Disclaimer: This tale is directly inspired by Stephen King's excellent novel 11/22/63, in which an ordinary man finds a wormhole back in time and uses it to try and stop tragedy before it occurs. No copyright infringement intended.
Disclaimer: The characters and some of the dialogue and backstory herein are the property of the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended. This is a non-profit fan fiction written for entertainment purposes only.
Trigger Alert: Please Note - This story includes detailed background/plot references to rape and sexual violence. No explicit sex is included – reader discretion is advised.
"Just the Two of Us" – lyrics (c) Bill Withers. All Rights Reserved.
umber whunnn. yerrnn umber whunnnn. fayunnn. These sounds: even in the dark.
Misery - Stephen King
I can recall some sensations felt in that interval; but few thoughts framed, and no actions performed. I knew I was...in a narrow bed. To that bed I seemed to have grown; I lay on it motionless as a stone; and to have torn me from it would have been almost to kill me. I took no note of the lapse of time-of the change from morning to noon, from noon to evening. I observed when any one entered or left the apartment: I could even tell who they were; I could understand what was said when the speaker stood near to me; but I could not answer; to open my lips or move my limbs was equally impossible.
Jane Eyre – Charlotte Brontë
"What time is it?"
Time for you to go harass someone else and let me sleep.
"Mr. Laurence, I need you to wake up and tell me what time it is."
Half-past put a sock in it!
Todd willed Mr. Laurence – whoever he was - to speak up and answer the questions so they – whoever they were - would go away and let him rest.
He lay absolutely still – as if he had any choice in the matter – and marvelled at how coherent his thoughts were when his body wouldn't do a damn thing.
He could hear – obviously.
He knew who he was, and where – hopefully the hospital, otherwise his ass was well and truly grass.
He even knew what had happened. Squealing brakes outside a crowded bar on an icy winter night? Elementary, my dear Watson. Somebody the worse for wear – someone who shouldn't have been driving – had gotten behind the wheel, and had evidently almost turned him into road pizza. Even if they hadn't done it deliberately, he supposed it could be chalked up to karma.
That was about all he knew.
Todd couldn't feel if bandages were covering his face. All he could do was pray he wasn't blind – just too tired to open his eyes.
But how could he be sure?
He tried flexing his fingers. Nyet.
He tried wiggling his toes. Nada.
If he couldn't move, who knew when – or if – he'd ever be able to walk?
Walk.
Walker.
That's when he realized -
They weren't calling any mystery roommate "Mr. Laurence", pal.
They meant you.
Before Todd could begin to think why they thought he was Walker Laurence, he slipped away again.
a
a
a
There was no pain, Todd thought. That was a good thing – wasn't it?
I wouldn't get too excited, pal. They probably have you flying so high on morphine you wouldn't feel it if an elephant danced the Electric Slide on your chest.
He was ingesting oxygen, of course. But he couldn't tell if his diaphragm was doing the work, or if he was on life support with tubes up his nose and God knows where else.
He could hear medical personnel talking, still asking him to wake up, to look at the clock and tell them what time it was. God, why did they keep asking him to move?
Maybe they think I can't move. Maybe they think I'm paralysed.
Maybe you are paralysed.
As the inescapable nightmare thought rushed his brain like the car, or truck, or whatever it was, had rushed his body, Todd's mind started to race.
Why were they asking him to talk as well as move?
Maybe they think I won't be able to talk. Maybe they think I'm brain damaged.
Who says you aren't brain damaged?
No! I can think perfectly clearly!
Ah, but ya can't talk, can you? Let's face facts here. They want you to wake up, to sit up, to tell the time and talk to them about it. Babies can do half of those things.
Apparently, you can't.
The hell I can't!
Sorry, but I think you're in a bit of trouble here, pal. In fact, I think you're screwed.
Screw you! I just need time!
The sound of his own voice mocking him, laughing at him, made his head ache.
Well, that you've got, pal. Nothing but all the time in the world to lie here in time-out like the bad boy you've been. Too bad you didn't read more good books while you had the chance, 'cause I think it's gonna be just you, me and our thoughts for a nice, long, cosy while.
Take a hike!
Where can I go, pal? I'm in you. Hell, I am you. Your better half, you might say, since no woman will ever be twisted enough to take up with you again.
No!
Just the two of us...we can make it if we try. Just the two of us...you and I. Come on, sing it with me. You know the words...
Mercifully, he slipped away again.
a
a
a
"Did he say anything?"
"Yes, Dr. Nayhurn, he used complete sentences and told us to go away – among other things."
I did?
I did!
Suck it, cricket! I spoke!
Ah, but you can't remember doing it, can you? I wouldn't start shredding the confetti yet, pal.
"So he's not aphasic. That's excellent. Keep a close watch and call me the minute anything changes."
"Yes, doctor."
Then there was nothing. What seemed like forever of nothing.
a
a
a
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Why hadn't he noticed before how damned irritating the sound of the hospital machinery was?
Welcome back to us, pal.
God, not you.
Pal, no more teasing. I swear, but not for nothing – you need to wake up now. You've got to open your eyes.
Todd couldn't argue with the truth of that statement, so he tried.
I can't.
You can, pal.
I'm telling you I tried!
Try harder, dammit!
I can't. I need more time.
You might have less time than you thought, pal. I hate to scare you, but check this out. What if five years – or ten - or more – passed between each of those times you woke up?
The horror of this possibility dawned on Todd like an impending cyclone.
No. God, no!
I hope not, pal. But you need to realise that you could wake up and find yourself seventy years old, just back home from a nice refreshing coma. The orderlies who worked here when you were admitted could have nicknamed you Rip Van Winkle. Their kids could be employees here and taking care of you by now.
No! If that's true, I'd rather be dead.
You would? In that case, it's a shame you let Blair rip up that "Do Not Resuscitate" order back in '06, isn't it? Now would you rather rise and shine and deal with this crap, or would you rather rot here like old asparagus?
This isn't happening.
Oh, don't be such a little bitch! Instead of laying there like a damn coward, here's a thought – why don't you wake the hell up so you can find out if Starr's a grandm-
Todd was still musing over this thought when his eyes opened.