With my left hand in my pocket to minimize the pain I felt every time I moved the arm, I made my way to the hospital. I had to go to ground twice so that passing Custodian patrols wouldn’t see me. If they spotted me, I could spend up to a month in prison for breaking the curfew.
Since Newhome was small size, I was soon in front of the hospital’s main entrance, which was of course locked. The emergency department would be open all night, and the entrance was just to the left, so I decided to tackle the front doors. I soon had them open with the assistance of my lock-picks. For the first time I was glad the town council had never bothered spending money to modernise the hospital – the building was decades old, and the locks were very old fashioned. I had picked many such locks out in Melbourne's ruins.
I closed the doors quietly behind me. Taking great care to avoid the hospital’s night shift staff and a roving Custodian security detail, I made my way to the neurology department. It was closed and only partially illuminated by the occasional light. Finding my file in the receptionist's office proved quite difficult using only a torch, as there were multiple metal filing cabinets, and piles of papers stacked everywhere. Eventually, I found the cabinet that contained the files of patients admitted into hospital in 2120. Filing by date instead of alphabetically. What’s that about, anyway?
My hands were shaking when I found and removed my file. I had a good mind to put it back and walk away, but I had to know what secrets it could divulge.
I sat on the floor behind the receptionist's desk and went through the file. As the neurologist said, there were no references to my bio-engineered abnormalities. Nor were there any copies of MRI or EEG scans they had taken.
The first disturbing thing I discovered was the report on the bullet wound, which said I had been shot at point blank range. Fear’s cold tendrils snaked through my stomach and into my head. How had this happened? How could someone have gotten that close to me without me knowing about it or trying to stop them? Did someone try to kill me in my sleep? Or while serving in the Militia? With my sensitive hearing, it just didn't make any sense.
I breathed deeply and turned the page. There was no point getting all worked up and worried about something that could not be resolved by guesswork. I kept shuffling through the file, looking for the patient-admission form, and finally found it. It recorded:
Patient: Ethan Jones
Admission: 16 Nov 2120
Signed in by: Nanako Jones
Relationship to Patient: Wife
I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the admission form, simply trying to comprehend the stupendous truth it revealed. And as the truth sank slowly into my mind, my perspective of my life, of myself, slowly unravelled until I felt like I no longer knew who I was.
Nanako was my wife?
That meant I must have married her after I went to Hamamachi. Furthermore, she was the one who brought me back to Newhome to receive the operation that stopped the grand mal epileptic seizures.
But if this was true, why did she leave me? If she was my wife, why did she abandon me and go back to Hamamachi without me? She didn’t even wait to see the results of the operation.
Anger at this betrayal slowly turned to rage, driving away the confusion and all other emotions.
I put my file back in the cabinet and stormed angrily out of the hospital, pausing only to lock the front doors.
It was raining incessantly now, and the rain soon soaked through my clothes and bandages, chilling my body but not my mood.
"Why, Nanako? Why did you leave me?" I whispered to myself in an endless loop.
Running on adrenaline alone, I dodged two Custodian patrols and eventually reached my apartment. I barged through the front door and saw the flat was still lost in darkness with the flickering TV as the only light source. I switched on the lights.
Nanako was still asleep on the sofa, a picture of gentle innocence. Yet also the picture of a girl who had abandoned her husband when he needed her most.
She stirred when I stomped over and stood over her, slowly opening her sleep-heavy eyes. She blinked and gasped when she saw me. "What's wrong, Ethan, why are you soaking wet?"
"I just broke into the hospital," I snapped.
"What, why?" she asked, wide awake now, and bewildered by the naked anger in my eyes.
"I dug out my file in the neurologist's office, and you'll never guess what I found. I was signed into the hospital in November 2120 by one Nanako Jones – relationship to patient: wife! Why didn't you tell me, Nanako, why didn't you tell me?" I demanded, deeply wounded and enraged almost beyond rational thought.
Her face paled and her eyes widened in shock. "I was gonna tell you when the time was..."
"Why did you leave me?"
She stepped off the sofa and reached for me. "Please let me explain..."
I stepped back from her angrily. "Why did you bring me all the way from Hamamachi to have the operation and then just abandon me?"
Tears filled her eyes, but she still took a step towards me. "It wasn't like that..."
"You didn't even wait to see the result of the operation," I said. The raging anger began to turn into something else - gut-wrenching heartache. I felt like I was coming apart at the seams, tearing into a thousand pieces. Tears streaked down my cheeks.
"I couldn't..." she began.
"You left me when I needed you the most!" I almost shouted, cutting her off. "I woke up from that operation totally bewildered and confused, with a massive hole in my mind, not knowing how I had gotten there. I knew something was missing but I had no idea what it was. And then I had to do rehab with no one but unsympathetic male nurses. And you went back home to Hamamachi without even leaving me with a letter or memento of you. And now two years later you come back, playing all these mind games, not once telling me that you are my wife!"
With that outburst, the sense of betrayal and heartache grew so strong that I bolted from the apartment. She ran after me, calling my name, but I ran down the stairs and escaped into the welcoming darkness of the night. I quickly lost her amidst the trees and shrubs growing between the blocks of flats.
As I ran through the pouring rain, my thoughts veered slowly into an entirely different direction. From what I had seen of Nanako this week, she seemed so genuinely kind and caring, with a strong sense of right and wrong. Her behaviour this week was at complete odds with the apparent callousness of her actions after I was wounded. When she brought me back to Newhome and abandoned me to my fate.
I slowed to a jog, and wondered if I was reading this situation all wrong? What if she had a perfectly good explanation to why she left me and went home?
And then something she said hit me with the impact of a sledgehammer, driving me to my knees on the wet grass as the full implication of her words sank in. She said she had a man in her life two years ago, a man who told her that he never wanted to see her again.
That could mean only one thing. I was the one who said that to her. I told Nanako I never wanted to see her again. I was the insensitive fool and ugly brute who broke her heart.
Yet even so, Nanako had proven without doubt this week that she was a girl of character who would stand up for me, even going head-to-head with my father. There was no way she would have run back home with her tail between her legs just because I said that to her, especially considering I had said it while gravely wounded and ill. And even more so because I hadn't had the operation yet, the very operation she brought me here to receive.
Something was missing. There was another piece of the puzzle. A piece that would explain everything when I found it.
And then I had it.
The missing piece was my father.
He had obviously been there, and he must have met Nanako. In fact, that would explain what he said when she came to the door. Not, 'Can I help you?' but 'What are you doing here?' And then there was the issue of the considerable amount of animosity between them.
And she had goaded him, asking how he was going to make her leave his home, even asking if he would get the Custodians to throw her out.
That was it. The missing piece. There was no way in the world a girl as devoted and loving as Nanako would walk away from her wounded, sick husband. She would have stuck it out right to the end. And that lead me to the obvious conclusion. My father had her expelled from Newhome. And then taking advantage of my amnesia, he had the audacity to arrange my marriage to someone else when he knew full well that I was already married to Nanako.
I rose to my feet and headed for my parents' flat. I was going to have this out with him right now – forget the curfew.
* * *
I was utterly drenched, panting for breath, and exhausted, when I reached my parents' flat a few minutes later. Running around at night in the rain was not what I should be doing when I needed to rest to recuperate from the wound.
I banged on the front door with the flat of my hand.
"Who is it?" came my mother's frightened voice a moment later.
"Open the door, Mother, it's me," I commanded her none too kindly.