Stranger in my Bed (full series)

by Kristen James

Ellison comes back in and rushes to my side.

  “I got it!” I hold up a hand to keep him away. “Why you do step outside to talk about my health? Isn’t that illegal?”

  His face twists into a what? expression.

  I throw a hand toward the door. “What do you two have to talk about? Shouldn’t he be answering my questions?”

  He sinks down into the chair and rests his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry this is so tough for you.”

  “You’re making it tougher. I’d like to be included in discussions about my health.”

  He nods in a noncommittal way.

  “What is it?”

  His head tilts to one side and back, another vague gesture. “We’re taking this slow, Megan. You’ve felt overwhelmed with all this, and I don’t want anything getting you down…again.”

  I glance at him involuntarily and immediately look away. I stare out the window but I’m not seeing anything now.

  Chapter Four

  Ellison is gone at the moment and the nurse comes in. Her long curly hair is pulled up into a high ponytail today. Bethany begins, as always, by asking me how I’m feeling. I ignore that question.

  “Can I ask you something?” I wait for her to look at me. “Why aren’t there any other nurses, or anyone out there?” I nod toward the hall.

  “Tired of me?” She plants her fists on her hips and narrows one eye like a pirate.

  “Well, no, I just—I’m surprised I haven’t seen ten different nurses or noticed other people about.”

  “You are at the end of the hall in this ward.” She steps closer and leans in to whisper, “Eli’s request. He forked over real money to get you the royal treatment. But that’s just between you and me.”

  Has she been this theatrical all along and I missed it?

  “I’m doing really well for someone who was in a coma for six weeks,” I say, changing tactics.

  “You’re very lucky.” She smiles brightly.

  “But don’t you think it’s odd?”

  She pauses and I grip the blanket.

  “I shouldn’t say this as a nurse…”

  “It’s perfectly fine.” I want to press her, to make demands, but I’m treading lightly instead. Something tells me it’ll work better.

  “Maybe love can bring patients out of a coma and help them heal faster. Your husband was here every second he could be. He got you the best care there is.”

  I stare at her dumbfounded for a minute too long.

  “Oh, well, of course.” I try for a smile. “But even so—”

  “I’m sure you’re full of questions, but just give it time.” She pats my hand. I would say we’re either close in age or she’s a few years younger than me, so the patting is extra patronizing.

  I deflate in the bed.

  She stops by the door on her way out. “And you know what they say! Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

  She turns and leaves with a bounce that is starting to bug me. Her sing-song voice rings in my head, her words making my temperature rise at a maddening rate.

  Was that a threat?

  That doesn’t make any sense.

  I am starting to think I’m trapped here in this hospital, which is another ridiculous idea. I’m just angry that I’m confined by my weakened state and confused mind. I’m over thinking everything.

  I will be patient and grow stronger, and then I’ll find a way to check into Eli, this hospital, and my identity. I just need to play along a little while longer.

  I sigh and close my eyes, trying to let the soft noises around me fade into something else. I purposefully try to let my mind wander, imagining what my life might have been like, searching through my brain. Images start to come to me. Driving in rush hour traffic, switching lanes and trying to get around cars.

  I walk into a restaurant and someone takes my coat, a long, black sleek thing. That’s the entirety of that image. It could be anything: a scene from a movie, something I saw through a window… maybe my life?

  I’m hopping onto the dock, from a boat I think, and taking a man’s hand. He wears a thick, navy blue sleeve.

  Nothing comes to mind when I think about Ellison, our wedding, our home, our friends, but one inescapable fact taunts me over and over: If this isn’t my life, why would Ellison say he knows me, and that we’re married?

  Wait a sec. I look down at my hands—at my bare left ring finger.

  Ellison left half an hour ago for a walk. I thought he kept taking walks to sneak a cigarette, but he hasn’t smelled like it. Phone calls? He does come back with a coffee and snacks, but I can’t help looking for double meanings to everything. The wait is excruciating until he strolls in the door a few minutes later, a small bag in hand. The curtain is pulled back all of the way, so I see his face as he comes in, blank at first and then coming to life at the sight of me.

  If he isn’t my husband…he’s a damn good actor when it comes to attraction.

  “Ellison.”

  He stops and sets the bag on the lunch table that pulls over my bed. I think he had planned on surprising me with a treat but my tone stops him from saying anything.

  “How long have we been married?”

  He pulls the chair closer and sits down. “Three years.”

  “Then where is my ring?”

  He looks at my hand like he’s checking for it. There isn’t a tan line or indentation on my finger from wearing a ring for three years.

  “They never brought it back.”

  “What?” I pull my hands closer and feel my ring finger, the way married women do.

  “After the accident, your things were put in a bag. When I finally went through it, about a month ago, I didn’t find your diamond earrings or wedding ring.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t wearing them, in the accident?”

  He looks up, about to argue. “I suppose, but I’m almost sure you were.”

  “Did we have a fight?”

  He had explained that I’d been driving on a curvy road and the first rain of autumn had made the pavement wet and oily. Happens every year, he said. People think they know how to drive on wet pavement, but they’re not prepared for a summer’s worth of oil coming out to make things slick.

  “I don’t remember that morning, to tell the truth. Not after two months. But I think I’d remember if we argued.”

  It seems to me that the day would be imprinted on his mind.

  “Meg, you do still love me, don’t you?”

  His words are a cold hand pressed around my heart. I feel sucker punched. I don’t want to hurt him, which surprises me.

  “Ellison…”

  “Eli, actually. You used to call me Eli.”

  At that, a funny little wave of something soothing rolls through me. My lungs suddenly pull in a big, deep breath on their own accord. What was that? Relief? There is something the tiniest bit familiar about calling him Eli.

  “Are you all right?” He moves even closer and takes my hand. When I don’t flinch, his other hand comes up. I let him wrap an arm across my back.

  “It’ll be okay,” he whispers, and I lean into him and close my eyes. His scent surrounds me: light, expensive cologne, a hint of mint. Both his arms encircle me and exhale. Ellison—Eli—presses his mouth into my hair, and his breathing sounds emotional.

  I feel so split: part of me doesn’t trust him at all while the other part needs this comfort. His hand begins rubbing circles on my back and it unravels me, so much I have to fight not to wrap my arms around him and grab handfuls of his shirt.

  I’m dying to get out of this hospital, and he seems to be my best shot at that, but I’m scared of that too. I just want to wake up normal, with my memory intact and my life to live.

  ***

  That awful panic slams back into me the next time I’m alone. Eli is in the shower. I want to accept what he says, but… but I need to validate it somehow. I yank the covers back and stand up. They gave me a thin robe to go over the even thinner hospital gown, and I tie it into pl
ace.

  I hear a voice in the hallway, fading away. When I peek out, a person turns the corner and disappears. I slip out, going left, because I’m slightly familiar with that way. It’s the direction we took to the elevator to go perform scans on my head and arm.

  Once I reach the next intersection, I go in a new direction. A middle aged woman and a teenager approach from the other direction, so I keep my pace normal and smile at them. But they’re real, honest to god people, maybe the first I’ve seen in a while besides Eli, Dr. Harris and Bethany.

  Walking takes effort. I’m going to have to build my strength back up. My headache hasn’t completely gone away, either, so when I turn my head, it feels like my brain is swiveling inside my skull. I’ll admit I’m still in a fog, and my emotions are hitting both ends of the spectrum. I have no idea what I’m doing or what I’m looking for, but I keep going, trying to act normal when I see people. Two nurses pass me, a young Hispanic male (about twenty, five foot five) and a Chinese woman (about twenty five, five foot.) They’re smiling at each other, their eyes lit up, and they hardly notice me.

  So there’s other people around—just not by my room.

  I keep going and a minute later something hits me: I actually recognized that woman as Chinese. Not Japanese or Asian. I can still picture the pattern on both of their scrubs. Interesting.

  The hallway ends in a door that says, “No Entrance.”

  I peek through and see white tarps, so I push it open. There’s dust on the floor and the windows are covered in plastic.

  It’s not a hospital… I look back, wondering how big the building is, and if it’s much smaller than I thought. I went to different parts, though, didn’t I? But it doesn’t seem like we went that far, now that I think about it.

  I stand still for several minutes, debating whether to keep looking or find my way back to my room.

  Finally I walk into the construction area. It’s oddly empty. No one is working on it. I walk down a long hallway that intersects another. I can go two ways, so I just pick the right. This area is big.

  Suddenly, I’m not sure I’ll be able to find my way out of here. It’s not normal for me, I know that, which is the scary part. My own ineptness makes my heart do funny rhythms, and I try to run. It turns to jogging, with a hand out to catch on the wall.

  Just when I start to worry I’m really lost, I find a double door and push through. It’s the end of a hallway with an elevator. I don’t see anyone down the hallway, just a few doors. So I push Down. The doors open and I get in and push the button for the first floor. When the doors open again, it’s another empty area. This is starting to feel like that movie, The Shining. Where is everyone?

  I find a door and look through the small window out into the rain, and a payphone. My chest fills with heat, a feeling I recognize. It’s my fight response, when I’m heading into a volatile situation.

  Another realization: I don’t take crap. I stick up for myself. I get answers when I need them.

  I open the door and hurry through the downpour. It’s loud. And cold. I get to the phone, yank it up and dial 9-1-1.

  “Hello. 9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

  Chapter Five

  What do I say?

  “9-1-1. Is there an emergency?”

  “I’m at a hospital in Portland, but it’s not. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

  Duh. 9-1-1 goes to your local dispatch so she already knew I was in Portland.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Megan. It could be Megan.”

  “Your last name?”

  I don’t remember. It was something completely unfamiliar. Ellison’s last name. I had a different one for thirty years before that.

  “Miss?”

  “I don’t know my last name.”

  “I have an officer on the way, okay? Just hang tight with me.”

  How does she have someone on the way? I look around, dizzy now. Oh, she traced the call apparently.

  “Are you hurt?” she asks.

  “Not now. I’m recovering from a car accident six weeks ago.”

  “At the hospital? Are you a patient there?”

  “Yes.” I don’t like giving that answer. Right then I see a patrol car pulling up to the curb closest to me, its lights flashing and reflecting on the wet pavement. There’s a few inches of water collecting in the downpour. “The officer is here.”

  I say goodbye as even more adrenaline pours through my veins. I need to sit down but there isn’t anywhere to sit, except a wet cement wall. I’m not sure I can walk to it right now.

  “Megan?” The officer is tall, and very dark skinned, but I can still make out his face in the rain. I’m caught by his pleasant, relaxed expression, so I don’t notice the other one right away. There’s two officers. A woman is coming behind him.

  “Yes,” I finally answer, aware I waited too long.

  The woman speaks to the first officer. “Let’s get her inside.”

  “No!”

  The man is coming right up next to me now. “Megan, what’s going on? Why do you think you need to leave the hospital?”

  He speaks calmly—you wouldn’t guess he’s standing in what feels like a waterfall.

  “It’s not right,” I yell. “I don’t even think my name is Megan. I don’t know the man who says we’re married. It’s all a big lie.”

  “A big conspiracy?” That’s the woman, standing back a few feet.

  The man keeps his gaze on me.

  “Okay, Megan, we’ll figure this out, okay? I’ll make sure you’re where you need to be. Let’s get out of this rain and talk. Okay?”

  I wrap my arms around myself, too cold to feel anything but pain all over. The male officer puts an arm around me and starts to guide me, but he must have noticed I’m barefoot and can hardly walk. Suddenly he picks me up like I’m nothing.

  A voice comes over one of their radios.

  “We’ve got her,” the woman answers, then glances at me and tells them where I was, how wet I am.

  Were they looking for me already?

  We’re met at the front door by staff. A nurse I haven’t seen has a blanket to wrap around me. Bethany is right behind her, though, with a wheelchair and a male nurse. They sit me down in the wheelchair and wrap the blanket around me. I’m shivering, and the pain in my head flares up so bad I’m having trouble following the conversation around me.

  “Megan!”

  I recognize Eli’s voice, frantic, and hear him running down the hall. He’s kneeling in front of me, holding my face and pushing back my wet hair. Water pours off my head.

  “My god, you’re freezing. And soaked. What happened?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Are you her husband?”

  I never got the officers’ names, and now they’re introducing themselves to Eli. The three of them talk about me like I’m not there, but I’m also not looking up at them. I duck my head, trying to disappear into the blanket. Finally, the first officer crouches down in front of me so we’re eye to eye.

  “Megan, I’m TJ. Can you tell me why you called 9-1-1?”

  “What?” Eli’s voice is hard.

  “Mr. Hawthorn, let her talk. Give us a few feet.” The warning works. Eli steps back.

  “I—I—don’t know… I’m not sure about this hospital.”

  To his credit, he doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I woke up here after an accident six weeks ago. I don’t remember anyone.”

  He nods. “You got scared?”

  It sounds like he’s giving me an out so I can let this whole thing go, if I want to.

  “Yes.” I don’t want to let this opportunity go, so I add, “There isn’t anything tying me to…him.” I don’t dare look at Eli. “I don’t know what to think. And I walked a ways from my room, and the hospital ends. There wasn’t anyone down that way.”

  “Ma’am, you’re in a Providence Hospital. That wing is under
construction.”

  My face lights on fire. They think I’m being silly and stupid. I risk a look at Ellison finally, expecting a stonewall expression or outright anger. He’s watching me, one eyebrow pulled down. Worried? Hurt?

  Officer TJ to him. “But I do understand where she’s coming from. You must have some proof to put her mind at ease?”

  “Of course,” Eli says naturally, not missing a beat. “Her bag is in the room with her driver’s license.”

  Why didn’t he show that to me earlier?

  “Alright, why don’t we all go to your room?” The officer stands. Then we move slowly up through the hospital to my room. Bethany wheels me in and locks the wheels, then leaves. Eli opens a cupboard and takes out an expensive brown Foster bag. As the door shuts, I notice a large see-through plastic bag with clothes and other items inside.

  He takes the wallet out and slides out a card, handing it to me.

  My face smiles back. The name reads Megan Hillary Hawthorn. It’s an Oregon license with an address in Sandy, the town we live in. They’re all watching me, I know without looking up. Instead I check out the bag…it’s pretty. And familiar. I recognize the bag.

  My heart fills with a mix of emotions: a little relief, but shame, and more confusion because this makes me wonder why I’ve been doubting everything. Is something wrong with me?

  “Mrs. Hawthorn, are we good?” TJ asks. I look up and try to read his eyes. He’s handsome, with a caring face, not what I’d expect for a cop in Portland. He’s truly asking me, not just trying to get out of here. I slowly nod, and he nods back, almost like we’re communicating. I glance at his chest and read his full name: TJ Leavey.

  Eli is standing back, his arms crossed, but he doesn’t look pissed off. I can’t read him at all. It freaks me out even more.

  The officers start to leave, but TJ gives me one last look before turning to go. I get the feeling he’d help me if I needed it.

  I keep my eyes on the door for a minute, waiting for an outburst. Eli moves slowly my way, pulling a chair over to sit facing me. I lower my gaze.

  “Megan?”

  I shiver.

  Eli stands and goes into the bathroom. The shower turns on. Before I can process everything, he’s in front of me again, pulling me to my feet.