Page 22 of Day Shift

In the kitchen, I grabbed an energy bar from the pantry, chewing on it while I scribbled a note for Cassidy. I explained that I didn’t mean to be rude by leaving early, but I had to help with a patient at the hospital. Then, I listed out the breakfast options: eggs, bacon, toast, cereal, bagels, and fruit. I made sure to mention the coffee setup—filters in the drawer, coffee in the canister, and the machine ready to go. I ended by telling her she was a beautiful, amazing woman who brought a lot of light into my life, and I valued our friendship more than she probably realized. Lastly, I told her to stay safe and that I’d see her next time.

I folded Cassidy’s top neatly and placed it on the kitchen island, setting the note on top. Her laughter from last night echoed in my mind as I moved around the kitchen, tidying up and setting a few things out for her breakfast. The memory of our wild romp played in my head, a reminder of just how much I’d needed the distraction. The intensity, the raw passion—it was just what I’d been seeking to push aside my bizarre, obsessive worry for the unknown woman in the ICU, even if only for a little while.

I packed my guitar in its case, pulled on my black combat boots, and headed out the door, locking it behind me. I was eager to spend some time with my Jane Doe and see if she had any reaction to me or my music.

As soon as I arrived at the hospital, I stopped at the ICU nurses’ station, where Emily sat shuffling through some charts. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.

“Hey, Conan. Back again?” she asked, her brows arching playfully.

“Yeah, just wanted to see how our girl’s doing today and maybe play for her,” I said, hoisting my guitar case up so she could see it over the counter.

“Actually, she’s showing some promising signs. After you left last night, we did a whole battery of tests—motor responses, reflexes, and an EEG. She even had another CT scan.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“She’s hanging in there. Reflexes are better than expected, and the EEG didn’t show anything worrying. The CT scan was clean too, with no new issues. She’s tough. I’ll give her that.” Emily flipped through some pages on her clipboard.

“That’s damn good to hear. How’s she doing with consciousness? With those results, it seems like she should be coming around.”

“Still out, but with responses like these, it’s just a matter of time. You know how TBIs affect everyone differently,” she said with a shrug.

Nodding, I glanced toward Jane Doe’s room. One of the four different police officers I’d become acquainted with over the last few days sat by the door. I approached him, my boots thudding softly on the tiled floor. He’d seen me enough to know who I was even when I wasn’t wearing my scrubs.

“I’ll be sticking around for a bit,” I said. “Gonna play some tunes for her. A little music therapy.” The officer just nodded, barely glancing up from his phone.

Inside her room, I set the guitar case down gently, then popped it open to pull out my favorite acoustic guitar.

Pulling up a chair beside her bed, I propped my boot on the edge, leaned back, and began the soft, familiar intro to a timeless rock ballad, “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica. My fingers found their rhythm, moving over the strings with practiced ease.

My girl’s face was peaceful, framed by her long, wavy chestnut hair. Even in stillness, she looked stunning. As I played, I watched her closed eyes, noting every movement under their lids and every flutter of her lashes. It did seem like she could hear me. Maybe the music was reaching somewhere deep inside her.

Over the next few hours, I kept playing for her. The soft melodies filled the room as I sang along. Every so often, her face twitched, and I took that as a sign to keep going, pouring more feeling into every chord and word.

Time slipped by unnoticed until a different nurse, from the day shift, popped her head in to give me a gentle reminder: “Visiting hours are wrapping up. It’s time to go.”

I nodded, finishing the last verse in a whisper. Then I placed the guitar back in its case, clipped it shut, and stood up, giving my back a good stretch before approaching the bed.

My gaze lingered on her for a moment. “See you tomorrow, my pretty warrior,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the soft beeps of the remaining monitors. I could’ve sworn I saw her brow furrow before I stepped out of the room. Maybe she was near to regaining consciousness.

Chapter thirteen

Music, like a lasso, tugged at my awareness. Soft strands of a familiar melody drifted along like wisps of mist in my mind, awakening something from the murky depths of nothingness in my mind. Each flicker of recognition drew me closer to consciousness.

There was a voice too. I focused on it as it tapped at the fringes of my mind and enticed me tenderly back to the present.

I tried to move, but found I was encased in something thick and unyielding. It was like being buried beneath the icy-cold remnants of an avalanche.

And then the pain seized my attention. I could no longer hear the melody or feel the voice’s warmth wrapping around me.

Stabbing pain erupted against my skull, and the cold turned to fiery tendrils. They began racing through every vein, nerve, and fiber of my being. Each breath was like inhaling shards of glass. Panic started to take over, but I couldn’t move—I couldn’t get away from the fire.

Calm down. Just calm down and focus.

My mind was hazy and thick, as if I was half asleep or in some drug- or liquor-induced stupor. Confusion and fear swirled around, muddling my ability to comprehend.

Where was I?

What was happening to me?

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