Patriot Deception: A Thriller Suspense Novel (Mason McCall Book 1)

by Ross Elder

  The doctor said something to the woman, and she walked away. The ringing in my ears masks too much sound. I couldn’t hear what he said to her.

  “I’m Harold Groves. And you are?”

  Nothing. I should introduce myself but… I can’t. Nothing is coming out of my mouth. I can feel the urge to speak… something, but it is vapor, gone before the signal reaches my tongue and lips. I must be staring off into space because he comes closer and leans down to peer into my face.

  “Your name? What’s your name? You had no identification on you when you were brought in so you’re currently just a John Doe.”

  John Doe? Why would they call me John Doe if they don’t know who I am? Doe, John. I know this from somewhere. It is a common thing, isn’t it? Yes. Yes, it is. I don’t know why but when they don’t have a name, they call people John, or Jane, Doe. I’m a John Doe. They don’t know who I am.

  But, who am I? Why can’t I say my name? Why is my head swimming in muck, unable to form the letters I need? I don’t know. Christ, I don’t know my name. Why? I try to force it out of my mouth. A letter. There is a letter there. The letter M. M. Now, say it!

  “What’s that?” He is even closer now.

  “Mmm…” I made the sound, but nothing followed. I tried again, but only the M was present.

  “M what?”

  “Something.” It was only a whisper, but I can speak. I formed a word. Something.

  “Certainly, not the strangest name I’ve heard around the hospital, so we’ll go with that, for now.” He’s cheerful, almost. Soothing. Calm against the rage inside my mind. A rage crashing against my skull attempting to force the words to come. “It’s all going to be okay. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. It may take a few days for your brain to catch up with the rest of you. Comas are still quite a mystery to us.”

  My face must be blank because he looks frustrated. Only a little.

  “Do you remember how you got hurt?”

  Blank. Nothing.

  “Well, perhaps that will come along soon enough. Must have been one hell of a party, though.”

  “Party?” Was I at a party? What party? I don’t feel much like a party person. Think, damn you! Remember. Please. Try harder. There are images in my head, but I’m a child within their context. Birthday parties, I think. Other children. Flashing from age to age. Nothing after approaching a car door, keys handed to me by…a man. An older man. My father? An uncle? Nothing. Just flashes.

  “Your bloodstream looked like an experimental drug lab. Or, maybe a weekend at Woodstock.” He’s giggling about something. I don’t know what. Woodstock? What is Woodstock? “Never mind. Before your time. By a long shot, I’m guessing.” An ink pen and a small pad of paper now in his hand, he raises an eyebrow at me. “How about your age? How old are you? I’m guessing…mid-thirties?”

  The crashing in my skull is worse now. The woman is back and is pouring me small sips of water in a fresh cup. Only sips and that’s making me angry. I want water. More water, but she’s only pouring one sip at a time into the fucking cup. But, it’s helping. My throat feels better.

  “Hungry.” The word came out between sips of water. It just happened. I am hungry. Very hungry. I need food.

  Fuel. You need fuel to keep going. You must keep going. Eat when you can. Drink lots of water. Keep moving and stay alive. You must keep moving. You will only fail if you stop moving.

  I hear the words, clear as day, and I’m thinking the doctor must have said them, but they were off to the side and a little behind me. Who is there? I turn my head and look, but there is nothing. No one. There’s nothing but a wall and some medical devices. Who said it?

  “What is it?” The doctor looks concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Who’s over there?” I whisper because I’m afraid. I don’t know why but I’m afraid. Now the doctor is looking at me sympathetically. He even glances into the corner. He’s shaking his head gently, almost imperceptibly.

  “Do you…see someone…over there?”

  My head is shaking. A bit more obviously than the doctor’s.

  “Are you…hearing…someone talk to you?”

  I can tell from his expression that there’s nothing and no one there in the corner. I’m frightened. I’m shaking. My eyes are closed, and I’m nodding my head up and down slowly now. The doctor is clearing his throat. I can hear his jacket rustling, so I assume he’s giving instructions to the woman.

  “Listen, you’ve been through quite a lot. Your mind and your body have been devastated. You’ve suffered a serious drug overdose along with severe head trauma and numerous other injuries. The drug-induced coma probably didn’t help much either. That wasn’t my decision. But, suffice to say, you may continue to have some after-effects from all of that as your mind begins to rewire itself and repair the damage. I can’t tell you how that will affect you, but, with any luck, it will be temporary.”

  I must double check. He could be lying to me about everything. There could be someone there. This could be a test. Yes. A test to see how my powers of observation have been affected.

  Whatever you do, just keep moving.

  I can’t. I can’t do it. Neither of them reacted to the voice. I know they didn’t hear it. Only I heard it. Holy shit. I can’t look.

  I must.

  Nothing.

  There’s nothing there.

  Chapter Five

  September 6, 2016

  I am awake more often than asleep now. The nurse is slowly cutting back on the pain killers so the pain is more and more evident when I move around. I am ambulatory, as they say, with assistance, but I’m trying to do more on my own. I feel embarrassed to need help getting to the bathroom. All the nurses are young and attractive, and I feel ashamed at my fragility. I’m not a frail, old man and yet I can only move like one.

  I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything. Well, that’s not true. I remember glimpses of things, just not full memories of any events of my life. From my time in front of the bathroom mirror I know I am a blue-eyed, dirty-blonde, male, approximately six feet tall, who appears to be in his thirties. I still don’t remember the accident that brought me here. Doctor Groves disagrees with that description, by the way. He says my injuries are more in line with someone who was beaten, almost, to death. He says the wounds to my face and head are not consistent with a vehicle accident and, incidentally, no vehicle accident was reported and no crashed vehicle located.

  I’m also struggling to remember things I have learned since I awoke. Like, the poor nurse who works the night shift in my wing of the hospital. Her name is…Toni. I know this because I finally wrote it down on a pad of paper next to my bed. I kept calling her Tammy, and I think it made her angry so I wrote it down. I still struggle to remember it, but I do remember to glance at the paper before speaking to her. She’s so pretty. She’s going to college, seeking her Master’s degree in…something. Fuck! I will ask her again.

  Why would anyone want to beat me to death? By all accounts, I seem to be a nice person. At least the nurses tell me so. Or I imagine it. Sure, I get frustrated when my mind won’t do what I want it to do but, that’s understandable, isn’t it? Even to be expected? They’re trying to help me. I’m not so sure about the police, though.

  Since I don’t remember, the police came yesterday and took my fingerprints. They are going to use them to identify me. There are no missing person reports for anyone matching my description. That was upsetting, to know no one misses you. To realize there is no family dinner with an unoccupied seat. No loving wife, or children, or parents who are worried about their lost loved one. I’m alone and I’m afraid, and it makes me angry.

  I awoke to an ugly world. The nurse, the one at night, she knew I wasn’t sleeping so she turned on the television for me and slid the remote into my hand. She touched me, ever so slightly. I liked it. So, I am sure I’m not gay.

  With the television tuned to a 24-hour news channel, I realized that the entire world is in flames. W
ars are raging on almost every continent. Terrorism is a word heard in nearly every newscast. Violent crime is sweeping over the major cities of the world like a wave of destruction. My God, in Chicago alone, thousands of people have been shot so far this year and hundreds killed. It’s like a warzone. How do I know that?

  A few miles from the hospital, in an abandoned house, several bodies were found. Recently killed bodies, dumped there, or perhaps murdered there. The police aren’t saying much at this point, per the overly sorrowful newscaster. It’s insane. The entire world is insane. At times, I crave a return to the darkness. The peace. The serenity I found there.

  Doc says that was just my brain finding a way to shut out the trauma, that it was just a dream of sorts, but more complete and intense. A defense mechanism. A survival device. He says the amnesia can sometimes be a result of the same thing but the head trauma could also account for it. The drug cocktail found in my bloodstream also has the potential for damaging neural pathways, destroying memory, and inducing some forms of amnesia as well as hallucinations. Yeah, I still hear that voice.

  When I hear it, I am overcome with the urge to flee. I should run, escape. I must move and keep moving; from what, or to what, I do not know.

  A psychologist came by this morning and examined me. She gave me some simple tests to determine by mental acuity. Basic math, reading comprehension, things like that. She said everything seemed normal, under the circumstances. Then she started the memory test. It was simple enough. There was a short story to read and then she would ask simple questions about the story. Who had the yellow car? What was the girl’s name in the second paragraph? Things like that. I only scored 50%. I couldn’t even remember the title of the story ten minutes later.

  She also brought my personal effects in hopes it may jog something loose in my head. It didn’t. There was nothing there. Tattered, filthy clothes – slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, no shoes. A wallet without identification, though there was evidence there was once identification, probably a driver’s license, in the clear, plastic window in the center panel of the tri-fold leather. No credit cards. Not even a condom wrapper. But, there was cash. This was another mystery because, if I had been robbed, why didn’t they take the cash? Lots of it, too. Two thousand, seven hundred, or six hundred…eighty…forty? I will have to count it again.

  Even the cop who took my fingerprints said it didn’t make any sense. He doesn’t trust me. I think he thinks I’m lying and faking this whole thing to cover up a heinous crime. Is that what I am? Am I a criminal? I have to admit; the possibility is there.

  Tammy says I have…Toni…fuck. Her name is Toni, and she says I have good taste in clothing. They are apparently expensive brands, but I don’t seem to know that. At least not anymore.

  Hospital administration! That’s Tammy’s master’s program. Bingo.

  Chapter Six

  September 7, 2016

  Night

  It’s almost midnight. The pretty girl, the nurse, is poking her head inside the door. I raise my hand slightly and smile so she knows I’m awake. She looks behind her briefly before walking toward my bed. I think she’s sneaking around a little these days. Probably a hospital rule about not disturbing the patients in the night. I don’t care. I like seeing her, and I enjoy the occasional visit.

  It’s now a cute game for her. I’m the game. Each day for the last few days, she comes to my room, stares into my eyes for a moment, then says a name; a name that begins with the letter M. Then she stares at me even more intently, looking for a reaction. She’s doing it again tonight. She’s gone through the standard names – Michael, Mark, Mitchell, Marvin.

  Those beautiful eyes are glaring down at me, and I feel a fluttering in my lower abdomen. Each day I realize more and more how striking she is. Soft, hazel eyes, hair short enough to be utilitarian for a nurse but still long enough to accommodate style and flair. Her slender, firm figure tells me she enjoys a rigorous workout. Nurse’s scrubs could never really be described as a sexy clothing choice but, on her, they somehow were. They hugged her narrow waist and the curvature of her butt. It was almost as enjoyable watching her leave as it was watching her approach. Almost.

  “Miguel.”

  I laugh. It’s a real laugh, and she joins me in it. I’m just shaking my head and staring into those eyes. She tells me she doesn’t know of too many blonde-haired, blue-eyed men named Miguel but it was worth a shot. She’s now sitting on the edge of my bed. She’s holding my hand. This is new, and I like it. I’m staring at her small hand in my palm, turning it this way and that, relearning what it means to enjoy a human touch. Or, maybe I’m learning it for the first time? Like, the actual first time. No, I think not. I can feel something there. A flash of memory. A brief explosion of joy.

  She’s talking, but I can’t hear her. She’s speaking too low, and the ringing in my ears is still too great for that sort of conversation. Within my mind, I begin to float away. Toni is gone now, and I’m moving, walking, or maybe running. Not flying. Images inundate me now. I can see them. Women, indistinct, and yet, each unique. But, I don’t know who they are, or what they meant to me. Some are just images, some are memories of actions and interactions. Whoa. Yeah, that one I definitely knew in an intimate way. Who is she?

  I can hear Toni talking now, her words still just a mumble until the flashing images subside. She is mere inches from my face, her own jerking from eye to eye, seeking an indication that I am present. Her grip on my hand is tight. The buzzing and the squealing in my head begin to fall away as though an orchestra was dragging out the final note of a masterpiece, letting the note fade into silence. I can feel the sound drifting down toward the floor and, suddenly, my head is above it. Fading, fading. I think it is still there somewhere but now there is only Toni. She cautiously smiles at me and raises her brow. She’s asking if I’m okay. I’m nodding, but I’m also staring at her lips. I’m longing for them. I want to kiss her but… but, that isn’t appropriate behavior. Is it? To act on a brief urge, a passion thrust upon you from somewhere in the nothingness of time?

  I feel her pulling away now. Oh, my God, I did it. I kissed her. I’m ashamed. And what must my breath be like? I’m sorry. But, she’s giggling, and there is a sparkle in her eyes I hadn’t noticed before.

  “Welcome back, Marcello.”

  “What?”

  “I had to get your attention somehow. You were… gone… for a bit. Out there. Somewhere, Mister Something.”

  My God, she kissed me! I hadn’t kissed her. She kissed… me. She’s pulling me up. She says I need to get up and move around a little. Get my blood flowing. But, it is flowing. It is flowing in amazing ways. I’m up and on my feet, her tiny hand still holding mine. We are moving out of the room into the dimly lit hallway.

  We are alone. The wing is quiet, and there is only a gentle hum of machines to break the silence. Walking feels good. My legs are still a little weak, mostly from laying in bed for a couple of weeks, but they are adjusting to the use. Up the hall and back down. My room is at the end of this wing so there is a long track available as we walk to the exit door leading to the rest of the hospital and then back.

  I don't mention it, but I see it. I see everything. It is as though my eyes are not in my own control. They scan from place to place, occasionally lighting on something for reasons I don’t understand. Door knobs, locks, computers, telephones, signs; nothing escapes unseen. The large magnet at the top of the door separating the wing from the hospital demanded my attention. As we make the turn and go back, I see the steel plate attached to the door and then the electronic keypad on the wall. Five of the buttons were obviously well-used, their membranes discolored and partially unreadable. 2, 5, 8, 0, and the asterisks key.

  The exit code is made up of those numbers, I know. I don’t know how I know, but I know. My mind races and I see figures, actual figures, floating in the air around Toni’s shoulders. Those numbers and symbols. What are the numerical possibilities? 256 possible number sequences but is
the star key pressed before the combination, or after? After. It will be after. Why?

  The time necessary to figure out the combination with all those possibilities is too great. Find a shortcut. The numbers are in a straight line on the keypad. The combination was set so that it could be remembered without remembering the actual numbers pressed. Press the keys in a symbol, not a sequence. Easier to explain and remember. The combination is almost certainly 2580, or 0852. Yes. There is a chance it could be wrong. Still risky. Walk in the daytime. Watch. Observe. Someone will press the combination, and you can observe. But, do you have time? No.

  The fire alarm pull-station on the opposite wall. Pull it, and it will disengage the magnetic locks. People can’t be prevented from escaping in the event of a fire. One action to exit. That’s all. One. Push the door. Fire. The fire alarm is the key. Instant escape. No, not this door. You’ll be in the middle of the hospital. People. There will be people, all trying to evacuate. Blend in. Walk away. No. The other door. Stairwell. Most likely it exits out of the building at the ground floor. That door. But, not now. Not yet. Toni.

  I’m not walking now. We are still.

  “Do you want to walk more, or shall I put on some music so we can dance?”

  She’s smiling at me. I like it. Very much. I notice she isn’t showing the same affection I felt in my room. Without knowing, I know why. Cameras. She doesn’t want to be caught on camera being overly touchy-feely with a patient. She’s hiding it. Her actions appear to be legitimate to anyone observing. She’s a sneaky one, that Toni. I like that too. I probably shouldn’t.