Part 5 - Before I Wake
~~~~~
"As I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take."
~~~~~
The dull crackling of the television sets on the office wall wasn't as irritating as it usually was. Danny was actually finding it comforting for once. It reminded him of CJ's office and for some completely illogical reason it felt like the electric hum meant she was still around somewhere. That she hadn't given up yet.
Danny aimed another page from his notepad at the wastepaper basket and again missed completely. Who was he kidding? What could he write about this?
Something from the wall of TVs caught his attention and he turned the volume up on one of the sets.
The anchor on CNN was talking to some mealy-mouthed political consultant about whether it could be considered irresponsible for two staffers in such senior positions to drive off without telling the White House where they were going, or indeed that they were going at all. As if that would have saved them. Since it had been confirmed that the reports of their deaths had been premature it seemed to be considered fair game to say CJ and Toby were at fault for getting themselves very possibly killed because it left the country without two of its many servants.
Danny bristled with silent fury. He wondered how CNN knew they hadn't told anyone. He vowed to himself that he would find the leak and when he did he would tell Leo McGarry and get them fired. If he wouldn't fire the bastard over that, Danny would say he'd received other, more damaging, information from the same source. It was a small piece of revenge but it was better than nothing. It felt like a miracle CJ had ever woken again after the injuries she'd sustained, and maybe Toby never would. Danny wasn't about to forgive anyone for sullying her name.
He laid his head on his desk and racked his brains for the hundredth time trying to think of someone he could call who would tell him more about her condition.
He realised he was the only one left in the building. That wasn't so uncommon. However, he usually had something more to show for his dedication. He realised his pad was half-finished already and he didn't have a single page of notes. Maybe he should just have turned on the computer and started typing.
He pulled the plug out, causing the televisions to flicker and die.
Who said emotional attachments made a journalist weak?
* * * * *
Ugh. It's morning. Morning in the sense of being the time I have to get up for work before the first averted apocalypse of the day. To any person with a real life, it's actually the middle of the night.
This, sadly, does not alter the fact that I have to get up. I wonder why my alarm isn't giving me a migraine already.
It feels like the first day of a week-long hangover, but then it always feels like that at this time in the morning.
It really is odd that I'm awake before my alarm's gone off.
I try to look around but my eyes are typically reluctant to open. Ugh. Remind me to start looking for a nine-to-five job.
I'd better make an attempt to move in the direction of the alarm before it goes off and worsens the headache I've already got. Okay, one, two, three, move...
Oh my God, pain! Aw, man that hurts!
I'm starting to get scared. Now that I've started it's quickly escalating into terror. I realise it's not just my head that hurts.
I am in a lot more pain than is standard even for a five a.m. start.
What have I done? That has to be my first question. At work it's always what has someone else done – but as far as I can make out, this is outside the office. That means it must be something I've done.
What's the last thing I remember? I don't know, my memories are all confused, I don't know what happened first or last or what.
Have I been drugged? It's hard to tell, my head is never exactly clear at this hour. I know this, if I have been it hasn't done anything for the pain.
I want to cry. I want my mother.
I have a vague feeling that my mother is dead. Maybe I killed her. Maybe that's the stupid, bad thing I did that made me end up here. Wherever I am.
Wherever she is, I hope she doesn't know what I've done. Whatever I did. I hope she doesn't know how stupid I've been.
I've fallen over the edge into panic. Isn't someone supposed to catch you when you fall?
It even hurts to breathe. To get air into my lungs I'm instinctively breathing more heavily, which makes me start to cough, which is absolute agony. It's now I realise that I have a tube down my throat.
I try to scream.
Someone's there, someone's hovering over me. I can sense the motion but I can't see them, my eyes are still refusing to open.
Oh... now I have a tiny slit of vision. Yes, someone is above me, maybe more than one person – I can't see clearly enough to be sure.
I'm torn between relief that I'm not alone and fear because I don't know who this person – these people – are. I can't tell if they're friends or enemies but I'm not sure how much I care. I'm just so glad I'm not alone here in this place that I'm sure I would be crying if my eyes were working properly.
I try harder to see the people; I'm looking for the face of a friend. Someone who, though they missed catching me, will pick me up and put me back together again.
Ow – I don't think these people are my friends. Why would I have friends as mean as this? I wonder what I did to make them hurt me.
I have to see their faces.
Oh.
I can't see clearly – it's like there's a misty pink veil over the crack in my eyelid – but I saw enough to know these people aren't people who love me.
Right now I can't think of any people I know, let alone any people who love me, but I know I would recognise them if they were here. There's nothing in these people's expressions other than professional interest.
Professional... hey, they must be doctors. Finally, something makes sense. I'm hurt and I'm in a hospital.
Now if I could only figure out how I got myself hurt.
Suddenly I feel more alone than I did when there was nobody here.
The doctor-people are saying something to me but I can't make it out. It sounds like they're very far away from me. Perhaps I'm about to black out again. I think maybe that would be nice...
3 hours later
I promise I'm not going to ask myself any questions until I've opened my eyes.
I can't think at the moment why I feel the need to make such a promise to myself but I guess that's just another thing I'm not going to ask.
I can't do it. I can't open my eyes. This is so strange.
I don't know what's stranger: that I can't open my eyes or that I suspected I might not be able to open my eyes.
"Take it easy. Don't try to move."
A jolt goes through me, first from the shock and then from the pain of jolting when he spoke.
I don't know who is talking to me but I already don't like him.
I can hear the echo of my mother's voice telling me I'll never get anywhere with that kind of attitude.
The funny thing is, I can't remember what I said back.
This half-memory is bringing others to the fore. I think – I might be wrong, but I think I know my name because I think I can remember people calling me it. I have no idea how old I am or what kind of life I lead but I hope that will come.
Bits and pieces are rushing through my brain. I rode a pony at the zoo... someone spilled coffee over me in the street when I was racing to a job interview... at a party someone kissed me... I told the world America bombed Kosovo...
Wait a minute, that can't be right.
I must be screwing up my face because the unidentified person says, "Is the pain bad? You shouldn't need more meds yet, you're already on a higher dose than I'd normally recommend."
I'm not liking this person any more with the passage of time, even though he sounds like a doctor which I guess is a good thing.
He's made me forget what I was starting to remember.
My instinct is to scold him but I have no reason to believe I'd be any more successful at opening my mouth than I have been with my eyes.
I suddenly remember that at some point in the past (near or far, I can't tell yet) I had a tube down my throat.
I concentrate hard for a minute. No, I'm pretty sure there isn't one anymore.
Ah, yes, I remember now. People like the man who's talking to me now telling me to exhale and me not hearing them properly and having a terrible pain while they did something to me. I suppose it was worth it if they got the tube out. The tube hurt.
I fell asleep again then. I think I might do that now.
2 hours later
I wake. I am aware of the easy slide into consciousness.
I feel calm and I can tell that I have not felt that way for a long time.
I am remarkably lucid considering I have just woken.
Steadily memories are returning to me and I know, without knowing how I know, that this is important and I should be still and let them come.
I now know who I am and what my job is. That nearly breaks my calm somewhat, but I try to ignore it. I know that the last few times I have been conscious I have lacked this knowledge. I know I'm injured and I'm in a hospital somewhere.
I don't know how I came to be here.
I'm losing my hold on this unaccustomed state of tranquillity.
I know there is someone I wish was here. I don't know what that person's name or gender, physical appearance or the capacity in which I know him or her. I just know there is a person out there somewhere I wish was here now.
They're not. I'm alone this time; there aren't even any doctors in the room. They will come, but for now I am alone.
I practise opening my mouth to stop me from thinking too much in case I think thoughts that frighten me. It's certainly painful – I suspect my jaw is injured too – but I can do it.
Next I try clearing my throat. Ahhhh, mistake! I wasn't prepared for how sore that was going to be. I'm taking a few seconds to gather myself together now.
While I'm gathering the doctor, as predicted, enters with a female nurse. I guess it's time to change my bandages then.
"How are you feeling?" he asks me in a tone intended to convey sympathy.
I'm a little scared to try speaking but I get a sudden panicky feeling that there's something it's imperative I make absolutely sure of.
I have a couple false starts and it comes out croakily at first but I make it to the end of my first sentence:
"Can you find out if the President took his pills?"
TBC
~~~~~
"As I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take."
~~~~~
The dull crackling of the television sets on the office wall wasn't as irritating as it usually was. Danny was actually finding it comforting for once. It reminded him of CJ's office and for some completely illogical reason it felt like the electric hum meant she was still around somewhere. That she hadn't given up yet.
Danny aimed another page from his notepad at the wastepaper basket and again missed completely. Who was he kidding? What could he write about this?
Something from the wall of TVs caught his attention and he turned the volume up on one of the sets.
The anchor on CNN was talking to some mealy-mouthed political consultant about whether it could be considered irresponsible for two staffers in such senior positions to drive off without telling the White House where they were going, or indeed that they were going at all. As if that would have saved them. Since it had been confirmed that the reports of their deaths had been premature it seemed to be considered fair game to say CJ and Toby were at fault for getting themselves very possibly killed because it left the country without two of its many servants.
Danny bristled with silent fury. He wondered how CNN knew they hadn't told anyone. He vowed to himself that he would find the leak and when he did he would tell Leo McGarry and get them fired. If he wouldn't fire the bastard over that, Danny would say he'd received other, more damaging, information from the same source. It was a small piece of revenge but it was better than nothing. It felt like a miracle CJ had ever woken again after the injuries she'd sustained, and maybe Toby never would. Danny wasn't about to forgive anyone for sullying her name.
He laid his head on his desk and racked his brains for the hundredth time trying to think of someone he could call who would tell him more about her condition.
He realised he was the only one left in the building. That wasn't so uncommon. However, he usually had something more to show for his dedication. He realised his pad was half-finished already and he didn't have a single page of notes. Maybe he should just have turned on the computer and started typing.
He pulled the plug out, causing the televisions to flicker and die.
Who said emotional attachments made a journalist weak?
* * * * *
Ugh. It's morning. Morning in the sense of being the time I have to get up for work before the first averted apocalypse of the day. To any person with a real life, it's actually the middle of the night.
This, sadly, does not alter the fact that I have to get up. I wonder why my alarm isn't giving me a migraine already.
It feels like the first day of a week-long hangover, but then it always feels like that at this time in the morning.
It really is odd that I'm awake before my alarm's gone off.
I try to look around but my eyes are typically reluctant to open. Ugh. Remind me to start looking for a nine-to-five job.
I'd better make an attempt to move in the direction of the alarm before it goes off and worsens the headache I've already got. Okay, one, two, three, move...
Oh my God, pain! Aw, man that hurts!
I'm starting to get scared. Now that I've started it's quickly escalating into terror. I realise it's not just my head that hurts.
I am in a lot more pain than is standard even for a five a.m. start.
What have I done? That has to be my first question. At work it's always what has someone else done – but as far as I can make out, this is outside the office. That means it must be something I've done.
What's the last thing I remember? I don't know, my memories are all confused, I don't know what happened first or last or what.
Have I been drugged? It's hard to tell, my head is never exactly clear at this hour. I know this, if I have been it hasn't done anything for the pain.
I want to cry. I want my mother.
I have a vague feeling that my mother is dead. Maybe I killed her. Maybe that's the stupid, bad thing I did that made me end up here. Wherever I am.
Wherever she is, I hope she doesn't know what I've done. Whatever I did. I hope she doesn't know how stupid I've been.
I've fallen over the edge into panic. Isn't someone supposed to catch you when you fall?
It even hurts to breathe. To get air into my lungs I'm instinctively breathing more heavily, which makes me start to cough, which is absolute agony. It's now I realise that I have a tube down my throat.
I try to scream.
Someone's there, someone's hovering over me. I can sense the motion but I can't see them, my eyes are still refusing to open.
Oh... now I have a tiny slit of vision. Yes, someone is above me, maybe more than one person – I can't see clearly enough to be sure.
I'm torn between relief that I'm not alone and fear because I don't know who this person – these people – are. I can't tell if they're friends or enemies but I'm not sure how much I care. I'm just so glad I'm not alone here in this place that I'm sure I would be crying if my eyes were working properly.
I try harder to see the people; I'm looking for the face of a friend. Someone who, though they missed catching me, will pick me up and put me back together again.
Ow – I don't think these people are my friends. Why would I have friends as mean as this? I wonder what I did to make them hurt me.
I have to see their faces.
Oh.
I can't see clearly – it's like there's a misty pink veil over the crack in my eyelid – but I saw enough to know these people aren't people who love me.
Right now I can't think of any people I know, let alone any people who love me, but I know I would recognise them if they were here. There's nothing in these people's expressions other than professional interest.
Professional... hey, they must be doctors. Finally, something makes sense. I'm hurt and I'm in a hospital.
Now if I could only figure out how I got myself hurt.
Suddenly I feel more alone than I did when there was nobody here.
The doctor-people are saying something to me but I can't make it out. It sounds like they're very far away from me. Perhaps I'm about to black out again. I think maybe that would be nice...
3 hours later
I promise I'm not going to ask myself any questions until I've opened my eyes.
I can't think at the moment why I feel the need to make such a promise to myself but I guess that's just another thing I'm not going to ask.
I can't do it. I can't open my eyes. This is so strange.
I don't know what's stranger: that I can't open my eyes or that I suspected I might not be able to open my eyes.
"Take it easy. Don't try to move."
A jolt goes through me, first from the shock and then from the pain of jolting when he spoke.
I don't know who is talking to me but I already don't like him.
I can hear the echo of my mother's voice telling me I'll never get anywhere with that kind of attitude.
The funny thing is, I can't remember what I said back.
This half-memory is bringing others to the fore. I think – I might be wrong, but I think I know my name because I think I can remember people calling me it. I have no idea how old I am or what kind of life I lead but I hope that will come.
Bits and pieces are rushing through my brain. I rode a pony at the zoo... someone spilled coffee over me in the street when I was racing to a job interview... at a party someone kissed me... I told the world America bombed Kosovo...
Wait a minute, that can't be right.
I must be screwing up my face because the unidentified person says, "Is the pain bad? You shouldn't need more meds yet, you're already on a higher dose than I'd normally recommend."
I'm not liking this person any more with the passage of time, even though he sounds like a doctor which I guess is a good thing.
He's made me forget what I was starting to remember.
My instinct is to scold him but I have no reason to believe I'd be any more successful at opening my mouth than I have been with my eyes.
I suddenly remember that at some point in the past (near or far, I can't tell yet) I had a tube down my throat.
I concentrate hard for a minute. No, I'm pretty sure there isn't one anymore.
Ah, yes, I remember now. People like the man who's talking to me now telling me to exhale and me not hearing them properly and having a terrible pain while they did something to me. I suppose it was worth it if they got the tube out. The tube hurt.
I fell asleep again then. I think I might do that now.
2 hours later
I wake. I am aware of the easy slide into consciousness.
I feel calm and I can tell that I have not felt that way for a long time.
I am remarkably lucid considering I have just woken.
Steadily memories are returning to me and I know, without knowing how I know, that this is important and I should be still and let them come.
I now know who I am and what my job is. That nearly breaks my calm somewhat, but I try to ignore it. I know that the last few times I have been conscious I have lacked this knowledge. I know I'm injured and I'm in a hospital somewhere.
I don't know how I came to be here.
I'm losing my hold on this unaccustomed state of tranquillity.
I know there is someone I wish was here. I don't know what that person's name or gender, physical appearance or the capacity in which I know him or her. I just know there is a person out there somewhere I wish was here now.
They're not. I'm alone this time; there aren't even any doctors in the room. They will come, but for now I am alone.
I practise opening my mouth to stop me from thinking too much in case I think thoughts that frighten me. It's certainly painful – I suspect my jaw is injured too – but I can do it.
Next I try clearing my throat. Ahhhh, mistake! I wasn't prepared for how sore that was going to be. I'm taking a few seconds to gather myself together now.
While I'm gathering the doctor, as predicted, enters with a female nurse. I guess it's time to change my bandages then.
"How are you feeling?" he asks me in a tone intended to convey sympathy.
I'm a little scared to try speaking but I get a sudden panicky feeling that there's something it's imperative I make absolutely sure of.
I have a couple false starts and it comes out croakily at first but I make it to the end of my first sentence:
"Can you find out if the President took his pills?"
TBC