He smiled, shrugging as he walked toward me. “If it's a bit fuzzy right now, don't worry about it,” he said. “I'm sure the police will want to talk to you about it in a little while, but right now we can get you taken care of, okay?”
“I assure you, I am fine,” I replied quickly. “Where is Olivia now?”
The pair that had brought me here quietly slipped from the room without another word, leaving me with this new stranger who seemed just as unlikely to answer my questions as the previous ones.
“Let’s focus on you and your care right now,” Robert replied easily. “Hopefully we can get you warmed up some more and remembering what happened.” He smiled, the look not quite reaching his eyes, and started rummaging through one of the drawers beside the sunk in basin in the corner.
Before I could reply and unleash all my pent-up annoyance on him, there was a knock at the entrance that drew my attention.
“August?” Another woman appeared in the doorway, dressed in the same manner as Robert The Nurse. “My name is Jamie,” she continued, collecting some of the foam and rubbing it into her hands as well. “I'm going to draw some of your blood okay? We'll get some warm IV fluids in you too after I'm done.”
My mind was beginning to spin dangerously out of control. I didn’t understand what anyone was saying, or why they wouldn’t tell me what was going on with Olivia. The panic inside me was barely being kept at bay, and I felt as if I might explode from all the nerves threatening to overwhelm me.
“IV?” I questioned, the phrase not familiar.
Something in my expression must have alerted the both of them to the fact I was about to come unhinged, because they stepped forward, their faces calm and happy.
“Doctor's orders man.” Robert produced some kind of spotted shift. “Let's get you into a gown. That will be more comfortable, right? As soon as Jamie is done with your IV, we'll see about getting you in for an x-ray to make sure nothing is broken. I think the doctor is planning on ordering a CT scan for you, too. How are you feeling? Do you need some pain meds?”
Blinking, I stared at him, not sure what to say.
"How about this,” he said. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”
Pain? Was I in pain? I hadn't really noticed. I was cold, yes, and the warm things they laid across me bit at my skin some, but I didn't think I was actually in pain. The only thing that hurt was the not knowing about Olivia and her condition.
“Where is Olivia? “I asked, ignoring his questions.
“She's getting helped,” Robert assured me. “Let's focus on you for right now though, okay?”
“I don’t want to focus on myself,” I replied roughly, my patience finally snapping. “I want to know if my fiancée is alive or not and what’s being done to help her!”
A knock at the door kept the surprised nurses from replying, a small, timid woman peering into the space. “August?” she asked, the word quiet.
“Yes,” I replied stiffly. “That is me. And you are?”
“I’m from registration,” she replied, scooting through the entrance, a small board hugged to her chest. “Do you have a minute for me to get your insurance information and social security number?”
“Go ahead,” Robert replied for me. “We’re not in any rush.”
I glared at him for a beat, a full awareness of my situation settling around me. Sighing, I resigned myself to the fact that my questions were not going to be answered soon and decided to deal with the future as it came to me, one moment at a time.
For as quickly as I had arrived at this place, things moved at a frustrating pace once I was left on my own. It was as if I didn't even exist, my questions continuing to go unanswered, my person abandoned in the small corner space I had been allotted.
Eventually, someone did come in and tell me I was going to be having what they called an “x-ray.” I didn't quite grasp what that meant, but it turned out to be a kind of unique portrait, capable of looking at my insides without slicing me open. The process itself wasn't painful, and if I hadn't been so concerned with Olivia's whereabouts, I might have found it interesting. I was allowed to wear my scratchy gown while a large contraption was moved over me in several places and snapped the pictures.
Beyond that, I was later escorted to another room where they performed the “CT scan.” It was my understanding that this procedure was also taking a portrait, though this time it was of my head. I was made to lie down on an uncomfortable board that slid inside a tiny tube. Then holding very still, I wondered what kind of picture this would take of me. Would they be able to see my thoughts? Would my innermost feelings and desires be revealed to all?
I would never know. I was not allowed to look at the images and was told I would hear from the doctor if all was well later.
Through it all, they forced me to have an IV, which was an annoying little piece of something they shoved in my arm and took blood from. Then they decreed I be given warm fluids, connecting a hollow rope from a bag full of liquid into the piece in my arm. While the stuff did warm me up and make me feel better, I found the whole process to be annoying.
On top of all that, I kept hearing someone outside referring to me as having “a reasonable right to care,” whatever that was. The staff hadn’t started using that phrase until I’d been unable to give the registration woman an answer to any of her questions. It appeared things like “insurance” and “social security” were important in this time. Everyone had them, as far as I could tell.
Everyone except me.
This led to me being offered to speak to someone from “social services.” Robert The Nurse had suggested I might want to do it before any police came in to question me. Unfortunately for everyone involved in this mess, I had no idea what any of that was or how to use it to my advantage.
And I still had no news on what was going on with Olivia.
Finally, after a stretch of no visitors to check on me, a new person appeared in my doorway, smiling and bustling into the place without a care. She wore clothes that were the same as all the other workers I'd seen here, but they were colored a green I had not ever beheld before. Blonde curls tumbled from the crown of her head, held by a plain ribbon.
"Good morning, Mr. Bancroft," she said cheerily, walking over to one of the slates on the wall and erasing Robert The Nurse’s name from my list of attendants. "How are you feeling today?"
I didn't know how to honestly answer her. So much happened to me throughout the past four hours, and I knew she wouldn't believe most of it. However, my desire to learn more about Olivia and her condition pushed me to take part in the conversation I would have rather ignored.
"I am well, I suppose." Frowning, I adjusted my position in the bed some, making sure that the edge of my dressing gown continued to cover my knees.
"That's a nice accent you have there," she said appreciatively. "I bet the ladies love it."
"I wouldn't know," I replied with a grouchy tone. "I've never asked them."
She laughed, as if it were a joke, and then scrawled her name across the slate. "I'm Emily," she continued by way of introduction. "Robert is off for the night, so I'll be taking over your care."
"Marvelous." I sighed, ready to be done with the whole affair. "I don't suppose you will tell me what's going on with Olivia?"
"Ms. Blake?" She shook her head. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you anything unless she gives me permission first. It’s a frustrating rule, but we have to follow it for legal reasons.”
Relief flooded through me, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "If she can give you permission, that means she is all right then?" I asked. "She's alive?"
Emily’s eyes widened as she turned to look at me, seeing the look on my face. "Of course she is alive. I can't believe no one would tell you at least that."
"Neither can I."
She smirked and nodded her head. "I'll go ask after her right now and see if I can get permission to share her status with you. You'r
e fine, though? You don't need anything else? Pain meds? Something to eat?"
I shook my head, motioning for her to go ahead. Relief at having finally been somewhat listened to filled me, and I laid against the pillow closing my eyes for a beat.
Olivia was alive. I had always assumed she was, but hearing it confirmed brought me greater peace than I ever could've imagined.
"August Bancroft?"
Opening my eyes, I looked toward the doorway once more. Two uniformed men stood there, obviously not employees for the hospital. Each had a firearm at his hip, and the severe looks they were giving me made me feel as if I were being scrutinized for doing something wrong.
"Yes?" I sat up a little straighter, arranging my gown once more and making sure I was modest.
One of them, apparently the leader, stepped forward and nodded his head toward me. "I'm Officer Pratt," he said. "And this is my partner, Officer Evans. We would like to ask you a few questions about your accident from earlier this evening."
Frowning, I nodded. Olivia had told me of the accident some months ago, so I was aware of a little of what transpired on the George Washington Monument Bridge, but I didn’t know everything. Still, there wasn’t really a way I could get around being questioned.
"I will tell you what I can," I replied amicably, "but I don't recall the events all that well if I am to speak truthfully."
The two men shared a look, and then Officer Pratt pulled out a small pad of paper and an odd featherless quill. "Why don't you start with what you do remember," he suggested.
Hesitating, I thought back to when Olivia had told me about her car accident. The details were somewhat muddied in my mind, but I knew I needed to get them right to avoid more suspicion being placed on me. The only problem was the fact I had not actually been a part of the incident. My role in the whole affair was merely that of my washing up on the bank.
"You were found washed up on the shore?" Officer Evans prompted. "Only Miss Blake’s car was found in the river, which means you must have been on foot. Why were you out there so late?
I shrugged. "I am not sure. Maybe I felt like going for a walk?"
"Dressed as a British redcoat?" Officer Pratt sounded disbelieving at best.
He had me there. I’d no knowledge of how to account for the clothing of my regiment, nor was I quick-witted enough at the moment to come up with an excuse.
"Are you some kind of anti-American protester?" Officer Evans laughed as he said it, as if it were an absurd idea.
"No," I replied, snapping some. "Why does it matter what I was wearing? I told you I was going for a walk. Isn't that enough?”
Officer Pratt shook his head. "There is no need to get upset, sir. We are trying to find out what happened, that's all."
"I must have gone for a walk on the bridge and accidentally spooked Olivia," I replied. "She slid on the ice, and we both ended up in the river."
"What about the truck that rear-ended her?" Officer Pratt continued to stare, the expression on his face revealing he wasn't thinking too highly of me.
Cursing myself mentally, I took a deep breath. I'd forgotten about the extra vehicle. What had they called it? “Truck?”
The two men shared a look, and Officer Pratt put away his tiny book. "Where are you from Mr. Bancroft?"
"Syston,” I replied automatically.
"England, you mean?" Officer Evans eyes narrowed. "Are you visiting family for the holiday?"
The questioning was making me uncomfortable. I knew they did not believe most of what I was saying. Unfortunately, whatever information the officers were digging for I did not possess.
"Yes," I replied with a sigh. "Olivia. She is my fiancée."
"See that's interesting," Officer Pratt said. "Because we talked to her emergency contacts a few hours ago, and they claimed they had no idea who you are."
"Your story’s not adding up," Officer Evans added. "The registrar at the hospital told us you had no information to give them. No one to contact, no Social Security number or green card, nothing. It's obvious you are hiding something. So why don't you just tell us what really happened?"
Floundering, I felt a small amount of panic seep into my system again. They were using phrases I didn't understand, confusing me with their futuristic systems.
"Well?" The two officers continued to stare at me, their expressions hard.
"I don't know," I replied shakily. "I fell in the water. That's all I know."
When I was beginning to think they would press me further, my new nurse reappeared, smiling brightly at them.
"Hello, officers." She moved past them and came to stand by my side of the bed. "Olivia is still in surgery," she whispered in my ear. "She's doing well. Sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I thought you would like to hear as soon as possible."
"What does that mean, ‘in surgery?’” I asked, grabbing her hand.
Surprised, she squeezed my fingers. "They're operating on her," she explained.
"You mean they are fixing the damage done by the blade?" I pressed.
"Hold on now," Officer Pratt butted in. "No one said anything about a blade."
The two officers stared at me with hard expressions, the nurse moving away some as I gaped at them all with wide eyes.
Flabbergasted, I searched for some kind of explanation, coming up short.
"Has this man peed in a cup yet?" Officer Evans asked roughly, switching the course of the conversation without preamble.
"I would never!" I retorted, taken aback. "Why would you even ask such a thing?"
"He's acting a touch delirious," Officer Evans persisted. "If I were you, nurse, I would test him before you let him go."
"Test my urine? I have never heard of such a thing."
Nurse Emily stared at me, hesitation in her eyes. Then, glancing at the officers, she nodded. "I will talk to the doctor," she asserted.
"Good," Officer Pratt said. "I think we are done with our questioning until those results come in."
The two men left after that, and I gaped after them, not sure exactly what test they were speaking of and why it required such an ungodly act from me.
"How are you feeling?" Emily asked, staring down at me. "In your head, I mean. Have you done anything tonight?"
Laughing, I shook my head. "I know not what you speak of."
This answer seemed to make up her mind for her, and she pursed her lips, leaving the room. When she returned, she had a small, clear cup in her hand.
"No." I folded my arms, glaring at her. "I will not do that."
"They already took your blood earlier," she asserted. "They can tell if you've been using just from that. It won't hurt to pee in the cup.” When I remained unmoving on the subject, she sighed. "If they get a court order, nothing is stopping them from checking your blood or demanding a urine test. If you're high, you're probably going to go to jail today. If not, the least I can do is have a couple tests that show you’re clean.”
I didn't quite absorb what it was she was saying, but I knew I didn't want to go anywhere that Olivia wasn't. So, begrudgingly, I consented to do as she wished. When the deed was done, she took the specimen and disappeared from the room.
Sometime later, I was saved from solitude by her presence once more. Now, however, she had a stack of papers with her, as well as clean clothes.
"You are all ready to go," she stated happily. "Your blood work and urine are both clean, and there are no broken bones or issues with your CT scan. As far as your memory, it should come back after a while. If not, you’ll need to see your regular doctor to follow up. All you have to do now is sign these papers."
"That’s it?” I asked, surprised.
"Yup,” she replied, passing some garments to me. “Your sister brought these—”
“My sister?” I interrupted her sharply, brow furrowing as I sat up straighter. I had no sister, in this era or any other.
“Yeah,” the nurse continued, hesitating some as she regarded me with suspicion. “She stopped in and
filled out all your insurance and gave us your contact information. I asked her if she wanted to see you before you were discharged, but she said she didn’t want to have to picture you in a hospital gown for the rest of your life. I think she went to the lobby to wait for you.”
Bemused, I pressed my lips together, regarding the clothes in my hands. “Did she say her name?” I asked quietly, adding an addendum to the question. “I have two sisters.”
She visibly relaxed at that, her smile returning. “It’s Charlotte.”
“Charlotte . . . Bancroft?”
The confused look entered her eyes again, and she regarded me for a moment, holding onto the stack of papers as if she weren’t entirely sure I was ready to leave this place. “Charlotte Mercer, Mister Bancroft. That is your sister, isn’t it?”
Mercer. The name held so many meanings for me, but none of them brought an inkling of safety to my mind. It was General Hugh Mercer that Gabriel had been trying to save. Gabriel Scott Mercer had stabbed Olivia, landing us in this place and situation. If I were to guess, I could imagine who Miss Mercer’s real brother was. If that were the case, though, why would she be helping me?
A wall of questions was quickly rising inside me, an anxious mind jumping to conclusions that may or may not have been probable. It took all the will-power within me to stay silent and compose myself before continuing the conversation.
"I beg your pardon," I replied, smiling at my caregiver. “Charlotte is my sister, yes. We haven’t spoken in some time. I am surprised to hear she came at all.”
“Oh.” The nurse’s face flushed some, and she smiled. “Well, at least something good came from the accident if you and your sister can be reunited.”
“Of course,” I agreed. “Would you be so kind as to show me the way to the lobby, so I may meet with her after I am finished dressing?”
“Absolutely. Once you sign these papers, I’ll let you get dressed, and then I’d be happy to give you some directions.”
As soon as I’d signed the papers for Nurse Emily, I dressed in the clothes brought to me. The pants were of a make I’d never seen before, with a seam that magically pulled together with the aid of a small lever. Their black color and thickness kept me astonishingly warm, the fabric sewed better than anything from my own time. A white shirt without buttons or a necktie was the only top I was provided, save a leather jacket that matched the legwear. Expertly made socks were also offered, as well as short, plain boots. Having no means to comb my river-styled hair, I brushed the shoulder-length locks out of my face with my fingers and headed in the direction I’d been pointed, hoping I would somehow recognize Charlotte Mercer when I saw her.
Abandoning Anarchy (The Lost in Time Duet #2) Page 2
