The first thing he noticed as he slid into consciousness was the sound of people talking. Their voices were muffled, however, and they seemed to be far away. There was a beep, and the man cringed. The last vestiges of sleep shook clear of his mind. He stretched his legs, and noticed that they were sore and weak. I guess I overdid it last night, he thought to himself.
Something about his surroundings seemed odd. His sheets were too rough and stiff. The light was on in the room, and he kept his eyes shut tightly. In a motion obtained through many years of habit, he reached for his glasses on the nigfrom his gut. He choked back his nausea, and he dropped his hands to his sides quickly.
"Emma?" he said aloud. He was surprised by the sound of his own voice. It was weak and barely audible, not the commanding and authoritative voice he was used to hearing at all. He cleared his throat. Pain seared through his esophagus, and he noticed for the first time the horrendous taste in his mouth. "Emma, are you there?" he said, his voice only slightly louder.
"Is anybody there?" he said, sounding increasingly desperate. He raised his left hand with effort and began exploring the edge of the bed he was laying in. Heing from his gut. He choked back his nausea, and he dropped his hands to his sides quickly.
"Emma?" he said aloud. He was surprised by the sound of his own voice. It was weak and barely audible, not the commanding and authoritative voice he was used to hearing at all. He cleared his throat. Pain seared through his esophagus, and he noticed for the first time the horrendous taste in his mouth. "Emma, are you there?" he said, his voice only slightly louder.
"Is anybody there?" he said, sounding increasingly desperate. He raised his left hand with effort and began exploring the edge of the bed he was laying in. He felt the tell-tale bars of a hospital bed. Reaching slowly, testing the limits of the IV in his arm, he found a nightstand. His fingers probed the surface but found nothing.
"Hello?" he said, his voice straining but still barely above a whisper.
Footsteps entered the room.
"Where am I?" he said to the stranger who'd entered. There was a sharp intake of breath and then a loud crashing as a metal tray clanged to the ground. He heard a plastic cup fall and roll on the floor as the footsteps rushed out of the room. A woman's voice cried out, "He's awake! Sweet Lord Jesus, he's awake! Tell the doctor, call his wife! He's awake!" The voice grew softer as he imagined she ran further down the hall.
Wife? he thought to himself. He tried to sit up, however he soon realized he lacked the strength. He struggled with his unresponsive abdominal muscles, but at last fell roughly back onto the bed. Frustration and confusion only added to his increasingly panicked mental state.
Calm down, he told himself. There's a rational explanation. There's no need to panic. Everything is okay.
Taking a soothing breath, he forcefully brought himself under control.
Footsteps again rushed into the room, this time several sets. One set, which sounded heavily on the hard floor, approached the side of his bed.
"Mr. Summers?" a man's voice said. "Mr. Summers, are you awake?"
Mr. Summers raised his hand slightly and turned his head. A couple of people closer to the door gasped. "Where am I?" Mr. Summers asked.
"We'll get to that, son. First, we have to make sure you're okay," the man replied, trying to sound relaxing and comforting. "My name is Doctor Maguire."
"Doctor?" Mr. Summers said. "Why am I in a hospital? What happened?" He tried to rise up from the bed again. Dr. Maguire gently pressed on the patient's shoulders, lowering him back onto the bed.
"Just relax. There will be time for all that."
Mr. Summers felt suddenly very weak and light-headed. Lacking the strength to argue, he nodded slowly and relaxed back into the pillow. He listened as the doctor rummaged through drawers. Other footsteps circled the bed to check Mr. Summers' IVs and monitors, he assumed.
A tiny, bright light suddenly shined through Mr. Summers' eyelid. He squinted and turned his head.
"Mr. Summers," Dr. Maguire's voice said. "If you could please open your eyes, we can get your examination started."
"I-I can't." Mr. Summers replied in a raspy voice. It was growing increasingly uncomfortable to speak.
"You mean, you aren't able?" the doctor asked, surprised and concerned.
"No. I mean, Yes. I mean... I just can't open my eyes. Not without my glasses." Mr. Summers said.
There was a distinct pause as Mr. Summers shifted nervously under the covers. "Very well," the doctor said. "Perhaps later, then."
"Do you see them?" Mr. Summers asked. "My glasses? Can I have them?"
"No, Mr. Summers. I wasn't aware you wore glasses, and I don't see them anywhere. Perhaps your wife will bring them." Dr. Maguire said. "Now just relax and we'll finish your examination, take some blood, and let you get some rest."
The doctor finished his work in silence, until he finally stepped away from the table and said, "All done. You seem to be in fine health, apart from some weakness. But that's to be expected, isn't it? All in all, I'd say you're a living miracle."
Footsteps approached quickly behind Dr. Maguire. There was some whispering, and then the Doctor excused himself, and both pairs of footsteps left the room. As the room fell again to its relative silence, Mr. Summers felt himself fading in and out of consciousness.
Suddenly, a woman's voice erupted and snapped Mr. Summers awake. "I will NOT wait! Take your hands off me. Don't touch me!" It wasn't a voice Mr. Summers recognized. There was the sound of light scuffle, and a pair of light footsteps ran inside the room, but halted in the doorway. "Scott?" the new woman said. Scott Summers turned his head slowly.
He heard what he imagined to be the woman falling to her knees. She started weeping and that escalated into crying uncontrollably. The sound of her tears shifted as she stood, and then she was on top of Scott, leaning on him from the side of the bed. Her hands clasped his hand and she rained kisses and tears on his forehead, eyes, and lips. "Oh, Scott!" she said between gasps and wails. "I knew you'd come back to us. I just knew you would!"
And then, the woman suddenly moved away from him. "Let go of me!" she yelled. Her fingers dug into Scott's hand.
"Please, Mrs. Summers. He needs rest." Dr. Maguire said.
"Rest?" she yelled, and her crying reached a painful pitch as her hand was pulled away from Scott's. "I love you, Scott! I'll be right here!" she screamed, as she was ushered out of the room.
The intensity of the woman's sadness yanked on Scott's sympathies, and he found himself raising his hand after her. Then, he suddenly grew light-headed again. The sounds around him starting buzzing together, and then there was nothing.
Scott came to and immediately felt the warmth of two hands wrapped around his left hand. The weight of something resting on his leg had his foot throbbing and his lower leg tingling in pain. He grunted and shifted the leg, and could tell right away that he was stronger than he'd been earlier but still quite weak.
When he moved his leg, the weight suddenly lifted, and he heard an intake of breath, like someone being abruptly awoken. There was a soft grunt, clearly a woman's voice, and then the sound of motion as she moved closer to Scott's face.
"Scott?" said the voice of 'Mrs. Summers.' "Scott, honey, I'm here."
She squeezed his hand. He swallowed, and winced at the pain it caused. "Do you want some water?" she asked. Before he could answer, a plastic straw was placed on his lips. He obligingly took a long draw from the cup. The water was cold, and Scott could hear the ice floating around in the large plastic cup. He could feel the cool liquid flow down his throat and rest in his stomach. He took several large drinks before he dropped the straw from his lips.
"Thank you," he said. His voice was stronger and clearer than before. "Tell me, please. Where am I? What happened?"
"You're at the hospital. You've been… You've been in a coma for almost two years." Mrs. Summers said. Her voice was full of emotion, and Scott could hear that the telling of it pained her. However, his curiosity wouldn't allow him to stop her. "The doctors don't know what happened, or why you went… asleep. They ran all kinds of tests on you, and they couldn't find anything wrong. They did a scan of your brain, and they said it was like you were still awake. I didn't understand it all, but they even said it seemed like your brain was working in fast-forward. That's how they described it to me."
"I took you home with me and took care of you, but then three days ago you stopped breathing. I brought you into the hospital, and they ran another brain scan. They said…" She paused, and Scott could hear her fighting back the tears. "They said that you were brain dead. That you were nothing but a vegetable. They wanted me to turn off the machines, but I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't sign their papers. I knew you wouldn't leave us…" she said. She raised Scott's hand to her chest and kneaded it with her fingers.
Scott's brow was furled in confusion. Two years? He thought. That's impossible. She's lying. Even if I was in a coma, why am I not at the mansion? Where are Emma and Hank, and all the others? They wouldn't just leave me with a strange woman for two years. And who is this woman? And why does she think I'm her husband?
"Are you okay?" Scott's supposed wife asked, seeming sincerely concerned.
This must be some kind of trap, or trick. Scott thought to himself. Until I find out what's going on, though. I might as well play along.
"I'm okay," he said. "That's just a lot to swallow all at once."
"I know, honey, and I'm sorry." She started running her fingers through Scott's hair lovingly, and then ran her palm down the side of his face. "Why won't you open your eyes, Scott? Why won't you look at me?"
"I can't..." Scott said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. But he also recognized an opportunity. It occurred to him that he might not be in a hospital at all. Without the ability to open his eyes, it wouldn't be hard to trick him into believing whatever his captors wanted him to. If he could get his glasses back, though, he was confident that he could find a way to escape. "I need my glasses," he said. "Are they around here? Have you seen them?"
"Your glasses?" Mrs. Summers replied. "You don't wear glasses. Your vision is perfect."
"Not glasses, sorry. They're sunglasses. With red lenses. Do you see them anywhere?"
"Are you sure you're okay?" Mrs. Summers shifted her weight in her chair. There was definitely concern in her voice.
"Please… Just look for me," Scott said. She shifted in her chair. If she didn't look around, then she did a convincing job of acting at it. A few drawers slid open and closed.
"I don't see any sunglasses at all," she said finally. "But you don't need them. Just open your eyes. Just look at me… Please?" She again gently touched his face, and her fingers traced his cheekbone up to his eye. She very gently tried to pull his eye open.
"No!" Scott yelled. He raised his arm sharply, pushing her hand away, and turned his head away from her. "No, you can't do that!"
There was a silence in the room, and then 'Mrs. Summers' took Scott's hand again. She bent over and raised Scott's hand to her face. He felt tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "Don't be mad. I'm sorry."
Scott wasn't paying much attention anymore. Why do they keep asking me to open my eyes? he thought to himself. First the doctor asked me to open them, and now my 'wife' does? Are they trying to get me to use my power for some reason?
As Scott wondered about the possible reasons for his capture, he heard a familiar pair of footsteps enter the room. Doctor Maguire's voice sounded nearby. "How is our patient this morning? Awake again, I see, and looking stronger already. Good. Good. And how are you this morning, Julia?"
Julia Summers released Scott's hand, and he felt her stand up. He heard them both step away from the bed, and Julia began whispering to the doctor. The doctor wasn't as adept at lowering his voice as the young woman. When he replied, Scott heard, "I warned you he might be delirious. It's very common for coma victims to wake up confused. And you know we still haven't ruled out the possibility of brain damage."
This last statement drew out a pitiful sound from Julia. Scott had to give her credit. She was a fabulous actress. He heard them pause, and he quickly tried to act as if he hadn't heard anything at all.
"Since you're doing so well," Dr. Maguire directed to Scott. "…We're going to be removing your feeding tube and catheters later this afternoon. We'll begin physical therapy soon afterwards."
"Physical therapy?" Scott asked, turning his head towards the doctor.
"Yes. You've been in bed for a very long time. Your muscles are atrophied. Weak. But don't worry! We'll have you back on your feet in no time." Scott heard the Doctor turn to leave.
"How long?" Scott called after him. "How long do I have to stay here?"
Scott heard the man's shoes stop and turn slightly. "Oh…" Dr. Maguire said. "As long as it takes…" With that, the footsteps disappeared down the hall.
With supreme effort, and with the help of a rather large man, Scott raised himself up from the wheelchair he'd been sitting in. The nurse assigned to help him with physical therapy took his hands and placed them on two parallel bars that Scott was supposed to use to support himself as he walked. It hadn't taken Scott long to figure out that the doctor was right. Feeling his arms and legs, there was hardly any muscle at all on his bones. He hadn't felt so thin since high school.
"This would be much easier if you would open your eyes, Mr. Summers," the female nurse holding his hands onto the bar said.
"I'm sure it would," Scott replied. And there it is again, he thought. I'm not going to give you what you want. I don't know how you did this to me. He grunted as he pulled himself forward a step. But you're going to pay. He intended to take full advantage of his physical therapy sessions. He was determined to get as strong as he could as quickly as possible. Sweat dripped from his brow underneath the strip of cloth he had tied tightly around his head and stung in his clenched eyes, as he took another painful step. His legs and arms felt like feathers compared to the lead of his own body weight. Trying to support himself seemed like an impossible balancing act. Yet he struggled on. In just two sessions, he was already up and moving, to the apparent astonishment of all of the nursing staff.
A pair of high-heels approached with a determined step. "Mr. Summers, how do you do?" said a woman's voice. "My name is Dr. Langley. I was wondering if we could have a talk together."
Scott examined the voice and determined that this was an intelligent woman, probably young and attractive, who wanted very much for him to think she was polite and interested in his personal well being. All of which meant that Scott had no reason at all to trust her. "Call me Scott," he said. He grunted loudly as he struggled to drag his left foot forward a few inches. The man who'd helped him from the wheelchair placed his hand on Scott's arm, ready to catch him should he fall. "I'm fine!" Scott yelled, turning his face slightly towards the male nurse. "I don't need any help!" The man's hand left Scott's arm.
"He's just doing his job, Mr. Summers. And there's no shame in accepting a little help," said Dr. Langley.
"You said you had something you wanted to talk about?" Scott replied through a clamped jaw.
"It might be better if we spoke in private…"
"Now is fine."
"Very well…" Dr. Langley said, taking a deep breath. "Dr. Maguire has stated that he is very impressed with your progress, but hospital procedures dictate that a man in your particular position has to undergo a psych evaluation before he can be released."
"So the good doctor thinks I'm crazy?" Scott replied. Dr. Langley took a breath and started to speak, but Scott already knew what she was going to say. He cut her off with, "It's okay. Go ahead. Ask your questions." He pushed his right foot frontward and dragged his right hand forward on the pole.
There was the sound of an ink pen clicking and the turning of a page on a notepad. "What do you do for a living, Mr…, excuse me, Scott?"
Great… Scott thought. How am I supposed to know what to say? I mean, they think I'm married to a woman named Julia, so obviously they don't have much regard for facts. Do I just make something up?
"Mr. Summers?" Dr. Langley asked.
"I work in law enforcement." Scott's weakened muscles were on fire. His arms started shaking noticeably.
"Mmmhmm," she muttered. Scott heard the sound of a pen on paper. She definitely wrote down more than 'policeman.'
"And what is your wife's name?" she asked.
"Julia. Julia Summers," he stated quickly, glad to have a question he actually knew the answer to. His left hand slipped suddenly on the bar, his legs gave out from under him, and he fell. He cried out, but caught himself by his elbows. Strong hands appeared at his underarms and started lifting. "Get off!" Scott yelled. "I can do it!"
Red-faced and blubbering for air, Scott strained with strength he no longer possessed to raise himself back onto his feet. When he finally righted himself, he stood and gasped to catch his breath.
"Scott, are you sure you want…"
"You said I have to answer your questions before I can leave," he said. His voice was choked and he was clearly getting very tired. "So the sooner the better."
The doctor cleared her throat. There was a pause, but finally she continued. "Do you have any children?"
"Yes. Yes, I do." Scott said. He snickered at the thought that his son was actually older than him, and that his teenage daughter hadn't actually been born yet.
"Why is that funny?" the observant doctor asked as she wrote in her notebook.
"Uh…" Scott faltered. "I'm just trying to laugh through the pain." He wasn't entirely lying. He was in agony. He almost fell again, but his pride wouldn't allow it. He pushed with his arms and kept his feet underneath him. However, he was beginning to realize that it had been unwise to pursue two battles at the same time, especially when he couldn't afford to lose either one. Not if he wanted to get out of this "hospital," and find his real friends and family.
"I see," said Dr. Langley. She continued to write for a few seconds and then asked, "Mr. Summers, why won't you open your eyes?"
"What?" Scott said through teeth clenched so tight they would break. His muscles were getting ready to give. He was going to fall, and he knew he couldn't catch himself.
"Your eyes, why won't you open them?" Dr. Langley asked. From her tone, it was apparent she was at the same time concerned, but she, like Scott, knew an opportunity when she saw one.
"No! You can't have it!" Scott yelled. His outburst cost him the last of his energy. His arms gave out, and he fell roughly to the ground, his legs collapsing under him like rubber bands. His head bounced off of the tiles, and Scott groaned loudly. Tears formed in his eyes and mixed with the sweat in his makeshift blindfold.
Footsteps rushed around him. "Don't touch me!" he yelled. He somehow managed to wave his arms blindly, his fists closed weakly.
"Scott, there's nothing wrong with your eyes." Dr. Langley's soothing, beautiful voice said. From her proximity, she seemed to be kneeling nearby, but she must have been out of reach, because Scott didn't hit her with his erratic swinging. "Are you afraid of what you'll see? Afraid that if you open your eyes then it all won't be a dream?"
"Shut up!" Scott roared at the top of his voice. "Who is doing this to me? Leave me alone!"
"Do it," the psychiatrist's voice said, though it clearly wasn't directed towards Scott. Suddenly, he felt two pairs of powerful hands on his chest.
Scott fought them off as best he could, though panic and fatigue made it a worthless effort. Every time he succeeded in pushing one hand away, or hit a pressure point or muscle, there was another hand on top of him, dragging him away from the bars he lay under. Finally, a hand ripped the blindfold from his head.
"Sinister, I know it's you! You won't win. I won't let you!" Scott screamed, his voice reaching an insane pitch. Hands moved to his face, pulling at the skin around his eyes. Scott pushed and pulled and yanked, and tried to stand, but it was futile. The arms of the nurses felt like steel rods to his clay fingers.
"You need to see that nothing will happen!" Dr. Langley yelled over the commotion. "There's nothing to be scared of!"
"Oh, God… You don't know what you're talking about!" Scott yelled. His worst fear was about to be realized. These men were about to be killed, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. One of the men got a good grip on the skin around Scott's eyes. Pushing down on Scott's skull painfully, he pried on his eyelid. "No!" Scott yelled, his voice positively manic as he felt the skin part.
Nothing happened.
The men, one of which who'd placed his knee on Scott's chest, climbed off of him. One after the other slowly turned and walked away. The last set of footsteps to leave was a pair of high-heels, their steps hesitatant and unsure. Scott lay on the ground, his arms and legs spread wide. The only movement of his body was the convulsing of his chest as he wept uncontrollably.