Sleep seemed to overtake him suddenly, without the usual sense of being tired. When he awoke, he had no idea of what day it was or even what time.
He figured that the times when no one but the staff seemed to be around had to be late evenings, past visiting hours. It was during these periods of loneliness that despair crushed him and he wanted to cry.
During what he was certain were the daylight hours due to the increase in sounds such as footsteps and voices he felt more positive. Well, most of the time anyway, being able to hear what was going on around him but not able to do anything was starting to drive him crazy.
He talked to himself. A lot. This could be good, but it could also be bad. Didn't they say you were crazy if you talked to yourself?
This was an argument with himself he'd rather not dwell on.
To keep himself occupied and to hopefully sharpen his mind, he began to focus more on what he heard when people came into the room.
The doctors and nurses footsteps all sounded pretty much the same, he gave up on figuring them out and besides, he had no idea what they looked like or what their names were.
His friends, on the other had, were most distinctive.
This had to be Alvin. The footsteps were precise, not loud, and not soft - a lot like the voice that he heard.
"Hello, Zach."
There was the click of something being set on the table and then the sound of mellow music.
"Today, I brought something you've not heard in a while, I think."
The throaty voice came through the speakers like honey.
Billie Holiday Marty thought just as Alvin voiced the name.
"And I brought some Jonny Lang, I know he's not one of your favorites but I think if you'd give him a chance you'll be surprised."
His eyes couldn't see Alvin so he imagined how he must look today.
Alvin would be towering over the bed, standing straight, all eight feet two inches of him. This month, Alvin was favoring a close trimmed haircut instead of his usual shaved head. He liked to dress well and owned a closet full of designer suits, from a one of a kind hand tailored Leonard Logsdail suit to Ravazzolo, Brioni, Kiton, Canali and Bottega Veneta. He would never be caught dead in something as common as Armani or Ralph Lauren. He was probably wearing one of the dark suits with a white shirt and a bright colored silk tie that matched the kerchief in his suit pocket.
He could picture Alvin standing by the bed, his right hand tucked in a pocket, hiding the scars that reminded him of the bad choice he'd made when he agreed to be a bodyguard for the notorious drug dealer Damon Sharpe.
And his twin brother Muhammad – he'd seen pictures of the twins before they'd been shot up protecting their boss. They looked like bookends, exact replicas of one another. Tall, light brown skin and dark brown almond shaped eyes.
They still were, for the most part, though many people agreed that Muhammad appeared a little younger in some way they couldn't quite put a finger on.
Muhammad kept his head shaved; the bullet scars on his scalp had faded over time but were still visible. The younger of the twins by four minutes, Muhammad had taken the brunt of the gunfire – two slugs had creased his skull, the third penetrating his brain and leaving the once brilliant mathematician with the mind of a child.
Perhaps it was this child-like persona that made him appear to be younger, he certainly smiled and laughed more than Alvin.
Where Alvin was always dressed to the nines, Muhammad preferred the more casual look of jeans and tees. Not to say that he was sloppy, his clothes were always clean and ironed. The brothers were always immaculate.
Muhammad had been coming to visit too. Three times he'd been in and read stories to Marty. The detective was please to note that Muhammad's reading skills had increased, the books had begun with first grade level stories and progressed to more of a fifth grade level. Marty tried to smile when Muhammad had read City Mouse Country Mouse to him; it was one of their favorites.
The chair was pulled close.
"I'm going to do some more acupressure on your hands today." Alvin told him.
Marty wished he could feel it, even the temporary pain that sometimes came with the treatment would be a welcome sensation right now.
He tried to concentrate on his hands, tried to feel the pressure of Alvin's fingers but he felt nothing.
The song ended and guitar and a soft drum sounded. Jonny, he thought, the kid was okay but he might be better after he got older, lost that high voice to the gravel of real blues, whiskey and cigarettes.
Now his cover of the Rolling Stones Paint It Black was pretty good, he admitted. Jonny's voice on this one was huskier, almost harsh. Maybe he'd shared some of Keith Richard's stash before the recording.
"There," Alvin said, "Now you can still play the piano. Do you play the piano?" he asked with a laugh, "I know you play guitar. You should come by the Blue Room some Tuesday, see old Ray, he can play some mean blues."
The chair scraped back.
"I have to go now but I will be back tomorrow. Maybe with some DJ Caffeine or some Hot Butter." he teased, knowing that his friend didn't care for either of the artists. "If you don't tell me what to bring, then I'll just pick up something from the booth."
Inwardly, Marty groaned, the DJ at the club had some pretty horrible stuff stashed in the booth, and Alvin would love to torture him with it.
"Mother will be by later, she has been meeting with some… people." he said with evident distaste.
Marty could picture Alvin's handsome face wrinkling in displeasure; obviously whomever Bertha was meeting with was not someone Alvin approved of.
The twins' mother, Bertha Chang is a tiny woman, standing not even five feet tall in her thick soled shoes. Her black hair is threaded with silver and she wears it straight and pinned on top of her head, held in place by carved ivory pins that were a wedding gift from her late husband, a Chinese former Olympic basketball player named Yoshiko Chang. Her skin is dark chocolate colored like her eyes.
Marty thought about the first time he'd ever spoken directly to any of the Changs, it had been to Muhammad. The man had been engrossed with watching a frog jumping through the weeds a block from his house.
Worried that Muhammad might come to some harm while left alone, the detective had struck up a conversation with the friendly giant. Marty told Muhammad all he knew about frogs, which thanks to his childhood friend Jess was quite a lot. Muhammad had absorbed the information with quiet intensity and later repeated it back to his mother and brother.
Of course the later had involved some yelling and threats when Mama Chang had discovered her youngest son missing from their home and she'd panicked just like any mother would. When Mama Chang had finally found them down on Compton Creek with the box of frogs she hadn't known quite what to think of a scrawny, scruffy white boy looking after her son and teaching him how to catch frogs in the reeds.
Tiny and fragile-looking as she was, Marty had still felt the fear that she would beat him senseless if he made the mistake of doing anything to harm her son.
He'd charmed her with his smile and soft voice and she'd taken them back to the crumbling house, fixing sandwiches and iced tea.
That had been the beginning of a curious friendship.
After that, Marty came by every day to look after Muhammad while Alvin and Bertha were at work. The unlikely pair became a frequent sight to the residents of Compton.
Some at first didn't take to kindly to a white man looking after an obviously mentally handicapped black, but Muhammad set them straight. He may have lost much of his mental power, but he still had the strength and that settled things quickly.
When the state of California had declared Damon Sharpe legally dead and started selling off the former drug kingpin's estate Marty had put a bid in Bertha Chang's name on the dance club where the twins had been bouncers for a while before moving up to the dubious distinction of Sharpe's bodyguards.
Money that had at one time been hidden in Damon Sharpe's house was used to pay for the purchase of the club. Blood money that could be cleansed somewhat by letting a shattered family start life over again.
Mama Chang had been pretty surprised to find herself the owner of a dance club that was frequented by the wealthy and the famous, but she didn't take long to get the hang of being a businesswoman.
"Goodbye Zack, I will be by again tomorrow." said Alvin.
The precise footsteps faded away.
Time passed and he did not know if it had been hours or simply minutes. People came and went from the room never speaking, at least not to him.
Unable to use any of his other senses, when Marty listened to the voices of his visiting friends he tried to picture what they looked like. How they were dressed, the gestures they made when they spoke and even how they sat in the chair they pulled close to the side of the bed.
Kensi was always the first to arrive. It had to be morning because sometimes he could hear the early show turned low on the television. Marty imagined her sitting in the chair with a cup of coffee, her eyes bright with her usual morning energy.
Marty decided this morning that Kensi was wearing a pink shirt with a large purple orchid printed on it. He had never seen her wear any such shirt but this was, after all, his vision so he could dress her anyway he wanted to. She probably had on a pair of her 'too loose' size one faded jeans and, from the sound of her footsteps, a pair of short heeled boots.
He imagined how her hair must look this morning, no doubt pulled back in the ponytail she often wore, loose ringlets of the mahogany and russet curling around her face and along her long and graceful neck. He wondered how her skin seemed to stay such a creamy pale color, California sun was not the kindest to soft skin.
She told him about how traffic was, the weather, the smog report and the funny things David Letterman had said on his show the night before. As she told him about the guy at the gym trying to convince her to go with him for a cup of coffee, Marty could picture her ducking her head, long eyelashes on her sharp cheekbones and that wicked smile on her wide mouth. He always thought that the birthmark that made her right eye appear darker than her left gave her an air of mystery and danger.
She was in many ways the most beautiful woman he'd ever met and someday if he ever got out of this he planned to tell her just that.
He listened more to her tone of voice than to the things she said. She sounded sad but trying to be upbeat. Kensi's visits always ended the same way.
"I'm here for you, Marty, please, please come back to me."
G would wander in sometime after Kensi left, his soft shoes making very little sound. Callen never spoke until he'd settled into the chair and Marty got the sense that G would stare at him for a while before he spoke.
He too, would talk about the weather and traffic. No recap of television shows fortunately because G did not own a TV. Then he'd lapse into silence and Marty was never even certain that the man was even still there until he would hear him say goodbye.
Callen was a little harder for Marty to picture, he was not a man that encouraged people to stare at him but Marty had a good memory for what the agent looked like. No telling how he was dressed of course, because G didn't seem to favor any particular style the way his partner Sam did.
Callen was a distinctive looking man though, his attached earlobes blended straight into his strong jaw line that was covered in a permanent five o'clock shadow. G's hair was brown, close cut and he had a sharp widow's peak. His blue eyes were set deep under dark brows and he always seemed to be looking through you, seeing everything that you tried to hide.
It was a bit unnerving, really.
Sam's footsteps are easy to recognize. He always strides into the room and stands beside the bed while he talks. He never as far as Marty can tell, sits in the chair.
Sam gives him updates of their current cases, and apologized for the lack of progress on finding out what had happened to Marty. Then Sam encourages him to fight against the coma, to concentrate on his senses, to try to move.
When the monitor that measures his heart rate begins to beep just a little faster Sam encourages him some more.
"I know you're in there. I know that you can hear me." Sam said.
Marty could imagine Sam's large dark hands clamped around the bed rail as he spoke to him.
"That's it Deeks, you can do it, I know you can." His voice is low but commanding, like a drill sergeant for yoga. "Start with something simple like moving your toes or your fingers then we'll get you back in the cage for a rematch with me." he teased.
Sam has a broad, straight nose and a wide mouth that curls at the corners into a mischievous smile, particularly when he and his partner Callen are up to something - which is pretty often.
Sam's head is shaved, his chin pointed and his large complex ears set close to the sides of his head. His eyes are clear, dark brown almost always, smiling. The dark tattoo on his right arm from his shoulder to just above his wrist is almost always covered by the long sleeved, snug fitting colorful shirts he likes to wear.
"Set a goal for yourself, it shouldn't been a huge one either. You can't climb Mt. Everest in one go, you stop at camps along the way." Sam told him. "Arrive at that first camp, congratulate yourself and then move on up."
Sam's visits always end with a positive note.
"I know you're going to beat this. You're strong and you will come back." he said before he leaves.
Hetty's visits always startle him. She makes no sound at all when she enters, he'd just suddenly hear her beside him, speaking. She would tell him about the places she'd visited, hint at things she'd done while there and like Sam, encourage him to wake up.
Marty pictured her in one of her power suits with a scarf of some complicated motif around her neck. Her mouth is small, brown hair straight and cut to the bottom of her ears, deep set dark eyes that miss nothing. She is so ordinary and yet extraordinary, a puzzle wrapped in an enigma.
The sheets would rustle, and after a few times of hearing this, he realized that she must be picking up his hands, her voice would drop to a quiet tone and he couldn't make out the words but from the cadence he was certain that she was praying over him.
Mama Chang was the reason he'd gotten along so well with Hetty when they had first met.
It was all in knowing the mindset of someone who had to deal with a world full of people who were bigger and stronger than themselves and he'd learned that at an early age.
"Never underestimate the little guy," Sam had once said, "He's got everything to prove and nothing to lose."
That was a fact.