Jesse didn't dream because he wasn't asleep. Thankfully he wasn't dead either. He'd been unconscious, but for how long he didn't know.
When Jesse finally opened his eyes the first thing he was aware of was the air bag in his face. Instinctively his mind began conducting its physical diagnostic, asking every nerve in his body for damage reports. Within seconds the messages came back in the form of pain, discomfort and sickness. Jesse's heavy eye lids and his blurry perception of the surroundings told him that he has a concussion. Whether it was a mild or a severe one he couldn't tell though. The young doctor felt awfully dizzy and it took him at least five minutes to stop his eyes from rolling back and to sharpen his view for a first check up on the situation. While moving his neck as little as possible Jesse looked around himself to find out that he was still inside the car perched onto his seat. Ever so slowly the young man started a slight attempt to move his legs that were jammed right below the dashboard. The shooting pain however told him that there was no point in trying to free himself on his own. Aid was needed. "Quick aid!" Jesse thought attempting to fight the first signs of a panic accumulation. The jagged pain in both of his legs and arms however told him that he wasn't paralyzed. Jesse groaned a little when trying to move himself into a more comfortable position. His mouth felt dry and as he tried to moisten his lips a little to overcome the upcoming feeling of thirst, he felt the taste of something warm and sweet . "Wonderful…just wonderful", the young doctor moaned as the first blood pearl dropped down from his chin and seeped down his jeans.
The wide cut just above his eye-brow had gone unnoticed by Jesse until now. Only then as he had come to realize the heavy injury on his front head the cut began to burn and hurt forcing Jesse to squirm in his seat and bit his bottom lip in agony. Questions kept hammering in his mind and Jesse tried not to pay attention to the upcoming feeling of tiredness and exhaustion.
When would his friends start to miss him? But even more important: When would they start looking for him? Jesse gazed through the splintered window and sighed. Darkness was already about to fall. The sun was just vanishing into a sea of dark clouds giving him the feeling of being even more alone and hurt than he actually was. His eyelids felt heavy again and this time Jesse couldn't do anything against it. Before he knew it he had closed them and drifted off into an unpleasant and restless state of daze, sickness and agony.
As Dr. Mark Sloan entered the Doctor's Lounge of the Community General Hospital he found his son Steve standing in the middle of the room chatting on the phone. Marc poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down on the comfortable couch trying to ignore the shooting pain in his back. The elderly man hated these moments in which his age became that obvious to himself.
Despite his mind telling him that he was still in his early twenties, Mark couldn't deny the clear messages his body sent him from time to time.
It was a shame, really. Mark had grown to be a real pro in hunting down criminals or solving the most distorted homicide cases within the last few years and still he couldn't be oblivious to the fact that he was aging as well as anyone else he knew. Indeed, the doctor felt trapped in his body sometimes.
Melancholically, Mark glanced at his son, who was still busy at the phone. Steve was in his late thirties, a good-looking and above all smart man. His job as an LAPD homicide detective required an unusual high mental, but also physical fitness, which Marc surely couldn't call one of his features anymore.
As Steve had finished his conversation he put down the phone and frowned at his father: "That was one of our BBQ's waitresses. They're missing Jesse in the restaurant. He's one hour late already for his shift." Marc shifted his brow in surprise: "Well, that doesn't sound like Jesse, does it?" Steve shook his head. It sure didn't. Jesse was an extremely reliable person. There was absolutely no way he'd miss one of his shifts at the BBQ's. However Mark knew that Jesse had had an awfully exhausting day at the CGH. Maybe he had laid down for a little nap and slept late. Steve, who looked rather helpless, gave his father a pleading glance: "Dad, you know I'd go there immediately, but Newman's gonna kill me if I don't show up at the headquarters' meeting this evening and I'm already late…" Mark smiled warmly and glanced at watch. His shift ended in ten minutes. He'd try to help out at the BBQ's, but first he'd drop by Jesse's place to check up on him.
Jesse's eyes flicked open. It took him several seconds to realize where he was and what had happened. But the painful wound on his head brought his memories back within minutes. The windshield was still broken, splintered to be précised. Jesse tried to cough, his throat felt unusually sore and dry. The young man curled his lip and spat out the last saliva his mouth was still hosting. Indeed, the young man again had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but he promised himself not to pass put another time. If anything, Jesse needed to stay awake. For the care was still swathed in darkness, he figured it had to be around ten pm or something. The young doctor's face lit up a little. His shift at the BBQ's! Sure, Steve had to miss him sooner or later. He'd would start looking for him. Everything was going to be alright. Jesse kept telling himself that until he felt the pain in his legs lessen. His face went pale. Involuntarily, Jesse's body started to jerk in an desperate attempt to free its legs from the car's weight, but in vain. Despite the severe shock the young man experienced, as a doctor he couldn't ignore the consequences he might face after this nightmare was over. After all, it was more than likely for Jesse to be paralyzed or disabled in another way, if help didn't arrive soon.
End of Chapter One