Page 23 of Day Shift

Wait…what was my name?

The answers were there, but as soon as I tried to snatch a hold of them and force them to connect, they evaporated. Dammit, I knew they were there. It was like when a word was on the tip of your tongue, but it just wouldn’t come. The circuits in my brain were misfiring. Why couldn’t I recall my own name?!

The faint notes of a song danced across my mind once again. I compelled myself to focus only on the deep, soothing timbre of the voice that was singing. I told myself to breathe in and breathe out to each strum of the guitar’s strings.

I was alive and breathing on my own. All I needed was a little time.

Little by little, I calmed myself enough to gather clues about my circumstances. I was resting in a bed. I could hear soft, mechanical beeps and swooshes. And there was a stale antiseptic smell coming directly into my nose. It took what felt like forever for me to connect the dots. I was in a hospital.

That explained the pain. I didn’t like feeling helpless or out of control. I had to stop and assess my current situation and break down the events that had landed me here.

Fingers—I tried to curl them into a fist, but with all my effort, they barely brushed against the smooth surface they rested on.

Toes—they wouldn’t wiggle, but I knew they were there.

Eyes—I just had to open them. Let someone know I was here. But no, they wouldn’t obey my command.

I was frozen inside my icy crypt. My only saving grace was the voice—his voice, each note sung with a gentleness that was like a lifeline cast across the turbulent seas of my mind. I clung to it, the intonation blending with the gentle plucking of guitar strings and somehow softening the sharpest edges of my pain. I swallowed. This motion that should’ve come naturally was now a forced maneuver.

But soon I found that each breath was getting easier, a little less like inhaling glass. Each note of the song brought me one step away from the precipice of panic.

As I lay there, tethered to life by the melody, something encouraging began to happen. The darkness that swirled around the edges of my consciousness receded a bit, pushed away by the warmth of his song. The fear that had clutched my heart started to dissolve, replaced by a deep, overwhelming gratitude. Here in this sterile hospital room, amidst the beeping machines, his music was my sanctuary.

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to open my eyes, to speak, to let him know that his presence was my only comfort. But my body refused to cooperate, and I remained a silent, invisible listener, my voice locked deep within.

Then, another voice pierced the serenity—a woman’s voice, crisp and professional, saying, “Visiting hours are wrapping up. It’s time to go.” A simple sentence, yet it fell upon my ears like a sentence of doom.

Desperation surged within me, an urgent plea for him not to leave. I needed him. His voice was the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. But I was powerless, my thoughts unspoken, my pleas unheard. I wanted to cry out, to beg, to hold on to the man.

“See you tomorrow, my pretty warrior,” he whispered. Then, the sound of his footsteps—a soft shuffle—faded away. With the absence of his voice, the cold void descended immediately, enveloping me once more.

More questions hit me. Why did he sound so worried? Did I know this man? He claimed me as his, but I had no memory of him. But then again, my mind was a jumbled mess. Did I have a memory of anyone?

A single tear escaped, tracing a warm path down my cheek. The comforting blanket of his music had been ripped away, leaving the bleak reality of my solitude to press down upon me.

As the door clicked shut, a heavy darkness rolled over me again, thick and suffocating. Everything went dark once more—the pain, the fear, and the loneliness merging into an oppressive force that dragged me into the realm of sleep.

Chapter fourteen

Studying my Jane Doe’s face as I played, I could have sworn her eyes opened. I jumped to my feet and leaned over her bed to see if she was awake. But no, her eyes were shut tight. Frustrated, I’d plopped back down into the chair, which gave a loud scuff, and heaved a sigh. The song, “Say Something” by A Great Big World, came to mind, so I began playing the notes. I loved its discordant melody, but in my version, I sang that I was not giving up on her, hoping she’d get the message. Just as I was finishing the song, one of the nurses reminded me that visiting hours were over and that I needed to leave.

After strumming the last chord of my evening set, I packed up my guitar and made my way out of the ICU. This was my last day off. The previous two days—during both the morning and evening visiting hours—I’d sat here in my sleeping beauty’s room, watching her as I played and hoping she would awaken. I had developed quite the following among not only the ICU patients and staff but also the police officers assigned to watch over Jane Doe. Damn, did I hate calling her that. I was eager for her to regain consciousness so I could learn more about her—find out her name. She’d been here and unconscious for nine days, and I was beginning to wonder if she’d ever wake up.

I hadn’t talked to Atticus in a few days, so I headed over to the ED on my way out to see if he had any news regarding her ties to the Volkovs. The familiar chaos hit me as soon as I badged open the automatic doors that separated the rest of the hospital from the ED.

Bethany spotted me as soon as I entered, her eyes brightening despite her obvious fatigue from a long shift. Her dark hair was staging a playful escape from her ponytail, sticking out around her face. “Hey Conan, how’s your mysterious lady doing?” she called out, leaning against the nurses’ station.

I shrugged, sliding my guitar case onto a nearby chair. “She’s the same. I’ve been playing some guitar for her, hoping it might spark something to get her to wake up.”

Bethany’s eyes sparkled with mischief, a smile playing on her lips. “A guitar serenade, huh? You’re really into this Jane Doe, I see. I’ve never known you to get so infatuated with a patient before. What gives?” She laughed. “Sounds like someone’s got a bit of a crush.”

A flush crept up my neck, a rarity for me. “Nah, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that…she’s been alone for too long. No one’s come looking for her. It’s messed up. She’s the first Jane Doe who hasn’t been found after a day or so, y’know? Feels shitty to leave her all alone like that.”

In truth, I was captivated by her. It wasn’t only that she was gorgeous; it was also the unexplained circumstances surrounding her.

“Sure, sure.” Bethany chuckled, pushing off from the counter. “Whatever you say, big guy. I’ve just never seen you this hooked on a patient—or any woman for that matter. Well, except for that momentary crush you had on Sam,” she said, smirking. Bethany was an expert at harassing me.

I cracked a smile, uncomfortable with how close to home her words hit. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, right? By the way, have you seen Atticus?” I asked, changing the subject before Bethany could dig any deeper.

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