Disclaimer: Sorry I forgot one in the first chapter so here goes: I DON'T OWN CSI! GAH!
Yeah, why the HELL was she in San Francisco? And why was she on the train? No, she was on one train but she was supposed to take two. It killed her to remember where she was going. There were two people in her room now. She tried to concentrate on remembering. She grew more and more terrified when all she could remember was the dream she'd just woken up from. But the guy from before, she knew him. She didn't know who he was or why she knew him but his face almost rekindled the fire of memory that was now extinguished. How could she not remember anything? And how on earth did she get that gruesome gash on her wrist? Something to do with trains. Was she attacked at the station? She was confused. The two people were talking to her. One was the mystery man and the other was a woman. They were probably both around thirty or thirty-five. She couldn't remember who they were. Maybe she'd never even seen them before and her mind was dying. These two people were talking to each other, now. It sounded like her head was inside a balloon and all the outside sound avoided her head and just went around it, so it sounded distant.
Sara and Warrick gave up on trying to talk to her, so they were both observing Rachel's test results. A nurse was coming in, in about a half hour to see how she was doing and to evaluate her health and to perform a psychiatric exam. Warrick left. Sara paced for a second, then looked at Rachel. Her face was hidden by tubes. Actually a big vacuum-cleaner type tube and an oxygen tube. On one hand, an IV was secured, and on the other, a little clip-like thing on her index finger recorded her dawdling pulse. Sara looked in calm anguish at Rachel's eyes. They were shut but she was awake. She was either dreaming or thinking. Sara sat at the foot of the bed.
The woman sat at the foot of her bed. She opened her eyes to see why her bed was moving, and she was there. Sitting. The woman looked at her, and said something. She couldn't hear! She squinted in the bright lights. She moved her hand to shield them but couldn't and realised her hand was attached to an IV. So she just closed her eyes. The woman got off her bed, then a moment later sat down again. She was saying something. The woman's words were still indistinguishable. Wait… she was gradually regaining her hearing. No, nope… maybe not. For a second the bubble around her head shrunk, like it was about to pop, but it recovered to its previous useless bubble. Suddenly a terrible freakishly high-pitched squeal erupted from the center of her head and it lasted a couple seconds and later, like an eardrum popping, her entire head cleared. She opened her eyes in surprise. The lights were off. The woman had turned off the lights. That man was gone now. She thought that maybe since the woman turned off the lights, she wanted to talk. She didn't feel like talking. Her voice felt really far away. Really deep down inside her somewhere and perhaps asleep. Also, her lips were dried shut. She wasn't sure how long she had been in this bed, but her mouth was sore from not moving in a while.
Basically talking would take a whole lot of effort.
It took a moment for her eyes to feel awake and lethargy seemed to have taken over her body, and still lingered. But the woman only watched. Come on! Talk! I can hear now, she thought. She tried to send this message telepathically, knowing it wouldn't work. The woman was holding something.
Sara was watching Rachel come to. She opened her eyes, then closed them again, tired from the minor effort. She opened them again, this time longer. She had turned off the lights, which were blindingly fluorescent, so she could maybe talk to her. Rachel had been in a coma for about two and a half days. She was groggy. Sara got up and went over to the side of the bed and sat on the swivel chair. She held Rachel's heartbeat hand, massaging it gently. It was yellow from the lack of blood circulation. Rachel closed her eyes again momentarily.
"Rachel…" Sara said, calling the girl out of wherever she was. Her blue eyes searched Sara for clues of who she was. This broke her heart, and Sara wondered if Rachel remembered anything. She'd lost a pint and a half of blood, and for a hemophiliac, that was pretty deadly. It was a miracle she wasn't a vegetable.
She called her Rachel. That was her name, right? Yeah, it was. She remembered that. She wasn't sure who she was though. She vaguely remembered this woman. Was she a social worker? There was something to do with a room and a table, wasn't there? Someone's office? It might've been hers. Rachel wasn't sure. Suddenly millions of cold needles pricked her and she shivered momentarily.
"Rachel? Can you tell me what day it is?" the woman asked. Aha! This was some kind of getting-out-of-a-coma test. But… what day was it? The date on her ticket said August something. She looked at the clock above the door. It was one of those treacherous non-ticking clocks with second-hands that glided. It said 4:37. Rachel looked at the woman, who had an expression of great sorrow on her face. She looked at her, trying to cheer her up wordlessly. She opened her mouth for the first time in forever it seemed.
"It's 4: 37," Rachel replied, her voice raspy and coarse. The woman turned, maybe looking for the man, seeing if he'd returned. He hadn't. She turned back to Rachel, she was crying. Now she wanted to cry. Thinking about crying made her head hurt.
A nurse walked in.