Thank you for all the reviews! I'm glad to be getting a positive response. Enjoy chapter 2!
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Chapter 2
His eyes opened slowly, blearily. There was white all around him, blinding – he winced, pain shooting through his head and back. He lay still, hoping it would subside, but it didn't. His arms felt heavy, and he was almost too afraid to try and move his legs. Experimentally he wiggled his toes and fingers. Everything seemed in order. He turned his head slowly, biting through the agony, to look at a series of computer screens and tubes connected to him. He recognized a heart and brainwave monitor, but little else.
It occurred to him in a sickening rush that he had no idea what happened, where he was, or what his name was. His heart monitor showed a rapidly escalating pulse.
Think. Think.
Beyond regaining consciousness a moment ago, he couldn't recall a single thing. He guessed that he was in a hospital, but in what city? What country? Why? What happened to him? And who the hell was he?
He tried to calm himself down, but he could feel the onslaught of panic. If he got too excited the monitors would start beeping loudly and a nurse would come to him – didn't he want that? Some niggling internal voice was cautioning him, warning him against drawing attention to himself.
Stay invisible.
Who had taught him that? It felt like an integral part of him, a mantra. He felt it resonate deep in his bones, something he knew he had to obey. He must not be seen.
Get up.
He sat up, refusing to faint. The pain was bearable. Pain is always bearable. He disengaged himself from the tubes hooking him up to the machines, glancing at the door to make sure nobody would be coming in. It was closed, but he had no way of knowing how long it would be before someone came in to check on him.
Forcing his leg muscles to obey, he made his way to the window and peered through the blinds. He saw a beautiful city, old architecture, likely French or Spanish. He had no idea how he was able to make that deduction. He knew he was 6'1 and weighed 183 lbs. He knew he could run at top speed for four miles before needing a rest, even just to slow down. He knew that he could hotwire and drive any of those cars down there parked at the curb.
How could he know things like that and not even know his own name?
Don't panic. Not yet.
He took a deep breath and decided to step out into the hallway. Maybe there was an exit stairwell, or an elevator.
His hand was nearly on the doorknob when it suddenly turned from the other side. As the door swung open he quickly moved behind it, not consciously thinking to do so. The reflex to be hidden simply kicked in. He was on full alert and didn't even know why.
A doctor walked in, a young woman. He caught a quick glimpse of her profile as she walked by him. She was probably just an intern, judging by her age – hardly older than he was, it seemed (which was how old, exactly?). She had shoulder length light brown hair that would look almost blonde in some lights. Her skin was fair, but from behind he couldn't tell anything else about her. She shut the door, oblivious to his presence at her back, and moved towards the bed. It only took her half a step to realize her patient wasn't there.
She didn't call out a name. She didn't calmly look around or check the adjacent bathroom. Instead, she whirled around and made as if to run for the door. A normal doctor would not react this way with a normal patient. In a second, the young man figured out that there was something about him she feared, perhaps enough to raise some kind of alarm.
He took one step sideways and blocked her, letting her see him for the first time. She nearly collided with him, but froze just short of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he made note of the fact that she had two different coloured eyes. Her right eye was green, the other blue. Her small, doll-like lips formed a shocked 'o', and her skin seemed to whiten even more.
Before she could make a sound, his arm shot out. He grabbed her by the throat, hard enough to keep her from shouting, but not so hard that she couldn't breathe.
"Don't scream," he warned her, realizing for the first time that he was speaking English with an American accent. "Don't move a muscle, understand? I'm going to let go now."
He released her and she made an immediate dash for the door, trying to dart past him. Faster than he realized he could, he grabbed her and slammed her up against the wall, louder than he meant to. Someone might have heard that.
Why am I doing this?
"I don't want to hurt you," he told her, forcing her to look him in the eye. One hand had her by the neck, the other pinned an arm behind her back. "I really don't. But I can't let you go running off just yet. Do you know my name?"
He relaxed his hold enough so that she could shake her head. She wasn't crying, but he could feel her shaking violently. "Do you have any idea how I got here?" he asked, trying to keep his voice gentle. She licked her lips and tried to swallow.
"You were shot," she gasped, speaking English with an exquisite French accent. "Twice, in the back. Someone found you floating in the harbour. You were unconscious when they brought you in."
He tried to visualize it, but his mind was still drawing a blank. He frowned, unable to grasp the idea of someone shooting him, or why. How did he end up in the harbour?
"What city is this?" he demanded.
"Marseille."
More strange pieces were being added to a puzzle that didn't even fit to begin with. He was certain he was American; what was he doing in France, floating unconscious in the water with two shots in his back?
"Please let me go," she whispered, pulling him away from his musings.
"Not yet. First you need to get me out of here," he told her, pulling her away from the wall. "Take off your coat."
He pushed her towards the bed and barred her path to the door. Her eyes moved around the room as if looking for another way out, much like he had himself a few minutes ago. When it became clear that there were none, she sighed shakily and removed her white coat, placing it on a chair. Her jeans and light cashmere sweater would ensure that she wouldn't stand out too much.
When she was done he came forward and grabbed her by the arm, locking it with his own. "We're going to walk out of here," he told her in a firm, authoritative voice. "And you are going to escort me until I get some clothes and a ride out of town. If you scream, or try to run, or lead me into a trap I will break your arm. Comprenez-vous?"
He hadn't realized until then that he could speak French.
Wordless, shaking, she nodded. It did not escape his attention that she was not questioning him. She was not asking him why, what was he afraid of? It was as if she knew something about him was dangerous, worth listening to and obeying. He felt slightly unnerved by that. What did she know that he didn't?
They moved out into the hallway. "No eye contact," he warned her as a nurse was walking by. "If someone asks, tell them you're helping me stretch my legs."
She jerked her head once, keeping her face down. The nurse did not notice them, busily reading something on a clipboard. Silently, the two of them made their way to the end of the hall where he noticed a staff locker room.
"In here," he ordered, pushing her closer to it. She reached for her ID card with a free hand and swiped it through a staff monitor, automatically unlocking the door. He closed the door behind them and let go of her arm. "Sit over there."
She sat down on a bench, some distance away from the door. If she made a run for it, he would have time to catch her before she made it to the hallway. He allowed himself to walk a few feet away to examine some of the lockers that weren't padlocked. After a bit of digging he found a man's set of clothes that looked like they might fit. He pulled on a pair of brown slacks and a dark blue t-shirt. Aside from being slightly too large (the pants came with a belt, thankfully) they suited him fine. The shoes didn't fit, but he took the socks and stuffed them in his pocket for later. He grabbed a pair of hospital slippers that appeared to be roughly his size. Checking the soles, he determined that he would be able to run with a fair amount of ease. He could always kick them off if they slowed him down.
"What's your name?" he asked the young woman. She was still crouching in the corner, her back turned to him, silent. "Comment s'appelle-vous?"
"Yuna," she said quietly, her eyes downcast.
"Listen, Yuna; I'm going to let you go as soon as I can get a car, okay? This will all be over soon," he assured her, keeping his voice as light as the circumstances would allow. She turned and looked at him sharply.
"And go where, exactly?" she demanded, a hard edge to her voice. "You don't even know your name. Dites-moi, where do you come from?"
That stopped him. He hadn't really planned the next step. All he had been focusing on was how to get out of the city.
"I'll figure that out later," he shrugged, crossing the room and pulling her to her feet. She was staring at him oddly. "What?"
"You really do not know anything? Do you not remember?" she asked tentatively, searching his eyes. Uncomfortable all of a sudden, he looked away. She seemed to look right through him.
"No," he replied. "I don't. I have no idea."
She kept watching him, reading his face as though she was debating something. He cleared his throat and took her arm again. "Let's go. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I can let you go."
"You don't even know why you are running," she pointed out, allowing him to lead her back into the hallway. She had perfect English.
"Do you?" he inquired sharply, puzzled by her words. "Because if you do, I would love it if you could fill me in here."
She turned her face away and said nothing. He sighed and urged her forward. "Let's go down the stairs."
They made it to the ground floor without running into anyone. The man could see Yuna looking around the reception room for a familiar face, and allowed himself a small sliver of relief when disappointment flashed on her face. She was like an open book.
Outside, he had to squint in the bright sunlight to keep his head from splitting with pain. It was hot, and he was glad for the t-shirt suddenly. Yuna did not seem to feel the heat at all. "Keep walking. We'll go around the block."
He could feel her tense up, as if waiting for an opportunity to break free and run. Warningly, he tightened his grip on her arm. "I promised you I'd let you go," he reminded her. "Just a little longer."
"Am I to believe you will simply let me run off to tell the police that you attacked and kidnapped me? Threatened to break my arm and then stole from the hospital?" she asked, gesturing with her free hand at his newly acquired clothes.
He kept staring ahead. "I said I would, didn't I?"
She eyed him for a moment before shaking her head incredulously.
After they turned the corner he began scanning the road for a car he could hijack. He didn't know what it was that was driving him so fiercely to get out of town and lie low – like Yuna had said, why was he running? Why the fear of being exposed? Exposed of what? He knew he was going to go crazy if he kept asking himself all these questions, but his mind was geared forward.
They came upon a fairly old red Buick that was parked illegally in a handicap zone. Casually he let his eye roam the front window, and noted with interest that it was unlocked. He stopped and pulled Yuna in front of him, pretending to be looking at something in her eye. He tipped her head back and glanced over her shoulder to check the inside of the car.
"People just leave their cars unlocked on a public street?" he asked, not really directing the question at her. She shrugged and allowed him to hold her face up. She wasn't shaking anymore.
"This is France," she said, as though that explained everything. He smiled a little.
"Okay," he said, abruptly letting her go. She stood still for a moment, as if unsure whether or not she believed him. He pulled open the car door casually, casting a quick eye about him. "Take care of yourself, Yuna."
She opened her mouth to say something when a gunshot suddenly exploded down the street.