Chapter Thirty-One
My eyes opened but they didn’t open physically. I was floating in the Spirit Realm and my soul shriveled in terror as I waited for the Soul Hunters to attack me yet they were strangely silent. I wandered for a while, creeping softly and trying to leave no trace of my passage. Finally, I found myself back at the giant crystal where I had met Rachel in my dreams. I climbed the rock but couldn’t feel it under my hands and knees.
Stood up and gazed as far as I could see yet I saw nothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement, whirled around and there they were. Tungasila and Rachel. Both were dressed in ceremonial robes and wore an expression of sorrow.
“Rachel!” I jumped down and touched her. She did not move away nor did the old grandfather.
“Lakan,” he said and I saw that he was crying.
“What?” I was confused. “Rachel, how can I touch you?” I was terrified.
“We’re all dead,” she said frankly.
“You’re dead?” I could barely get the words out. “How? Rachel, I’m so sorry. You can’t be dead.”
“That man Chase. He tried to get me to tell him your secrets and he killed me.”
“He tortured you?”
“No. He used drugs. I was allergic to the Sodium Pentothal and died before he could use something else to bring me back. He tried but it didn’t work. It was the diversion you needed to escape, Lakan. You’re more important than me, anyway.” She hesitated. “You don’t belong here, Lakan. You belong to the whole world. You have to go back.”
“But, I’m dead! You said I died,” I cried out. “I don’t want to go back, not if you’re not with me! I remember everything now that I’m here. Grandpa -.”
“Lakan, you can’t die. Your body won’t age or break down like ours did. Only your mind can stop your survival. You’re willing yourself to die. You need to wake up and run before the agents learn who you are.”
I didn’t want to listen to him, all I wanted to do was mourn and wallow in self-pity. They would have none of it, badgering me until I had no peace. Even the Soul Hunters would have been preferable to their carping. Rachel told me that as long as I was on the strange border between life and death, they could not hurt me. Reluctantly, I explored the passages back into my body and found it strangely alien, almost as if I were pulling on a suit that didn’t quite fit.
Everything ached. But especially my head. I had a headache the likes of which I’d never experienced before. Even the light on my eyelids hurt, I was nauseous with vertigo that made me question whether I was vertical or prone.
I had a tube down my throat that was breathing for me. Panic set in. I fought it, setting off alarms as I struggled. People in scrubs rushed into my room and flashed lights in my eyes. One was a doctor with green eyes and he pressed his hand down on my chest.
“Take it easy, son,” he said gently. “I’ll take the tube out.” He did so and the relief was enormous. “Better?” I nodded, tears filling my eyes. “Don’t try to talk, your throat is going to be sore. Can you sit up?”
At my nod, he raised the bed. I tugged on the restraints tied to my wrists; they were only gauze. “What’s your name? Why were you dressed as a girl? What’s your relationship with Mr. DeCarlos?”
My first question to him was to ask about the Jacobi family. “They’re fine. A few minor cuts and bruises, we released them yesterday and they went home. They left you flowers and thank you notes.”
“Leon?”
“He’s fine, too. Slept 16 hours straight through. We were a bit concerned, he wouldn’t wake up until then. He says he’s your…boyfriend.”
“No. Costume party. Name’s Lacey.”
“Lacey what?”
“Lacey Hamilton.”
“You’re not transgender?”
“No.” I closed my eyes, the healing had taken more out of me than I’d suspected I could handle.
“People said you did something. We found some strange metal in your X-rays and ultrasound. You had a bad subdural bleed in your brain, Lacey. Lacey, can you hear me?”
I mumbled something. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep. They wouldn’t let me. Someone kept slapping my face or running their fingernails down the soles of my feet. Finally, I yelled in outrage and a warm feeling of righteous anger settled in my belly. I opened my eyes and complained bitterly.
“Lacey, you can’t go back to sleep,” the doctor told me. “You’ve been in a coma for a week. We’re afraid you’ll slip back into it. You have to stay awake.”
I looked around the room. It was private, nicely appointed and filled with flowers, cards, gift baskets and balloons. “Where did all this stuff come from?”
“The people you helped save. The Jacobis, Mr. DeCarlos, the Waste Recovery Company, Mr. Anderson and Mrs. Spinelli. The drivers you rescued.”
“Oh.” I was quiet for a moment and then my stomach growled. Hunger pangs hit me and he smiled.
“Hungry? I can have something brought to you.”
I looked at him with suspicious dread. “Not Jell-O.”
“Something lite. You haven’t eaten solid food in a week.”
“Tomato soup? Grilled cheese?” I countered.
“That’ll be okay. Don’t be surprised if you’re full before you can finish it.” His voice faded and I shook my head.
“My head hurts. Can I have an aspirin?”
His response was to examine my eyes with a penlight and it speared all the way to the back of my brain. It hurt. Instant nausea.
“Lacey? Can you hear me?” His voice came from far away. It had a smell like citrus and brass. My bed tilted and I watched dreamily as the ceiling lights went whizzing by overhead down a hallway that was as long as a train ride. They took me to a place that was really cold.
Buzzing on my head and tufts of hair fell in slow motion. They were shaving my head. After that, I heard voices talking but none of it made any sense.
I
“Lacey?” The air smelled of crisp fall leaves and Lysol. I moved and crinkly sheets moved under me. My feet hit the top sheet and I kicked at the tightness as it rubbed on my toes. I was thirsty, my throat and head hurt.
Faces slowly coalesced in front of me. Serious faces that I didn’t recognize. I tried to speak and my lips felt like those rubber ones I’d played with at Halloween. When I tried to talk, the sounds coming out of my mouth were gibberish.
The man wore a surgeon’s cap, his eyes light brown and serious as was the expression on his tanned face. He wore green scrubs with muscular hairy arms. The woman had bright red hair and freckles with emerald green eyes. They watched me expectantly.
“Lacey, do you understand me? Just nod if you do.” I nodded slowly, my head pounding like a kettle drum. It felt empty and hollow. “You had another bleed in your brain, this one caused massive swelling; we had to open your skull to relieve the pressure. Understand?” Again, I nodded. “We’re not sure how much damage the injury caused to your brain. We’ll be doing tests to determine what, if any.” I agreed. “What’s your name? Lacey Hamilton?” I nodded. “Where were you born? Who are your parents?”
I shrugged. “Is the year 2015?”
Yup. Another nod. We went through the standard questions used to determine intelligence. Most of them I could answer with a yes/ no, T/F but it was tiring. Finally, I put my hand to my head, felt the bandages and the short buzz cut. I managed to ask a question of my own.
“How long me here?” That wasn’t what I wanted to say but that’s what came out.
“Three weeks, Lacey,” he said quietly. “Two in a coma after your surgery.”
“Who pays?”
“Your medical care is being covered by the Waste Recovery Company until we can locate your parents.”
“Orphan.”
“Who takes care of you?”
“DeCarlos.”
“He’s been here to see you, along with the families you saved. I’ll be happy to tell them you’re awake.”
“Police?”
“What about the police?”
“They see me?”
“I’ve not allowed anyone in to see you, Lacey. We weren’t sure if you’d wake up. I didn’t want anyone disturbing your chances of recovery. Still, they come every day. Do you want to see them?”
“Just Leon.”
“We’ll call him. You rest now.”
“Sleep?”
“If you need to.”
“Me hungry.”
“Good.” He smiled. “That’s a great sign. What would you like?”
“Ice scream. For brain freeze,” I said and they laughed at my feeble joke. Both of them left but another nurse remained in the room bustling about.
“Where me?” I asked her. She came over to my side and raised the bed higher so I could see the room and her more clearly. I was in a sort of suite with a hospital bed, table, chairs and a lounge area. Bathroom, TV, and closets. It looked more like a hotel room than a hospital. She was a pretty blonde, no more than 5’4” and petite. She looked around twenty-five and kind.
“Pine Valley Rehab Center, that was Dr. Albans and his nurse, Regina. I’m Annmarie, your day nurse. What would you like to eat?”
“Ice scream?”
“Vanilla or chocolate?”
“Both. Water?”
“That I can do right away.” She poured me a glass, stuck a straw in it and I drank as she held it to my lips. Some dribbled down the side of my mouth and into my gown. No matter how careful I was, I couldn’t swallow without some leaking out of my lips.
“Don’t worry about that, Lacey,” she soothed. “It’s just some residual….”
“Brain damage,” I said. “Stroke symptoms.”
“Therapy and rehab will help you regain what you lost,” she said.
She didn’t leave me but hit the call button and asked another nurse to bring two things of ice cream to my room. She fed me slowly and carefully but I couldn’t manage to eat more than half of one cup before I was full and sleepy. This time, no one woke me up but let me sink into that deep slumber where not even my dreams carried me.
The nurses woke me every two hours, explaining that they were concerned I might slip back into a coma but once 24 hours went by where I remained easy to wake, they would stop bothering me. I was grumpy at the interruptions in my sleep yet I was able to deal with it. Okay, mostly deal with it if you didn’t count the complaining and whining.
Annmarie brought me ice cream or toast with PB every time she woke me - the ones taking my vitals collecting blood, urine or checking the drain in my head were the ones that bothered me the most. Probably because they brought the pain. How curious to think that fluid was leaking from my brains into a little bag to be collected, analyzed and deciphered.
In the morning, the doctor called Albans came to see me and inspect his handiwork. He seemed pleased at the rate of recovery as he checked my reflexes, strength, comprehension and speech. He sat back and studied me seriously.
“You have some aphasia, Lacey but it’s not too profound. Your cranial pressure is almost normal and your EEG acceptable. There is some damage to the right temporal lobe which is causing your speech difficulties. There is a 3mm area which is dead in the spot we call Wernicke’s. We can do extensive speech therapy to reroute your brain and you can relearn how to speak.”
I knew all that. “Police book me?” I tried again. “Look?” I interrupted him.
He hesitated. “They were. We, that is, I told them that you expired.”
That explained why I wasn’t recuperating in some secure facility buried underground.
“Why do that?”
“Because of what the witnesses say you did, Lacey. I want to know how you did it. Can you teach other people to do it?”
I knew to what he was referring “Nearby kill me.”
“Yes, but it didn’t. In fact, you’re healing faster that I would believe possible. How?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Didn’t shave Rachel.” A tear made it down my cheek and despite my resolve, I bawled like a baby. He attempted to console me but I pushed him away with an angry shove.
“You use me just like NSA want,” I accused. “Not for sale.”
“I’m sorry, Lacey but for your own safety, we can’t let you leave here.” He spoke to the nurse and once again, I was restrained by heavy canvas straps at my wrists and ankles. I ranted and raved. When I chafed myself raw and bloody, he ordered a muscle relaxer that took away my strength and made me lie there like a stunned flounder.
Some time later, Regina entered with a tray of food and fed me. I thought about refusing but I was hungry. After I was finished, she cleaned off my mouth and sat me up so that I could see the room.
“Who is Rachel?” she asked. I struggled to explain and when I was finished, both of us were teary eyed. I asked about the people in the accident; she told me that Dr. Albans had informed all of them that I hadn’t survived the brain bleed. So everyone thought I was dead.
“Yes, Lacey,” she said and I realized that I’d spoken aloud. “Your words were perfect.”
“Regina, will you help me escape?” I looked her in the eyes and she looked back.
“Do you know where you are, Lacey? This isn’t a regular hospital, this is a private mental health facility that is run by Dr. Albans’ family and a consortium of other doctors. He has you registered under an assumed name; he even supplied a corpse that the Jacobis buried under your name.”
Lacey was an assumed name, too, I thought but didn’t tell her. I wondered if Hamilton, Chase or Cameron would mourn or look for me. I resolved then and there that I was going to escape and track down those responsible for Rachel’s death if it was the last thing I did.