ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1)

by Jason R. James

  Jeremy tried to focus. “What are you—what am I doing here?”

  The nurse looked around at the door to the room, then he turned back to Jeremy. “Open your mouth, kid.”

  Jeremy did as he was told. The nurse reached up with a long cotton swab, sticking the end in Jeremy’s mouth and rubbing the cotton up and down the inside of his cheek. Then the nurse put the swab inside a long plastic tube and sealed it with a cap.

  Jeremy rolled his tongue over where the swab had been, trying to get rid of the taste of cotton; he tried the nurse again. “Can you tell me why I’m here?”

  The nurse looked over his shoulder again, toward the door, and then back at Jeremy. “You tell me, kid. Rumor is you got hit by a bus. That true?”

  It sounded familiar. Jeremy remembered the bus bearing down on him, but at the same time it wasn’t right. He didn’t actually get hit by the bus, did he? Something else must have happened. The bus stopped. Jeremy shook his head. He was dizzy again.

  “All right, kid,” the nurse opened the door. “Your doctor’ll be here in a minute.”

  Jeremy fell back on the bed. He closed his eyes, and for a second he thought he would go back to sleep, but then the door opened again and a new nurse walked into the room. Like the man before, she wore a set of green scrubs. Jeremy propped himself up on his elbow and faced the door.

  The new nurse stopped. “Oh, so you’re awake.”

  Jeremy didn’t bother with an answer, and the nurse didn’t wait for one. She stepped over to the bed, picked up the phone, and pressed the call button for the nurse’s station.

  “This is Maria. Can you page Dr. Patel for me? Tell him room 324 is awake. Thanks,” the nurse spoke as she reached down for the pulse oximeter and clipped it back to Jeremy’s finger.

  She looked for a minute at the electronic screen. “How do you feel?”

  “Sore. Tired. Hungry. Not necessarily in that order.”

  The nurse pushed a button on the railing of the bed, and the top half of the mattress started to tilt forward, helping Jeremy sit up.

  “I bet you’re hungry. You’ve been under for about eight hours now,” she said.

  Under what? Jeremy heard the words, but he couldn’t exactly follow the thought. What did she mean? Unconscious? He tried to think about it, but then he felt like he was back on the Tilt-o-Whirl down at the shore and he had to stop.

  He reached for the bed’s railing again to steady himself. “What—why was I under?”

  “We don’t really—”

  The door to the hospital room pushed open, and a man, presumably Dr. Patel, stepped inside. He was followed by Jeremy’s mom. As soon as she saw Jeremy in the bed, she pushed past the doctor and wrapped her arms around her son.

  Dr. Patel laid a hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Cross, may I?”

  Emily stepped back from the bed, wiping a quick hand across both of her eyes, smearing her mascara.

  Dr. Patel stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Hello, Jeremy. My name is Dr. Patel. I’m your physician.”

  Jeremy shook his hand.

  Dr. Patel pulled a penlight from his lab coat pocket. “Try to keep your eyes open, please.”

  He reached out for Jeremy’s right eye, holding the lid open as he shone the light directly into Jeremy’s pupil. He did it again for the left eye.

  Patel stepped back. “So, Jeremy, how are you feeling?”

  “I feel sore. A little dizzy sometimes.”

  Patel nodded. “Mmhmm. Any nausea? We can give you—”

  “Dr. Patel,” Jeremy interrupted him, “what’s going on? Why am I here? Was I…was I hit by a bus?”

  The doctor laughed, shaking his head, “No. Certainly not. That would be impossible. You have no broken bones, no scrapes, no external injuries; there’s no internal bleeding. So no, no bus, I’m afraid.”

  Emily spoke up from behind the doctor. “The bus driver said she turned at the last second. She hit a parked car.”

  “Yes,” Patel said, “From what I understand, you are a very lucky man.”

  But it still wasn’t right; Jeremy said, “If I didn’t get hit by the bus, why did the nurse say I was under for eight hours? What happened?”

  The smile that Patel wore so easily since he came into the room suddenly looked strained. “Honestly, Jeremy, we don’t know. At least not yet. We did some initial tests, x-rays and CT scans, but there was no physiological reason for your coma. We think, maybe, it was a psychological defense. A way for your brain to cope with the trauma of almost getting hit, but we don’t know.” And then the easy smile was back on the doctor’s face. “What we’re going to do is keep you overnight for observation. We want to run some more tests, and hopefully we’ll have better answers in the morning.”

  Jeremy pushed a button on the railing of the bed, and the mattress started to recline. “What are the tests? Some guy already came in and got my spit.”

  Dr. Patel glanced over at the nurse. Maria shrugged.

  He looked back at Jeremy. “And who did this test?”

  “Some other nurse, I guess. A guy with a goatee.”

  Patel chuckled. “No, that doesn’t sound like anyone here. Maybe you were still dreaming.” The doctor laughed again. “And we don’t test your spit. We are going to take some blood though, and we want to get you in for another CT scan. Other than that it should be food and rest for you. The good news is, Jeremy, that you’re going to be fine.”

  Patel stepped aside, talking now in a hushed voice to the nurse, and Emily Cross returned to her place by the bedside.

  She reached down and brushed her hand over Jeremy’s hair. “I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead and I was all alone. What were you thinking?”

  Jeremy could see the tears filling her eyes, but then she took in a quick breath and said, “That was so stupid.”

  Jeremy forced himself to look up at her. “I needed to help. I couldn’t just—I needed to do something.”

  He knew his mom wouldn’t understand that answer. She didn’t understand his dad or the choice he made either, and she would never understand this. In a way, Jeremy doubted she would even try.

  Instead, Emily straightened the front of her dress. “That girl—I mean, Kate. Your friend Kate is here. She wouldn’t leave, actually. I’ll send her in to see you, if you want.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Thanks, Mom.” Then his mom stepped out of the room, followed by Dr. Patel and then the nurse.

  As soon as they stepped out of the door, Jeremy felt like he could breathe again. He was glad they were gone. Between their questions and the fake smiles and his own nausea it was all proving more than he could take. He wanted them out. He wanted to be left alone, but when the door opened and Kate walked into the room, Jeremy was glad to see her. At least with Kate he could be himself.

  She waited just inside the door. “Hey.”

  Jeremy pushed himself up higher in the bed. “Hey yourself.”

  Kate walked over, pulled up one of the chairs, and sat down; she spoke again, still hesitant. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’ve been better, I guess.”

  Kate looked away from the bed, staring for a moment out the far window, but when she turned back to Jeremy, for the first time since she entered the room, she sounded like herself. “You know, you owe me, like, at least dinner and a movie or something.”

  Jeremy looked at her. He didn’t get the joke.

  Kate continued. “You honestly don’t remember, do you? We were only making out in the middle of the street, for like, ten minutes or something.”

  Jeremy understood. “You had to give me CPR? It was that bad?”

  Kate blushed. “Yeah, well, they wouldn’t teach it in Health class if they didn’t want us to use it, right?”

  “Katie, you saved my life. Thank you.”

  She pulled a strand of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Of course. I love you, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy shook his head. He knew where this was going. “Kate,
listen—”

  Kate looked down at the floor, and Jeremy could tell she was trying not to cry; he could hear it in her voice. “I know. I already know what you’re going to say. We just can’t get our timing right. It’s so stupid.”

  “Kate,” Jeremy’s voice fell. He wanted to say something now—anything to make it better—but there was nothing else to say. Instead, he changed the subject. “I got hit by that bus today, Kate. I know I did. I didn’t feel it, but—it didn’t hit a car and then stop. It hit me.”

  Kate shook her head. “It looked like you got hit, but the doctor said—”

  “You were there, Kate! You saw it. I got hit!”

  “Yeah…you got hit.”

  Jeremy fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “So if I got hit by a bus, how am I okay? How is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know. No one does.”

  Chapter 4

  Saturday, mid-morning, and the King of Prussia Mall was busy as usual. The air inside was alive with the dull, muffled sound of conversation and a hundred footsteps falling in disparate rhythm. The kind of background noise you only hear when you actually stop and listen.

  Today, Jake Snyder was listening. As he stood on the escalator, rising up toward the food court, he closed his eyes and soaked in the sounds of the mall. He could tell there were a lot of people inside. For Jake, that meant a bigger show, and he always lived for the show. As he neared the top of the escalator, he opened his eyes and smiled.

  Today he wore a pair of brown suede oxfords, dark jeans, and an open navy pea coat over a white wool sweater. He was clean-shaven and blue-eyed, his thick brown hair combed back from his forehead. He carried a brown leather messenger bag across one shoulder, and more often than not the corner of his mouth curled up in a half smile, as if he was always ready to finish telling a joke.

  He certainly looked the part of a “Jake”—fun, easy-going, life of the party—but Jake Snyder wasn’t his real name. It was the name printed on the driver’s license in his wallet, just like it was the name on his credit cards, and his health insurance card, and half a dozen other forms of identification, but the name itself was fake. Just as fake as Bruce Chapel or Victor Mangelli or any of the other 20 names he could have picked for this morning.

  As he reached the top of the escalator, he turned left and started walking for the food court. Just ahead, he could see a smoothie stand painted turquoise and pink. A pair of teenage girls stood at the counter, talking to each other and waiting for their order. On the other side, Jake could see a row of tables stretching across the food court, lined up along the metal railing that overlooked the bronze fountain down on the first floor of the mall. At this hour, most of the tables were still empty, but for now it would have to do.

  Jake pulled the first table away from the railing as he took off his bag and laid it carefully on top. He did the same with his pea coat. Then Jake pushed up his sleeves and opened his bag. He found a wireless microphone headset inside and tucked it around his ear. Then he pulled out a small wireless amplifier, placed it on top of the table, and turned on the power. He was ready to begin.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Gentlemen and ladies!” Jake’s voice boomed over the wireless amp. “It is my pride and pleasure to present to you the one, the only, the ammmaaaaaazzzing Hot Shot!”

  As he finished the introduction, Jake threw open his arms as if the entire Food Court had erupted in applause. In fact, the few people actually sitting around him barely noticed at all. Some had turned around in their chairs, curious, but another man with a gray and grizzled beard never looked up from his coffee. Such was the life of a performer.

  Jake was undeterred; he continued, even louder than before, “Today, ladies and gentlemen, you can count yourselves among the lucky few, because today you will witness never before seen acts of balancing.”

  Jake reached into his messenger bag again, this time for two halves of a pool cue. He quickly screwed the two ends together and tossed the cue high into the air. It turned over once above his head, and as it came back down, he reached out his hand and caught the tip of the cue on his index finger. It wavered back and forth, but only for a second. Then it stood perfectly straight, perfectly still, perfectly balanced.

  Jake raised his other arm out to his side and shouted into his mic, “Tada!”

  He was answered with silence. Still he pressed on, “I know what you’re all thinking. ‘Pretty boring stuff so far, Hot Shot.’ And you would be right. But what can I say? If I started with the good stuff, it would be a pretty short show. Trust me folks, before I’m done, you will be truly amazed. Otherwise I’d have to change my name to ‘The Boring Hot Shot,’ and that just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

  Jake flipped the cue into the air again. Then, as it fell, he caught the fat end on his finger, balancing it again. With his free hand, he reached into his bag and pulled out a white cue ball.

  “We all know that anyone can balance the flat end of a pool cue on the flat end of a finger, but who can balance a round ball on a flat cue?”

  Jake lowered the cue stick down to eye level. Then he placed the cue ball gingerly on the tip and slowly moved his hand away. The ball stayed in place, balanced on the narrow cue tip. Jake lifted the stick and cue ball higher into the air, and for the first time all day, he heard a smattering of applause.

  “Thank you. Thank you.” He looked around.

  Most of the shoppers sitting in the food court were watching him now, some turning their chairs completely around, a number of others stopping as they walked by, gathering around in a wide circle to see the unexpected show.

  “Still too simple, you say? Not amazing enough for you, you say? Well what about a round ball balanced on top of a round ball?”

  Jake reached into his bag again and pulled out a black eight ball. He tossed it up high into the air. Then he darted his arm forward. The eight ball landed perfectly on top of the cue ball, the cue ball stayed on the tip of the cue, and all three were balanced perfectly on the end of Jake’s finger. And then there was no need for a “Tada.” Everyone in the food court and everyone gathered in the circle around him clapped excitedly.

  Jake bowed at the waist. “Thank you, but how do you all feel about juggling?”

  Again the crowd clapped their approval. Jake lowered the cue and tossed the two billiard balls into the air. Then he reached into his bag for a third ball, the blue number two. With another flick of his wrist this third ball was in the air, and Jake was juggling. Another round of applause went up from the crowd.

  “You’re all too kind. Trust me, folks, this is just the warm-up. You see, not everyone in this world can juggle, but anyone who can juggle can juggle three. I promised something truly amazing.”

  Then, faster than anyone realized, all three balls were in the air at once, and Jake was in his bag pulling out three more: the red three, the orange five, and the yellow-striped nine. Now he was juggling six, and the crowd roared.

  “Thank you. Thank—”

  “All right, sir, that’s enough,” a deep voice shouted over the crowd as a stout security guard shouldered his way through the mass of people. “We’re not running a carnival here.”

  *****

  Jeremy walked out of the Nordstrom’s and into the concourse of the mall, a large silver shopping bag dangling from his hand. Kate walked half a step in front of him and just to his left. The trip to the mall was her idea—any chance to buy shoes—but Jeremy hated it. If it were just a typical week, he probably would have passed. In fact, when Kate called him last night to invite him along on her birthday-money shopping spree, he had his excuse half-blurted out before he reconsidered.

  It had been over a week since his accident with the bus, and his mom had insisted on holding him out of school. That meant it was a week stuck at home. A week cut off from human contact. A week, home, with just his mother. So Jeremy was ready to get out of the house. Even so, now that he was here, he regretted it.

  Kate looked over
her shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine. I was fine a week ago, and I’m even more fine today.”

  It was a lie. He wasn’t fine, at least not yet. He had been sore for a couple of days after the accident, and by the middle of the week his vertigo had finally passed, but he still couldn’t sleep through the night. The problem was the dreams, or rather the same dream, every night. He would open his eyes and see his dad, like he had for the last six months, but now the dream always ended with the explosion. And every night he would wake up in a cold sweat, exhausted.

  Kate stopped and waited for Jeremy to fall into step beside her, “I don’t know why you’re complaining. I told you: You owe me.”

  “You said dinner and a movie, not shopping and smoothies.”

  Kate laughed. “Same thing, right?”

  “No, not even close.”

  “Well, the smoothies will make up for the shopping.”

  Jeremy forced another smile. “We’ll see.”

  As they turned the corner, Jeremy could see a crowd of people gathered at the far end of the food court.

  Kate spoke first. “What do you think that is?”

  Jeremy shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know.”

  *****

  Jake stood in the middle of the crowd, still juggling the six billiard balls higher and higher into the air.

  The security guard spoke again. “Stop the juggling now, sir. Show’s over.”

  Jake smirked. “Well, there’s your problem, because the show’s not over. In fact, we’re just getting started.”

  Another security guard pushed his way through the crowd of people; he pointed his finger at Jake. “You have ten seconds to put the balls down, sir, before we drag you outta here.”

  Jake still looked up in the air, still juggling, but before he could answer the guard, something distracted his attention.

  He looked off to the side and spoke as if to himself. “Target’s on the move. Understood.”

  Then Jake raised his hands in mock-surrender. The six pool balls fell to the ground, and the second guard stepped forward, reaching for Jake’s bag.