Faithful readers, you're just the best, you hear? :)
New perspective for this one...Kudos go to Shadpup for putting the idea in my head many, many months ago.
Happy reading =)
"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurt that goes too deep…that have taken hold." – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
I glance up from my task when I hear a knock at the door. I find two gentlemen there, dressed in suits, with hard expressions on their faces.
"Excuse me, we were hoping to speak with her," the taller of the two says. His voice matches his style of dress – cold, detached, and all business. It's not hard to guess that his colleague's will no doubt follow the pattern as well.
"We've just started to-" I begin to explain but am immediately interrupted by the suit.
"That was not a request."
I arch an eyebrow at his response and share a quick look with Gabby. He's certainly not the first bureaucratic suit we've had to deal with, but he does seem to have a little more…danger in his eyes.
"You can speak with her, but we have to finish up here first."
"We'll need to speak with her now," the shorter of the two says firmly, finally speaking.
"That's not an option at this point in time, and I'll have to ask you to wait outside until we've finished," I reply firmly, leaving no room for argument.
The two gentlemen pause for a moment, considering my words before they both give a small nod and disappear into the hallway. I share a look with Gabby, but stay quiet, knowing they haven't gone far. I focus back onto the woman lying in the bed who'd observed my interaction with the foreboding looking gentlemen.
Gabby and I go about changing the bandages, but I let my gaze drift back down to her. Her eyes lock onto mine, and I'm startled by her lack of expression. There is a depth of emotion and pain in her eyes, but her expression is largely neutral. I don't know the specifics of her situation, nor do I know anything about her. For all intents and purposes, she's just Jane Doe.
I stopped trying to figure out the identities of these "need to know basis" cases many years ago. Frankly, I don't care who they are – my only worry is getting them healthy and on their way. But there's something about this one that piques my interest. She isn't anyone that I can recognize, and I doubt she's a criminal, based on the relatively lax security around her, and she doesn't seem the politician type... If movies and TV shows are any indication, her lack of visitors and the appearance of these suited gentlemen would seem to indicate she's some sort of agent or spy. But that hinges on ridiculous, so I dismiss the very notion. Then again… in this part of the country, there's a lot that's hush-hush and left unsaid, so maybe I shouldn't be dismissing things so easily.
Regrettably, we finish our tasks and I have to let the gentlemen in to speak with her. Something in my gut is screaming at me to stay in the room with her, or refuse them entry, but protocol is protocol, so Gabby and I leave and inform the suited men that they can enter.
I'm surprised when they don't close the door fully, but am not surprised when all I can decipher is hushed tones. I reluctantly turn my attention to my stack of paperwork, but keep a small part of it tuned to the goings on in the room.
A few minutes pass with no incident, but then suddenly I hear a loud "No!" from the room. It's the first word I've heard from her in her stay here. I blink in shock and then look up and meet Gabby's eye. She shares my concern and we both turn our attention to the partially closed door.
Another few moments pass, with strained tones coming the room, and then all of a sudden the woman who'd been so quiet and so detached is yelling.
"GET OUT! You've said what you had to say, now get the hell out of here," she spits out, and it's the tone of her voice that gets me and Gabby up and moving into the room.
My eyes grow wide when I reach the door and take in the scene in front of me. She's fighting against the gentlemen as best she can in her weakened state. She lashes out with a fist, and connects weakly with the shorter of the two men, but instantly they restrain her.
"Just go!" she says bitterly as she tries to wrench her arms free from their hold. There's hints of despair and anguish in her tone, but largely it's tinged with frustration.
"You need to leave," I say firmly. Both men ignore me, instead keeping their attention focused on the patient. "Now," I say loudly, exercising my rarely used authoritative voice and a glare that dares them to defy me.
They share a brief look before the shorter one leans in to whisper something in her ear. Whatever he says must have been nasty, because she gets this fire in her eyes and shoves him away.
"Fuck you," she spits at him. He shoots her a look as he makes his way out of the room. I reach forward to try and stop her movements when I see her reach for the cup on the table beside her bed. But my actions are too slow and instead I watch as the cup sails across the room and bounces off the door, not far from his head.
He turns and glares at her. "You know, you should treat us better, we're doing you a favour."
Her eyes have a look about them, like it's taking every fibre of her being to not explode. The exchange between them is enough of an indication that whatever they told her has shaken her to her very core. And it doesn't take an expert to tell that they need to leave. Quickly.
"Out," Gabby says, pointing a finger toward the door. "She needs to rest."
They put up no protest this time, and step out of the room quickly, not sparing another glance at her. I hear their footfalls become fainter as they continue down the hallway, and I turn my attention back to her. I'm shocked when I see tears in her eyes.
"You all right, hon?" I ask softly, hoping for once I'll get an answer.
Her only response is to try and curl up, an action made near impossible by the nasty wound to her abdomen. She winces and lets out a string of groans and grunts from the pain. But despite the pain no doubt coursing through her, she still tries to make herself small. Gabby and I set to work immediately, making sure she can't exacerbate her injuries.
She fights against our quickly moving hands with weak efforts, maybe still confused about who's in the room, or maybe just too far gone to care. With a frown Gabby and I set about to make sure she'll be able to rest comfortably, and definitely not add to her recovery time.
"Hey, aren't you done for the day?" I look up from my phone and find Gabby peeking her head around the corner.
"Yeah, just waiting for Darryl. He's stuck in traffic apparently," I reply, gesturing to my phone.
"Well, it is a Friday…"
"And of course that fact escaped my lovely husband's mind when he decided to leave the house late."
"Of course," she says with a grin. "You gonna hang out here 'til he gets here?"
"I thought I might sit with her," I say, nodding toward her room. "Figured she could use some company."
"Maybe," she says with a nod.
"I just feel like she needs someone right now. Lord knows what kind of circumstances had her coming in with the injury she did, and having no visitors save for those two gentlemen."
Gabby shoots me a smile. "You're good people, you hear?"
"What do you suppose she does for a living?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me. Everything surrounding her had all been very hush-hush. Made me feel like I was playing a role in some sort of dramatic movie.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Gabby says with a shrug. "All I know is that whatever the hell those two told her, it wasn't sunshine and daisies."
I nod in agreement. There was something in her voice when she was yelling that was so tinged with despair…almost like she'd lost everything. I've heard plenty of strangled yells of despair in my time, but that one takes the cake. It hurt my heart to hear it. It was one of those things that sticks with you for a long time afterward. I can still hear it, clear as day. Shook me to my very core, it did.
"Anyway, I'm headed off. You take care. See you Monday."
"Yeah, you too," I reply, giving a quick wave before settling my gaze back onto her room. With Gabby's footsteps down the hallway slowly fading, I get up and make my way into her room, sitting down in the chair beside the bed.
I stay quiet at first, just watching her. She's conscious, and very much aware of her surroundings, but since those gentlemen arrived and gave her whatever news it was they had, she'd become quiet – no, she'd become silent. Not that she said a whole lot before then…but she'd been mostly out of it then. Now she splits her gaze between the ceiling and the window. She doesn't answer questions, make eye contact, or acknowledge anyone's presence. And frankly, it's starting to concern me.
I worry about her. Sure, her physical recovery is going according to plan despite her little outburst, but her mental recovery is a far different story. Her injury is traumatic enough in and of itself, but I have no doubt that the circumstances leading to her suffering that injury were just as horrible. And she's had no one in to visit her… Add all of that to whatever it is those gentlemen told her, and it's hard not to be concerned for this woman. No matter how strong a person is, that's a straw that would break the camel's back.
"Hi," I say softly, watching her carefully for any indication that she's heard me. "I'm just waiting for my idiot of a husband to get outta traffic and come pick me up, and I figured I'd sit in here with you, if that's all right?"
She doesn't respond, but her gaze shifts from the ceiling to the window behind me and I manage to keep the surprise off my face. I know she's not looking at me, that much I've gleaned from being around her the past few days, but it doesn't stop me from seeing the brokenness in her eyes. I feel a wave of sadness wash over me. She's going through all of this alone.
"I can leave if you'd like…" I trail off, waiting and hoping for a response, even if it's just to tell me to leave. Aside from the few words of anger she'd spit at those two men, I hadn't heard a peep out of her. She just seems to be stuck inside her own head.
"I just figured it'd be nice to have someone here with you, even if you don't really know me. I see a lot of folks here who spend most of their days trying to fill the time between visits, and they always tell me it's nice to have someone milling about in the room," I finish, pausing to allow her time to maybe get a few words in, but she stays quiet, her gaze unwavering.
"Your wound is healing nicely if it's any consolation…which it's probably not, but just thought I'd let you know. You'll be on your way home in no time, I'm sure."
My words seem to have an effect on her as her gaze drifts to the ceiling once more, and she begins to pick at her fingernails almost frantically. I blink in surprise at her sudden movements, and watch as her hands twist around. Something I said must have set her off, and I go back over what I'd said to try and figure out specifically what.
It suddenly dawns on me. Home.
She's stuck here in a hospital under mysterious circumstances, not a soul knowing her true identity, or maybe even allowed to know her real identity, and here I am blabbing about how she'll get to go home. How could I be so insensitive? Even if she's on schedule with her recovery, it'll still be another little while until she gets to leave here. And given how hush-hush her presence here is, and the fact that she doesn't seem to be the politician or celebrity type, there's a strong chance that she either doesn't have a home, or can't go back to hers. Add the mysterious visit from the bureaucratic suits, and you've got the makings of a dramatic movie or TV show episode.
I can just see it – key witness injured and then quietly rushed away to an unknown location to heal and hide from their enemies. Or maybe some kind of spy mixing themselves into the wrong crowd. Or an important government official holding secrets tortured for information. They all seem so far-fetched, and yet with the proximity to D.C., there isn't quite anything I'm ready to dismiss yet.
"I'm sorry, hon. I've always had a gift for saying the wrong things at the wrong times. Drives my husband crazy."
I take a moment to observe her. Her jaw is set firmly, as though she's clenching it tightly, perhaps in an effort to keep things locked up tightly. Her eyes are heavy and filled with a resigned sadness. Her posture is one of a defeated individual. I'd seen a spark of life from her when she'd thrown that cup and fought against the holds on her, but it had faded quickly and hadn't resurfaced since. She needs something to help raise her spirits, because as far as I can see, it's starting to hamper her physical recovery.
I sit with her a little while longer, letting some silent moments linger, and telling her odd things about my day. Mostly I'm just hoping to elicit some kind of positive reaction from her. A smile, a disappearing frown, relaxed posture, her to stop picking at her fingernails… At this point I'll take anything.
"Hey, hon. You enjoy your visit with your friend?" I ask her. A nice, young blonde had arrived that morning and asked to speak with her. I was wary of letting anyone else in to see her, especially given her decidedly professional attire. There was no way I was going to have a repeat performance of the last bureaucrats I let into her room.
"Yes," she croaks.
I stop my hands in the midst of changing her bandage. I recover quickly though, cognizant of the fact that making a big deal out of her interaction with me would most likely just lead to her clamming up again.
"Good. She seems like a good egg."
She nods. "She is."
"How you doing today?"
She shrugs. "Okay."
"How's the pain?"
"1-10?" she verifies. I nod. "A five."
I scrutinize her carefully, watching the subtle movements of her eyes. I'd gotten very good over the years of reading patients' eyes to gauge what kind of pain they were dealing with. "So that's really a 7, right?"
Her mouth drops openly ever so slightly, but she offers a small, sheepish smile.
"I thought so. No need to lie to me, ya hear? I'll find you out every time."
She nods solemnly, but I don't count on it. She seems the type to fight showing any sort of weakness.
I finish putting on the fresh bandage and I shoot her a smile. "I'll be back a little later to check on you. Try and get some rest," I tell her before turning to leave.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
I turn back around to face her, the silent question in my eyes. She doesn't respond, but we both know those words were about more than just pain management. There is a look of weariness in her eyes, as though she's finally accepted the inevitable and now has to live with that weight on her soul.
"Get some rest," I reply softly, giving her hand a reassuring pat and hoping like hell that she finds some peace.
So...are we wondering what the lovely gentleman whispered in Emily's ear? Is this nurse just absolutely fantastic? Encouraging to see a little fight from Emily? Let me know...