. Light freckles dot my smooth, pale skin. I have thick, che
stnut hair hanging just below my neck in an unsightly ponytail. A few long, stray bangs stick to my forehead. I’ve either recently been very sweaty, and have naturally wavy hair, or it was slept on wet.

  “Valerie or Vanessa?” Della suggests, still holding the tray for me. I stop looking at myself because it doesn’t seem to help me decide on my name.

  “Violet,” Cy tries again, half-jokingly to annoy Della. His initial awkwardness has quickly faded and already he seems comfortable, even charming.

  “That sounds familiar.” I’m a bit embarrassed that his joke may be my name, but I’m not going to ignore that finally something pings of familiarity just because a stranger thinks it’s absurd. Cy shoots a surprised glance at Della, and a regretful one at me. “I don’t think that’s it though. Maybe it doesn’t start with a V, but I feel like it has one in it. I don’t know,” I admit.

  Della and Cy immediately take heed that I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and a touch depressed.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Della comforts. “It’ll come.” Quietly she changes her focus to Cy. “Your partner didn’t stop in. Am I to take it that he didn’t get hurt or didn’t get too hurt?”

  “Too hurt,” Cy laughs. “He’s on chip duty.”

  “What and where were his injuries, Cylis Davids?” Della demands. I enjoy the jesting between these two and I suddenly decide I like them both.

  “Bruising maybe. Nothing much. Rib cage. Twice,” he adds with a smile.

  “What happened to all of us?” I ask Cy, assuming my injuries are connected to his.

  “You happened,” he chuckles. “I’m not too proud to say it.”

  “What?” I thought he didn’t know me. I’m growing irritated that no one is giving me a straight answer about how I got here. You would think Cy does know me for how accurately he identifies my change in temperament again.

  “You live in Miles County. It’s small compared to the others, population wise I mean. Do you know what a city is?” Cy asks.

  “Yeah. A bunch of business buildings crammed into a circle,” I reply.

  “Yes, good. Especially the circle part.” He winks at Della and waits for her to acknowledge my progress. My nurse concedes it, which makes me feel a bit better.

  “I’m going to step out. Holler if anything changes, Cy.” Della takes only a step toward the door when she whirls back around. “Oh! Your medicine,” she interjects. “I’ll be back with it.”

  Cy scoots his rolling chair closer to me. “Anyway, you didn’t like Miles, and you were thinking about escaping out here.”

  My head is flooded with questions. Why didn’t I like Miles? Where is out here? And how can this outsider possibly know my intentions when he doesn’t even know my name? I decide on one question to ask. “Where is out here? Where are we now?”

  “We are at a hospital.”

  “It doesn’t sit well with me,” I tell him bluntly. “It doesn’t match up to what a hospital should look like, and I don’t think it’s because I bumped my head.”

  “That’s because our real hospital is three hours from where they found you,” Della supplies as she returns. “And even that hospital wouldn’t look like the hospitals you’re remembering.” She attaches a little vial to the tubing between the bag of fluids and my hand. “The medicine should kick in soon,” she says, pointing to the drip.

  “Our township is between Billings, Miles, Rapids, and Casper counties,” Cy continues, “but I suppose those names mean nothing to you.” He’s right. I don’t recognize the names of any of the places he mentioned. “It’s mostly south, and a little bit west of Miles County, where you lived. Right now we are at the temporary hospital. It’s vacant unless we have an emergency. We called Galvesten and Della to meet us to help you.”

  “Thank you,” I offer, deciding the formality is probably in order. “What was the emergency?”

  “Your concussion,” Della responds, dumbfounded by my question. “We gave you an ample dosage of steroids to reduce the swelling.”

  “How did it happen?” I ask Cy, deciding Della isn’t apt to answer the question.

  “Where is she?” A harsh voice cuts in from around the corner. I hope it is someone who knows me that is finally arriving to this desolate place.

  “Who are you?” the young, tall man demands from me. There is no denying he is strikingly handsome. He has dark hair and deep blue eyes. I might be attracted to him if he weren’t screaming at and unnerving me.

  “What’s your name?” he shouts, now getting in my face.

  “Relax, man,” Cy says, lamely trying to pull him from my space. “What’s your problem?”

  “Her chip had a mike and she looks a lot older than three to me.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Cy,” the man says harshly, but there’s a sorrow in his eyes as he tells this to Cy. These two know each other well. He must be Cy’s partner. Cy told Della that he suffered blows to the ribcage during whatever scuffle we all endured. If he’s hurt, it doesn’t show. His presence makes me feel small, weak.

  “She’s a trap!” he says, shaking Cy’s shoulders with the intent to eradicate any protestations from my new acquaintance. Somehow, the heated man does not intimidate Cy. He shakes himself free of the man’s grasp.

  “You don’t know that,” he throws back. “Just settle down and give her a chance to explain.” If I am a trap, whatever that means, I sure don’t know it. How am I supposed to explain myself?

  “I have amnesia,” squeaks out. It’s all I can offer.

  “The hell you do! You’re playing dumb, aren’t you? Did you set us up?” he accuses as he powerfully takes hold of my bicep.

  Suddenly, it feels hard to breathe. I become extremely dizzy as my lips quiver and find no words to defend myself to this stranger. One of the machines I’m connected to starts beeping fitfully.

  “Knock it off, Crewe,” Cy begs.

  “Galv!” Della calls as she frets over me.

  “What is it?” The doctor hurries in to see what the ruckus is about.

  “Panic attack, maybe?” Della questions. I fight for air, but can’t seem to swallow the knot in my throat that’s preventing me from inhaling.

  “Crewe, get out of here,” the doctor orders. The man doesn’t budge. “I’m in charge in here,” the doctor says, glaring at him. “Now!” He finally turns and makes his way out, but not before punching the doorframe with his bare fist. I’m glad to see him go, but it doesn’t help the air come any easier. “Cy, you too. Just go,” the doctor demands, without allowing a moment for protest.

  The doctor raises my legs onto his shoulders. “We can’t issue any more of the sedative,” he says to Della. “It’s sure to be what brought on the amnesia.”

  “What if Crewe’s right, Galv?” Della begins to panic. “If she is a trap, we should be moving quickly, shouldn’t we?” Something should be done quickly, but it’s not moving, it’s saving my life. Can’t they see that I’m suffocating? I reach up for the doctor who distractedly cycles my legs.

  “You need to stay calm, Della. All right? We’ll handle that. Disconnect her. We are going, and she’s coming with us.”

  “She can’t like this. She needs—”

  “Chloroform,” Galvesten interrupts. I hope that’s something to help me breath. I know I’ve heard the word before, but I can’t find its meaning. Della fiddles with a large medical duffle bag while Galvesten decides to unplug the beeping machine and the other chords from the unit. He pulls sticky pads from my chest and gets up to shove them in another bag.

  Everything goes fuzzy. Am I dying or just passing out? Something wet is gently placed over my nose and mouth. “This is going to help you breathe, sweetie.” I can sense her by my side, but Della’s voice sounds so remote. “Just breathe,” she says as she methodically strokes my hair.

  Thankfully, this treatment does help me to breathe. Then, just as quickly as this mystery substance became my savior, it becomes my enemy. It’s useless to fight the para
lyzing power of the liquid. I don’t trust this group anymore with the addition of the raging man and the accusation he brought against me. I’m terrified as I lose myself, falling victim to their control.