CHAPTER 6
"Joan?" Reese's voice was raspy from lack of use. It had been a couple of days since the explosion. Joan had seldom left his side except to sleep in one of the other exam rooms. He wasn't sure why she felt compelled to stay with him for so long but he was in no condition to question her.
"Yes John, it's me." Joan answered, gripping his hand tightly. Relief was evident in her face and her voice. Watching him struggle with the extent of his physical injuries and his resulting mental state, had been difficult to watch. But she'd seen him battle inner demons before, while overcoming physical injuries...and she had faith he would get through this as well, one more time. But she felt the outcome was going to be different this time. She wished she knew more about his 'other life', the one he'd kept from her. She felt strongly that there were people out there who cared about him and would be worried and wondering what happened to him.
"Where am I? How did I get here?" John whispered. Looking around at the medical equipment in the room, the IV bag hanging above his head, "I can't afford to be here. I don't have any money."
That surprised Joan. His first thought was that he couldn't afford to be here? The clothes he'd been wearing when they'd seen each other in the past were expensive. He'd driven nice cars, he had looked healthy. Why would he think he couldn't afford to be here?
At that moment, Meg Tilman came in the door. Seeing John awake was a pleasant surprise. She had begun to worry about that head injury as he'd been unconscious since Joan had found him. His physical injuries seemed to be healing fine. It was her concern about a concussion that occupied her mind.
John's reaction to Meg coming into the room was surprising and apparently quite painful. He'd jerked back and away from her, like he was trying to get out of the bed. But the pain of his multiple injuries and the medical devices connected to him prevented his escape. He fell back onto the bed, panting heavily from the pain. The IV tube, the heart monitor, the blood pressure cup and other assorted tubes that had been keeping him alive were stronger than he was at the moment.
"John, you've got to calm down. Your injuries have not healed enough yet for any kind of physical activity. Just lie back and let me check your vitals." Meg said with a smile. She was happy to see him finally awake.
Fear and confusion reigned supreme in Reese's mind. He looked over at Joan who was holding his hand tightly. Joan's smile helped ease the fear but not the confusion.
Who was this doctor? Why did she seem to know him but he didn't remember her? He didn't think she was dangerous but….
Watching Meg check his pulse, feeling her lifting the bandages that seemed to cover almost every part of his body, John kept himself alert and wary. He felt she knew what she was doing but he did not know her or her level of expertise. She called him by name and Joan seemed happy she was there. If she was ok in Joan's mind, then it was ok to let her check his injuries. But who was she?
Feeling pleased that his sudden movements had not undone all her hard work to patch him up, Meg smiled at John and asked "How are you feeling, John? We've been very worried about you."
Still feeling confused, John looked back over at Joan for reassurance.
"I'm ok, I guess." He answered with a frown on his face. "Thank you for taking care of me, but who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?" asking so many questions at once winded him greatly. He closed his eyes to tried to catch his breath. He missed the look of concern that Meg and Joan exchanged. Who was she? Where is here? How did he get here? There were some very obvious gaps in his immediate memory.
Joan decided it was probably better that she answer his questions, since he seemed to remember her, if not Meg.
"John, she is Dr. Meg Tilman. This is her clinic." she waited to see if he heard her. Opening his eyes he looked at Joan, waiting for her to continue. "You introduced her to me when I was hurt one time. You brought me to her clinic."
John turned to look at Tilman. Recognition was not in that look…..there was a blankness.
"John, you helped me once," explained Meg. "Saved me from doing something terrible. Something that would have ruined my life. You stopped me from committing….from doing something very wrong." For some reason Meg felt that saying he stopped her from committing murder would be too much for John to handle right now. She had a strong feeling that his mental state was very fragile.
"As far as where you are, you are in a clinic that you helped me set up." Watching him closely, she still saw no sign of him remembering who she was. This was not a good thing. John had helped her set up the clinic but she had no idea where the money came from. John had always talked about a friend who enjoyed helping friends and that was all she'd ever been able to pry out of him. If he didn't remember her, or her clinic, she felt he probably didn't remember his 'friend' who helped either. A friend who was likely very worried about him at this point after several days missing. This was also not a good thing.
She and Joan had been trying to figure out who they needed to contact about John. Neither had any idea of his other life that he'd kept separate and apparently, secret. They were at a loss of who to notify that he was alive.
Meg recognized amnesia as the culprit. What she didn't know was if the memory loss was temporary or permanent.
After just twenty-four hours in the hospital, Fusco was ready to go home and sleep in his own bed. Being able to talk to his son made him appreciate how close he'd come to dying. It made him want to spend more time with Lee, get to know him better, because in his chosen line of work he could die very easily on any given day. But these past few months when he'd worked with Reese were a vindication that Reese had been right to take a chance on him. He shuddered to think how his life would have turned out if he'd succeeded in his job at Oyster Bay. He was finally able to look at himself in the mirror every day, proud of the work he was doing instead of having to hide things or write up bogus reports to protect HR. In the end, and that hurt to think it was the end, they had developed a friendship that was built on hard earned respect. John knew more about him than even Carter knew. Even now, after losing his partner and friend, he wanted to keep helping with the numbers if there was a way to continue. He felt it was his duty to honor the man who had given him a second chance at a decent, normal life.
Shaw had been going back and forth checking on Lionel and on Harold. She was at home in the hospital setting but even she was getting antsy. She needed to do something. Being on the move and spending more time outside than inside in the last 10 years had made this level of inactivity bothersome. She found herself getting short with Fusco and even with Harold.
Lionel would be ok once he got home and was able to actually see and hug his son. But Harold was much more of a concern. He seemed to have shut down. He spoke very little, if at all, mainly answering with just a 'yes' or 'no' to questions. He refused to look at anyone; he just kept staring out the window of his hospital room. The doctor said his physical injuries were healing well. But it was his mental state that worried Shaw. She could set a bone or stitch a knife wound closed but problems in the head were not her strong point. She hoped Zoe's meeting with Iris went well. They were going to definitely need Iris's expertise in dealing with Harold's withdrawal.
Iris sat very still, listening to Zoe explain what she knew about how John died. Tears slowly rolled down her cheeks, the only testament to the painful struggle going on inside of her. The anger that had been sustaining her was gone. In its place was a vacuum that refused to be filled. It felt like a part of her was gone; that it something, or in this case, someone, had been torn from her was a physical thing. There was no air in the room, no air to breathe, no reason TO breathe. Panic was setting in. Her eyes searched for a way out, away from the pain that was taking over every part of her but there was none.
Then her eyes fell on a white dress shirt, folded up neatly on the end table next to Zoe. She'd found it yesterday while doing her manic cleaning, 'therapy for what ails you' she always said, of her apartment. The shirt was John's. She'd washed, dried and folded it up, planning to give it to him next time she saw him at the precinct. She reached out one hand in the direction of the shirt, feeling the need touch something of his. Not trusting her legs to hold her, she looked beseechingly at Zoe, pleading with her eyes since she seemed to have no voice. Zoe followed her eyes and recognized one of John's shirts. She reached for it to hand it to Iris. She was surprised at her own reaction upon to touching John's shirt, it brought tears to her eyes as well. She stood up and walked across the room to hand the shirt to Iris.
Iris thanked Zoe with tear-filled eyes and buried her face in the folded shirt. Zoe sat down next to Iris and put her arm around the younger woman, pulling her close and letting her cry. Shared grief was always easier to bear…...as tears once again rolled down Zoe's cheeks.
Zoe recovered first from the moment of shared grief, having given into her loss earlier, in private. She helped Iris lay down on the couch, still clutching the shirt, now damp with her tears. Zoe went into the kitchen looking for something soothing to drink. Finding nothing but bottled water made her smile and shake her head. She had a feeling that Iris was a little more straight-laced than what John was usually attracted to. But that may also have been part of the allure.
Taking a bottle back into the living room, she set it on the table next to Iris and then sat back down in her original seat, waiting for Iris to speak when she was ready. Looking around the apartment, she was able to get a sense of why John had been drawn here. There was comfort in every corner. A warmth in the family photos in the frames on the bookcase, paintings of landscapes or grasslands and mountains in the background, an obviously well used fireplace.
Her gaze returned to find Iris looking at her with pained filled eyes. Zoe smiled at her.
"Well, this is a certainly a change, the doctor on the couch…." That brought a slight smile to Iris's face.
A bond was formed in that moment between the two dissimilar women. Zoe began telling Iris more about the working relationship John had with Harold.
It was critical that she made Iris understand why it was important that she help Harold. She had a strong feeling it was going to be an uphill battle since Iris showed so much anger toward Harold for 'sending John on his mission to save people and now to his death', accidental or otherwise.
Zoe's obvious love and affection toward Harold at least got her to listen. Still reeling from learning about John, Iris had been resistant to helping Harold. John had never mentioned him to her. Why had he kept that part of his life so secret from her? From the way Zoe explained their 'job' he was responsible for sending John to his death. The fact that he went willingly, on his own, to his possible death, didn't lessen the anger or the pain of loss. The man, Harold, had to know what an offer like the one he'd given, would have meant to a man like John. How such an offer would have seemed like a form of salvation to a man so riddled with guilt over the things he'd done. There was no question John would go despite any danger.
Zoe pushed on, finally getting Iris to understand how important Harold was to John. And finally Iris agreed to check on Harold in the hospital the next day when she checked on Lionel.
Meg stepped out of the room where she was letting Reese stay while recovering. A worried expression on her face. She was glad she'd been able to take care of all the gunshot wounds that had found their mark, but it had been the head wound that worried her the most. There was no way to actually treat amnesia. She was going to try and wait it out to see if it was temporary or not. At least he seemed to recognize Joan. She would be his anchor. Shaking her head, Meg walked toward her office in the back of the clinic. She was going to have to do some serious research on amnesia if she was going to be able to help John. Thank goodness for the internet!
Joan sat beside John, watching him closely. He held her hand tightly but he looked like he wanted to leap off the bed and run. Run out of the room, out of the clinic and into the streets. There was a wildness, a wariness in his eyes that had not been there until Meg came in. He acted like he didn't know her. But he was the one that had introduced them! He acted like he had no money, but every time she'd seen him in the last couple of years, he had been dress in high quality AND he always came bringing money that he passed out to those in this shelter. He knew her so why would he not know Meg?
"John, John. " she called to him. He turned toward her and gripped her hand even tighter. "Joan, where am I? Why am I hurt?" he said looking down at the bandages on his legs and lower stomach. He tried moving his right arm but his shoulder was immobilized but not enough to prevent the pain of movement. "How did I get hurt? Did they find me?" he looked back at Joan in bewilderment and concern.
"Who found you, John? Do you remember the building that exploded?" Joan asked quietly, searching his face for any kind of memory. There was none.
"Building? What building? Why did it explode? Why would I have been there?" he whispered. Panic was beginning to set in again. "Did I do it?" he whispered.
That question caught Joan by surprise. She honestly didn't know if he'd blown the building up or not. She hadn't thought about it. But the John that she knew would not have done something that would have killed or injured other people, innocent people.
"No, John. You didn't cause the explosion," she paused, trying to decide how much information he could handle at once. Taking in his bewilderment at what she'd already told him, she decided to be as vague as possible. "But you were hurt by it. I found you in the rubble, unconscious and brought you to Meg to take care of you."
"You know her? The doctor? She won't tell anybody I'm here will she?" John whispered his questions, obviously concerned about who might overhear him.
"No John, she's a friend. A good friend. She's taken very good care of you." then remembering his worry about money, she added, "and she's not going to charge you anything."
John looked at Joan and frowned. "Why would she do that? What is she hiding?" John closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillow. Fatigue was evident in his face. The confusion and panic had drained what little energy he had. Within moments he had fallen asleep.
Sitting there, holding his hand, Joan watched the strain slowly leave his face. The shadows under his eyes seemed more pronounced since he'd first woken up. Once she felt he was completely asleep, she slipped her hand out of his and stood up. Looking down at him she was surprised at the love she felt for this man who had fallen into her life twice. He touched her in a way she couldn't explain. He had to get better. He didn't deserve whatever had happened to him. He was a good man, a very good man.
Walking away toward the door, she turned and looked back at him. He had to get well. The world needed a man like him; he was too important to lose.
Finding the one nurse who worked with Meg, Joan asked her where to find Meg. She was directed to the back of the clinic. The door was open and Meg was typing away on the keyboard of her laptop. Tapping on the door, Joan walked into the office.
Meg looked up, "Joan! Is everything alright? Is John alright?" she asked. "Do I need to go check on him?"
"No he's fine. He's fallen back to sleep." said Joan. "I think all of the confusion took a lot out of him."
"You are correct. Being hurt that badly, with as much blood loss as those multiple gunshot wounds caused and combined with being unconscious for over 24 hours will make you weak under any circumstances. Add in his confusion. I am surprised he stayed awake as long as he did. But John's always got to be different and prove 'the norm' is not a word you'd use to describe him." she said with a smile.
"What's wrong with him, Meg? Why does he remember me but not you? He doesn't even seem to remember what happened to him! He knows nothing about the explosion or why he was anywhere near it. What's wrong with him?" she asked in a rush.
"I've been worried about that head wound since you brought him in. I was worried about a concussion and apparently he does have one which has caused the amnesia." Turning back toward her laptop, she nodded and said "I've been doing some research on amnesia and I feel confident that is what's wrong. What I don't know is if it's temporary or permanent."