Gillian heard the screams from down the hall. She was sitting in the visitor's lounge, waiting to get tired enough for sleep. (Sitting in Luka's room all day didn't do much to bring on fatigue and, despite the late hour (or rather, the early hour) she was still wide awake.) Giving him the privacy he still insisted on for sleep; the privacy to dream his dreams, experience his nightmares undisturbed. When she would sometimes check on him in the night, or during his daytime sleep, she would occasionally find him sleeping quietly, but, more often he'd be twisting restlessly on the bed, muttering to himself, calling out in Croatian, or sometimes in English. The same dreams, the same terrors that never left him in peace. "Please ... no ... oh God ... help me ..." " But no screams. Not since he'd come to Chicago. Not, in fact, since before he'd nearly died, more than two weeks before, in Kisangani.
Gillian was on her feet and running, in his room in an instant. Luka was sitting up in bed, eyes wide open, but still, clearly, asleep. Sweat soaked his hospital gown and made his hair stick to his forehead. And he was fighting. Fighting the nurse, the male nurse, who was trying, without success, to press him back down onto the bed. Gillian didn't recognize the nurse. He hadn't worked here before, perhaps he was a float from another floor, or a temp. He heard Gillian's footsteps (how, over Luka's panicked screams, she didn't know), and turned. He, obviously, didn't recognize her either.
"You a nurse? I rang for another nurse!" he said, taking in her street clothes, lack of a name tag.
Gillian was uncertain what to say. She had been helping with Luka's care, in an unofficial way, but she really couldn't practice here, not legally. She shook her head, then said "Stop it! You're panicking him! You're making things worse!"
"He's going to hurt himself. Find me another nurse, or a doctor!"
"Just take your hands off of him!" Gillian tried to position herself where Luka might be able to see her, if, in fact, he could see anything that all but the images that still filled his terrified memory. "Luka, it's ok. Nobody wants to hurt you."
The nurse (his tag said "Mitch"), gave her a disgusted look and, letting go of Luka's arms, ran from the room. Gillian sat down on the bed. Luka was still fighting, fighting things that were't there, striking at her, trying to get out of the bed. She had to somehow keep him from falling out of bed - God knows what he would do to his leg if he fell again - somehow calm him down, without touching him, which would only increase his panic further. "Luka, try to hear my voice. Everything is ok. There's nothing to be afraid of..."
And then Mitch was back, with leather restraints. Gillian was on her feet. "No! You can't restrain him!"
"I'm sorry, miss," he said coolly. "But I can't let him injure himself. I'm responsible for his well-being here, and until I can get some sedation orders from a doc, I need to keep him from hurting himself." Mitch got the bands over Luka's wrists (God ... didn't he see the scars ... couldn't he even guess what Luka might be going through?), and strapped him to the bed-frame. And ... amazingly, Luka's screams quieted, turning to sobs. He was still, clearly, terrified, he still had no idea where he was or what was happening to him - but he seemed to know now that he couldn't fight any more. They had won. They could do with him as they chose.
Gillian turned to Mitch, furious. "How could you do that? Do you have any idea? Didn't they tell you anything about your patients before turning you loose on them?"
"Luka Kovač," he pronounced it Ko-vak, "compound tib-fib fracture, multiple rib fractures ..."
"Right ... all received when he was tied up! Tied up and beaten by men he didn't recognize. Haven't you ever seen a flashback before?"
"I couldn't let him injure himself. With all those broken bones, he could have done himself some serious harm." Just then another nurse came into the room.
"Rosen approved five of Haldol," she said, handing Mitch a syringe. He injected it into Luka's IV port.
"When we're sure he's calm again, we can take off the restraints," he said quietly to Gillian, and left the room.
Gillian sat down again beside Luka. He was still sobbing. "I'm sorry, Luka. I'm so, so sorry."
He looked at her, and finally seemed to see her. "Help me ..." he whispered.
"They'll take off the restraints soon, I promise. Just as soon as you're calm again."
"When is it going to stop? When is it all going to stop? I can't ... make it stop."
Gillian stroked his hair. She was crying too. "Just go to sleep. The Haldol will keep the dreams away, for a little while."
But Luka didn't sleep. Not for a long time. Not even the powerful sedative was stronger than his fear, his panic. He gradually grew quieter, outwardly calmer, but Gillian could still see the terror in his eyes as he stared blankly into space, pulling helplessly at the restraints, moaning softly. Finally, after several endless hours his eyes fell shut again and he fell into a restless sleep. And Gillian, aching with exhaustion herself, went to find Mitch (who had not returned to check on his patient), and demand that he remove the leathers.
