"That's the goddamn last time you'll ever do that. Do you understand?" Jane bellowed.
All of the anger, pain, and disappointment that had lain dormant for twenty-three years erupted and flowed out of her. She actually wanted to kill the woman standing in front of her, she could do it.
"Get out of my house, don't ever come back," her mother screamed.
Jane didn't bother to pack anything. The way she was feeling, she knew she had to leave right then and there. She grabbed her purse and car keys and headed for the door, her mother following close behind.
"You're probably not even my kid, you don't look anything like me. It's tough out there Jane, you'll never make it. You're a loser, you ugly son of a bitch."
Jane whirled to face her, "No, you're the loser and I'll make it just to spite you," she screamed back at her as she slammed the car door.
At that moment, an explosion of thunder shook the ground and lightning ripped through the sky, God was infuriated by what he'd witnessed.
The rain came crashing down in buckets as Jane, shivering in her nightgown, pulled away. Her mother stood out in the street, soaking wet and still yelling.
Jane could barely see through the sheets of water that pounded against her windshield. She didn't know where to go, she had no clothes or money. It was hard enough to navigate through the rain, but she was crying her heart out, sobbing so hard her chest hurt. She cried for all those years she'd never allowed herself to feel rotten about her life, for always struggling to smile, to talk to people when she knew what they thought of her, to be somebody, to save her scrawny earnings and go to school. Now it all seemed like a pathetic joke. She was homeless, her boss was trying to fire her, she'd have to quit school; what little she had was gone. Her life had been a nightmare and it still was.
Thoughts of suicide ran through her mind and planted themselves there. They were actually comforting, at least it was a plan. Killing herself seemed like a good idea, a great idea, it would solve everything, it would relieve the pressure, it would stop all the pain, she'd never have to go through anything horrible again. No money, no clothes, no future, no other ideas. She let her foot fall hard on the accelerator, then pushed it down as her courage grew. There was no one else on the road. She wouldn't hurt an innocent person, just herself. Her crummy little car flew down the open highway, bouncing and sloshing through the torrents of water.
"If you want me God, I'm ready, I'm sorry..." she cried out with all her strength.
Katherine wasn't frightened by the lightning that hit the ground just outside her window.
"I'm ready, I love you Jon," she said aloud, her mind as clear as it had ever been.
She saw her husband's handsome face, he smiled at her as he held out his hand to her. She walked towards him and the radiant warm light that enveloped her so sweetly.
Thoughts of Jane ran silently from Katherine's mind to Jon's and he nodded in agreement as their hands met. Katherine drew her last breath on earth just as Jane's car smashed through the guardrail and plunged to the ground with spectacular force.
The nightshift aide turned on the overhead light in Katherine's room to get a closer look at her. It was just as she thought; this patient wasn't breathing. She walked out of the room and to the nurse's station.
"Katherine Stryer has expired," she reported to the charge nurse.
"All right, I'll call the funeral director, doctor and her family. What time is it, two forty-five in the AM."
An intensely bright light shone in her face and it was extremely annoying. Jane put her hands over her eyes for relief.
"She's coming around. Dr. Glatz, she appears to be conscious now."
A face slowly came into focus, that of a fiftyish man with gray curly hair and a concerned expression. He didn't seem like a stranger.
"Hello there, glad to see you awake, do you remember what happened?" he asked her.
"Uh, no. I was driving, just driving..." she replied, feeling foggy.
"That's right. You were in a very serious car accident. From what the ambulance crew said, you're lucky to be alive. You're in pretty good shape, just one laceration on your forehead, minor cuts and bruises and a mild concussion. We're going to keep you overnight for observation here at St. Ann's Hospital."
"Was anybody else hurt?"
"No, was there anyone else in the car with you?"
"No," she answered quickly.
The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse standing beside him. Both veterans, they'd seen enough to suspect this patient had made an attempt to end her life.
"Good. Can you recall your name and the date," he continued as he checked her pupil dilation again.
"Yes, Jane Marshall and it's Monday, no Tuesday by now—February."
"Correct. Huh, I know a Jane Marshall, she occasionally brings patients in here from the nursing home," he said to himself.
"That's why you seem familiar to me, I'm Jane."
"I don't think so. Why don't you get some rest, your memory may still be a little cloudy. Nurse," he tried to say quietly but Jane heard him anyway. "Let's keep an eye on her, her head trauma could be more severe than it appears."
She didn't understand what he meant, but she was too tired and achy to care. She fell asleep as they prepared to transfer her from the emergency cubicle to a regular room upstairs.
The morning sun poured in between the slits of the hospital blinds and roused Jane from sleep.
Before coming into full consciousness, she actually thought she was dead. Then she moved slightly and pain shot through her beat up body, stimulating her to recall the previous night. She remembered feeling terribly upset and driving wildly through the storm.
As she looked around the room, she recollected her brief stay in the ER and that she'd spent the night in the hospital. A young nurse walked into the room.
"Good morning. How are you feeling?" she asked pleasantly.
"Sore, ouch," Jane replied as she tried to sit up. "I'm afraid to see what I look like, not that I looked good before but..."
"You look better after a car accident than most of us do on a good day," the nurse answered with a smile.
"What?" Jane questioned, wondering what she meant by that comment.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say the wrong thing. Um, you have tylenol, motrin or percocet ordered if you need something for pain," she offered. "And I'll be glad to help you with a shower or bath or anything else you need. I put shampoo, soap, toothpaste and a toothbrush in the bedside dresser. And there's a plastic bag containing your belongings in the closet."
"Thanks, I'll take some motrin. But what I'd really like is to be discharged."
"Dr. Rye will be your attending physician, he'll be making rounds soon and you can discuss that with him."
"Okay. May I also have some water please?"
"Sure, and breakfast will be coming up any minute," the nurse said over her shoulder as she walked out.
Jane wanted to go to the bathroom, by herself. She slowly sat up, feeling shaky and weak as she dangled her legs over the bedside. She gradually stood up from her sitting position, held onto the side rails for balance and took a few steps towards the bathroom.
"Now, there's a bad idea," a male voice said from behind her somewhere.
A handsome thirty-something man dressed in a tie and white coat stepped beside her and took her arm.
"I'll help you to the bathroom, you don't look too steady."
"Thanks, I guess I'm not."
He guided her gently but firmly to the door.
"I'll wait out here," he stated as she closed the door behind her.
She didn't want to look in the mirror that sat above the sink, mainly because she felt like throwing up already.
Jane washed her hands and managed to open the door, he was waiting there to help her back to bed. She sat down on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were fixed on the long legs that gracefully hung below her.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I, I don't know.
I feel kind of strange, I think my perception is off."
"Those are typical sensations of a head trauma," he reassured her. "I should have introduced myself earlier, I'm Dr. Rye and I'll be looking after you while you're here. Do you have any questions for me?"
"Just one, I'd like to go home. I feel pretty good and I can rest better at home."
"I think it's a little too soon for you to go home. Don't worry, with managed care, you won't be in here for long. Now, let me take a quick look at you," he remarked, taking his instruments out of his pocket to assess her neurological condition and general physical status.
He chatted pleasantly to her, "I know a lot of people have already asked you this, but do you remember what happened last night?"
"I was upset, I was driving too fast, the rest is kind of a blur. The next thing I remembered was waking up here," Jane repeated her account.
"The ambulance crew and police couldn't find your purse..."
"I don't think I had one with me."
They were both being cautious about their questions and answers. Jane knew he was gently fishing for information about her. Her situation was suspicious; a young woman driving in the middle of the night in her nightgown with no wallet, purse, money, identification or belongings of any sort. It didn't take a genius to figure out something was going on.
"Have you called any family members or friends to let them know you're here? Someone's probably worried about you," he commented casually as he examined the steri-strips that closed the wound on her forehead.
"No, I don't have any family. I have a few friends that I'll call later," she replied.
"Okay, well, the ER doc did a good job so you won't have much of a scar. We can talk more tomorrow, is there anything else you need while I'm here?"
"No, thank you."
"Fine, get your rest and take the pain meds if you need them. The nurses will keep doing the neuro checks for the next twenty-four hours, just to be safe. And if you feel like talking, here's my card with my beeper number on it," he offered, laying it on her bedside table. He knew she was hiding something.
She smiled at him in thanks before he turned and walked out the door.
Jane wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but it seemed as though he paid more attention to her than necessary. She figured he must think she had mental problems and felt sorry for her. Still tired, she pulled the crisp white sheet up to her chin and fell asleep. Sleeping without interruptions was a true luxury.
"Hello, hello," a kind voice roused her.
Jane opened her eyes and sat up to gaze at the large clock on the wall that read four in the afternoon, "God, I slept all day."
"You probably needed the rest," the voice replied. "Hi, my name is Cherie Mace, I'm one of the hospital social workers."
"Hi," Jane responded, trying to quickly gather her senses. She guessed that she appeared pathetic and this woman was here to assess her needs and if she was nutty. Jane had seen her share of social workers throughout her childhood.
"My job at the hospital is to help people in difficult circumstances; I do counseling, family meetings, help with financial and housing needs, a lot of problem solving stuff. Or if someone just needs to talk, I'm very happy to listen with respect."
Jane could tell that Cherie was sincere, but she couldn't help her. Social workers had been trying to help her since the day she was born. She'd fallen through all the cracks; children and youth were overworked, there weren't enough foster homes, her mother managed to stay clean long enough to convince the judges, it went on and on... The only person who'd ever significantly helped Jane was herself.
"Thanks, that's good to know," Jane answered without commitment.
Cherie wasn't about to let go of things so easily. "You'll probably be discharged tomorrow, what are your plans after that?"
"Um, nothing exciting, I'll go back to work, get back to my apartment."
"So you live alone?"
"Yes, I'm not in a relationship right now."
"Your family must be relieved that you're okay after such a serious accident," Cherie passively fished for information.
Jane knew that Cherie was aware she'd remarked to the doctor about having no family.
"No, I haven't any close family. I grew up on my own."
"That must have been hard."
"At times, but I survived."
Cherie sensed Jane wasn't going to give her anything. She had to pull out the big guns and hope Jane would open up to save herself.
"I have to be honest with you. I can tell you don't want to talk about yourself or what happened last night and I can understand that, but things are more complicated now. All accidents are investigated and the police know the car you were driving didn't belong to you. It was registered to a Jane Marshall, and unfortunately, they can't locate this girl. If she is a friend of yours, you need to speak up, or if she was in the car with you that night. Can you tell me anything so I can help you with this situation?"
"I am Jane Marshall, I told the doctor in the ER that last night."
"I know, but Dr. Glatz said he knows Jane Marshall and you're not that person."
"I know who I am, believe me. Can you excuse me for a minute, I need to use the bathroom," Jane said, feeling like she was going to cry. She couldn't understand why these people were torturing her.
She walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She got up and washed her hands at the sink, gathering the courage to briefly glance at herself in the mirror. An overwhelming sensation of ice-cold fear and panic flowed through her body; the face that looked back at her was not her own.
She began to perspire profusely as she touched the reflection in the mirror, as if it had been painted there and could be wiped off. She touched her own face, ran her fingers through the hair and the reflection did the same. She closed her eyes and splashed cold water on the face, it was still there. Her brain began to race; was she awake, was she dead, was she in a coma and dreaming, was she in purgatory, was she hallucinating, had she finally lost her mind and was now living in a schizophrenic fantasy? The part of her mind that registered rock hard reality told her this was real.
"God, please help me, what is going on. Please God..." she prayed aloud.
"Are you all right in there?" Cherie called though the door, having heard Jane's pleas.
"I'll be right out," she managed to say, still in shock.
Suddenly Jane understood the various comments from the hospital staff, it made sense now. This face she wore was nothing less than beautiful. Large almond-shaped eyes crowned by thick lashes gazed back at her, a straight small nose set above full lips were accented by high cheekbones and a graceful neck. Heavy waves of auburn hair curved about her face as it came to rest on feminine shoulders. The only characteristic about this face that resembled her own was the color of the eyes, for they remained a dark chocolate.
She pulled at the neck of her patient gown and looked down it to see the kind of figure she had always envied on others.
"This is one hell of a reincarnation," she said to herself, enjoying her beauty for a delirious second. "No one will ever believe I'm Jane Marshall."
The gravity of this fact terrified her; she was in big trouble. The way things stood right now, it appeared as though she was directly involved in something covert or criminal. She knew Cherie was still waiting for her.
Changing into the clean hospital gown that had been placed on a shelf above the toilet, she tried to appear calm as she returned to her bed.
"Are you okay?" Cherie asked.
"Yes, I have some pain yet," Jane lied.
"You look pretty anxious," Cherie observed.
"I feel anxious, I'm not sure what's going on, but it sounds as if I'm in trouble."
"Maybe you're not in trouble, why don't we try to unravel what happened yesterday."
"I can't remember, like I told Dr. Rye, I can only recall being upset and driving."
"I think you do remember more than that, I also think you'r
e scared."
"I would like to talk to you, but I don't have anything to go on right now," Jane stated, avoiding a discussion.
"I'm going to leave you my number, if you change your mind, call me and I'll come as quickly as I can."
"I will, thank you."
Cherie was sharp and Jane was a lousy liar, she wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer.
Cherie walked out to the nurse's station where Dr. Rye stood leaning against the desk, writing in some charts.
"So, what do you think?" he asked the social worker.
"I think she was trying to kill herself, that she's either in denial or hiding something major. I don't know where this Jane Marshall fits into the picture; they could be friends and she lent her car to the patient or she could have stolen the car. I don't think our young lady harmed the girl, I just don't get that feeling from her, but one never knows. The only thing that bothers me and looks bad for our gal is that she thinks she is Jane Marshall—the police are going to see that as an implication."
"Why do you think she keeps saying that?" he wondered.
"I think she's emotionally distraught right now, in a mental crisis and actually believes she is this person."
"What do you think we should do?"
"She should go up to psychiatry, she'd probably clear up with some medication. At least she'd be safe up there and it would hold the police at bay for a little while," Cherie recommended.
"I'll write an order for a psych consult, hopefully we won't have to commit her and she'll go voluntarily."
"I hope so," Cherie said as she left to see the million other cases assigned to her that day.
"Jane is that you? God, I was worried sick about you. Your mother called me a thousand times, crying hysterically and demanding to talk to you. Where the hell are you anyway, you're gonna get fired," exclaimed Rita.
"I had a huge fight with my mom last night and I decided that was it, I was leaving forever. I have never felt that upset. Anyway, I was driving crazy, crying uncontrollably in the pouring rain and I got into an accident. I woke up at St. Ann's ER. I have a mild concussion and some bruises, but I'm fine."
Transformation Page 2