Chapter 3

He lay in a bed, not a very comfortable one, but he was pretty sure the bed was in a hospital, due to the smell. A strangely unique aroma of disinfectant, vomit, blood and death. He wasn't quite sure how he knew where he was, but he was positive about his location. His head pounded a little, oddly moving, though he could feel his head securely embedded in a pillow, and his left shoulder throbbed in time with his heart beat. He felt as if he'd gone several rounds with a large bear, or truck. That whole thought took a split second. In the next second he started choking on the long plastic tube stuck down his throat.

He started struggling to breathe, moving arms that were filled with lead heavily towards his face in an attempt to help him breathe easier. He opened his eyes, a reflex mechanism, which were wide filled with panic. He felt two hands over his moving ones stopping them from their progress to his mouth, and in the distance he heard the voice of an angel speaking to him.

"No! Calm down, I need to get a nurse and we'll get the tube removed."

He tried to focus on the face looming over his own, but all he could see was a blurred face with dark hair framing it. On hearing the woman's voice he knew that he had heard her speak to him before. The woman had a elegant voice. In the distant regions of his brain, he knew that she was very familiar to him. One thing he knew, just by looking at her was that she had been the woman speaking to him while he had been asleep. He vividly remembered her voice, quiet, soft and gentle speaking about various things he couldn't remember. He thought that she might have read things to him, but he couldn't have told anyone what they were.

The woman had called him by a name. Owen. That might be his name. He was having trouble remembering anything, though maybe that was due to the throbbing mass he felt at the back of his head. He felt a little panicked at the fact that he could not remember any aspect of his life. The weird thing was he knew from the decor he could see above him that he was in a hospital, just not where the hospital was, or why he was there. He knew the basic stuff, just not the specific things in relation to his life.

As he panicked, his breathing increased causing pains to shoot from his head down his throat, and into his chest. Just as he moved to remove the tubes again, his angel arrived hot on the heels of some stout nurses to help remove the tube that had been helping him breath. Owen would have to wait to get any answers about himself until he could talk.

A few minutes later the tube was removed and Owen was successfully able to cough and splutter under his own steam.

The angel had returned to her place at his side, were he'd slipping her hand in his own, taking comfort. Her hand felt soft and warm in his time of need. He was advised, by the nurses, not to try and talk for the next 24 hours, but was given a pad and pencil to write things down.

It was strange, but no one seemed to realise that he didn't know who, where or when he was.

Once he'd been made comfortable, propped up in his bed, Owen started to write out a list of questions for his angel. Obviously she knew who he was, she would, no doubt, be able to fill in the information that he didn't remember.