Six.
He awoke slowly this time. His head still pounding, his muscles ached. Soft padded restraints held his wrists, waist, and ankles, keeping his movements little more than wiggles.
Clark looked around the room, moving only his eyes to keep his surroundings still. Stark white, overhead lights under plexiglass ceiling, large mirrored wall at the foot and a door directly across from him. He was back in the white hospital clothes. The intravenous line, wires leading out of the neck of his shirt, the monitoring equipment…and a woman with long auburn hair standing with her back to him.
"Mom?" he rasped. The woman turned, younger, not his mom. 'Oh, God, where am I?'
"Hi there, Sunshine," her voice drawled. The woman smiled brightly, pushing the hair from Clark's forehead. "Doc Kimball will be glad to hear you're awake." She reached for the phone on the wall, spoke softly into the handset then finished and turned back to him. "He's on his way." She winked at Clark, going back to check the stack of monitoring equipment at his bedside.
Clark rolled his eyes toward her. "Why am I here?"
She turned to smile at him. Sweet faced boy. "Clark, I'm sure the doc has talked to you about this…"
"No," sharp, commanding, head raised off the pillow "we have never talked about this. I don't know you, I don't know where I am, I don't know Dr Kimball." He slammed his head against the pillow in frustration, immediately regretting it as the room spun.
The nurse rolled her lips, smiling sadly. Her attention turned to a middle aged man entering the room. Long white coat, salt and pepper hair, and a file. "Hey, Doc," she greeted with a wide smile.
Dr Kimball leafed through the file, dismissing the nurse, "Thank you, Missy."
With another wink at Clark, she left.
Dr Kimball scanned the equipment and IV settings before turning his attention to Clark. "How are you today, Clark?"
"Why are you doing this to me?" He pulled at his bonds. "I want to see my parents."
"Clark," soft voice, as if speaking to an small child "your parents were killed in an accident. You were the only survivor. After you recovered from your injuries, you were brought here."
Clark shook his head. "No, you're lying. I know you're lying."
Eyebrows raised, Dr Kimball prodded, "How do you know, Clark?"
"Because . I . can't . be . hurt," he spat without thinking.
Dr Kimball leaned close, watching Clark intensely, "Why, Clark, why can't you be hurt?"
Clark blinked at him. Gritting his teeth, he laid his head gently back on the pillow.
Dr Kimball sighed. "Clark, I cannot help you get well if you keep secrets from me."
Silence.
"Okay. That's enough for today." Dr Kimball pulled a full syringe from his coat pocket.
"No, wait," Clark pleaded. "Don't use that." He knew he was begging but he didn't care. He did not want to sleep again. "What do you want from me?" His voice was shrill, desperate.
Dr Kimball injected the liquid into the IV port, ignoring Clark as he tugged against the restraints. Deep in thought, Dr Kimball laid a hand on Clark's head, absently stoking the boy's forehead with his thumb. Leaning close, he whispered in his ear, "I want to know your secret, Clark." He watched as the boy lost his fight and fell unconscious.