Disappearance

by Wiley, Ryan

  I wish I had stayed home -- or even stayed at the cabin. There, I could have healed up and been in good shape in a few days. Why did I obsess over this black car so much? Why didn't I just ignore it as it drove by every morning at nine o'clock? After all, it never tried to get in my way. Once I was healed, I could I have gone to Mobile, or Florida, or wherever the wind took me. Even better, I could have sat back and waited for someone to find me. The bottom line is, almost every decision I've made up to this point has been a poor one and is the sole reason why I'm stuck risking my life inside this black car I have little control over.

  As I keep heading south, a stupid realization comes over me. If Tabby isn't on the road, how will I know where she fell out? Why didn't I think about this before, when I decided to come back for her? It's unfortunate, but I guess I'd rather be heading south than north anyway. I don't like being cold and I'm not sure what the heating system is like in this car now that I've taken a shotgun to the dashboard.

  I only have a vague clue where I was when Tabby fell out. I was too preoccupied with what happened to bother looking to see where I was. Even though I can picture vividly Tabby falling out, I have no recollection of any signs or anything else that soon followed.

  With that understanding, I think it's best I keep an eye out like I used to looking for deer at night. If you've driven in Ohio long enough, you've likely had at least one close call with these car-demolishing creatures. If Tabby is dead, I'll surely see her on the road, but if she's alive my guess is she didn't stray too far from the road.

  Minute after minute goes by. I haven't been this focused on driving since I took my license exam. With each minute, doubt starts to creep in that I've passed where she fell. I suppose the Nashville outer belt is the best indicator that I've gone too far.

  Tick-tock. Tick-tock. More minutes go by, and I get more unsettling feelings in the pit of my stomach. Where did she go? Where did my sweet Tabby, who saved my life, go? I barely know her, but I picture her as one tough kitty. If there were any chance of surviving, she would do it.

  Then, a lot of things happen in the blink of an eye.

  First, as I look forward there's nothing but a stretch of highway for miles. But then, out of nowhere and no more than one second ahead of me, Tabby appears in the middle of the road. I don't have time to think - just react. I jerk the car left, doing my best to avoid her. I'll never know whether or not I missed her. If I did, it would have been by mere inches.

  My quick turn combined with the fast speed is too much even for this car to handle. Knowing I have no seat belt to protect me, I do everything I can to prevent the car from flipping over. When I jerk the car back to the right, my body's momentum continues going left. I hear the thud of my head hitting the unbreakable glass window, and then everything goes dark and silent.

  Chapter 21

  I open my eyes but things are blurry, which is odd because I've never worn contacts or glasses a day in my life. All I see when I look up is a white light. Is this heaven? Somehow I don't think so.

  The light is too much for my eyes so I shut them. My head throbs in pain. How long have I been unconscious, and what was that light? Images flash in my mind of me standing on clouds with the Pearly Gates off in the distance. I don't get my hopes up, though; I doubt they let folks in who've brutally ax-murdered a dog.

  Keeping my eyes closed, I try to feel the rest of my body. I wiggle both of my toes, which gives me a huge relief. If my toes work I can assume the rest of the wiring in my legs are fine too. I do the same with my fingers. Thank God everything works.

  What is today? Have I been unconscious for a couple hours or a couple days? Also, why am I no longer hungry or thirsty? Did the wreck cause my body to kick into some survival mode where I conserve food and water?

  Final question, where am I? I was just in a car wreck, but I swear I saw a ceiling in the corner of my eye. I crack my eyes open again but the light is too bright. Not seeing where I am feels like finding presents before Christmas day when they're already wrapped. They're right there in front of you but you know you can't have them yet.

  Without having to open my eyes, something happens that gives me answers - or perhaps more questions - as to where I am and why. It's the sound of footsteps. Sneakers hitting a hard, tile floor. A hospital floor?

  The footsteps get closer and I only hope whoever is coming is here to help and not hurt me. A five-year-old girl could win a fight with me now.

  The steps stop when they are right next to me. It's only then that I notice I must be in a bed. The feeling beneath me is soft and comfortable. There's a plush pillow underneath my head. Yes, I must be in a hospital.

  I try to open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I can feel whoever is beside me, not by any of the main five senses but by the feeling that someone is watching me. I nudge my finger the best I can, hoping they see it and know I'm awake. They evidently don't because I hear their footsteps walking away and out the door.

  Now that it's just me again, I go back to thinking about what I know. Starting with the most recent thing I can remember, I know I was in a car crash. I know I was in a mysterious black car that I wrecked to avoid hitting a cat named Tabby who had previously saved my life. I know my body was badly damaged already from a run-in with a crazed dog I called Cujo who seemed to show up every day around six in the evening. I even remember waking up on a Tuesday, anxious to give a presentation to my bosses, only to discover that nobody was there. Yes, I can recall a lot of what happened to me recently.

  What I can't remember, though, is much about the week or two before everyone disappeared. The last thing I can remember before then is celebrating my anniversary with Abby. How long was that before the disappearances? I'm not even sure. I remember going out to a really nice dinner, a fondue restaurant that was dark and intimate, and serving each other strawberries dipped in hot chocolate. I remember thinking it was one of the best times I've ever had with Abby. Conversations when you're married can be stagnant at times... How was your day? Good, how was yours? Good. This night was different. I remember we talked about life and what we wanted to do together in the future -- places we wanted to go and things we wanted to see. Even though we've been together for several years, on that night it was as if we were on our first date.

  If Abby and I ever get to be together again, I hope we have more dinners like that. There may still be hope that will happen. The nurse is the first human contact I've had in over a week -- a huge step in the right direction. Granted, I never really saw her, and I'm not even sure it was a her. It could have been some alien life form getting me set up for an anal probe. I hope they know I don't do well with things being inserted into me.

  I'm going to assume it was human. I try opening my eyes again, and when I do I hold them open long enough to see a bright fluorescent light. There are also ceiling tiles similar to the ones I remember seeing in schools growing up.

  After a few minutes with my eyes closed, I open them again and look to my right. I'm hooked up to an IV.

  Of all the things I should be worried about, I'm most bothered knowing I have some sort of needle stuck in me. The thought makes me nauseated and the last thing I want to do is throw up.

  Trying to take my mind off the IV, my thoughts turn to where I am and how I got here. I'm almost certainly in a hospital, but I have no idea which one. I know I didn't check myself in so someone must have brought me here. I've had a suspicion that someone has been around me. How else did my picture of Abby end up in the black car? Did that same person take me here?

  When I open my eyes again, I'm able to keep them open longer so I look around the room. It looks like your typical hospital room, although this room has a lot of gadgets around me; I must be really messed up. There are no visitors, no parents or friends to greet me. I look all around me for a button to press to call in a nurse but can't find anything. I try to call out - scream if I can - but the sounds I make are barely audible.

  I continue to look around the room for
signs or clues. As luck would have it, I see one. On the TV stand is a little gray football helmet. Having grown up in Ohio, I know that can only mean the Ohio State Buckeyes. How can that be, though? I crashed somewhere around Tennessee, two to three hundred miles away from Ohio. Even in the black car, that's more than a two-hour drive. Besides, I searched through a good part of Ohio and there was no one in sight. Of course, the Buckeyes helmet doesn't have to mean I'm in Ohio, but I think it's a pretty good indication. Why would another state have an Ohio football helmet sitting in one of their hospital rooms?

  I'm still at the point where I can only wiggle my feet and hands. I don't think I have any chance of getting up and walking yet. I don't feel any pain, although that could be because I'm pumped with medication. I can keep my eyes open now as my pupils seem to be adjusted to seeing light again. I consider for a moment looking at my arm to see what kind of IV they have me hooked up to, but I know for sure that will make me throw up whatever I do have in my stomach.

  Being in a hospital and having no recollection of getting here is scary. I'm anxious for answers and my wish is granted when I turn to my right and see a nurse walk in.

  She's dressed in all white from top to bottom -- how cliché. When my eyes make their way up to her face, my first thought is how pretty she might be if it weren't for the facial expression she's giving. It's a look of total shock and horror, as if a dead body at a funeral got out of the casket and started walking around.

  "Oh my God. You're awake!"

  I don't like the tone of her voice when she says this. Was she not expecting me to ever wake up? I try to speak, but nothing comes out. She rushes toward me and checks the monitor sitting behind me. I have no clue what all the lines and numbers mean, but based on her expression I think she's pleased. Surprised, but pleased.

  "I'll be right back."

  Without giving me the chance to protest, she storms out of the room. She comes back a couple minutes later, this time accompanied by a balding man in his late fifties. He's thin, which I like; I've never had much respect for obese doctors. He looks at me like he's trying to hold back a smile.

  "Andrew, how very good to see you! How do you feel?"

  I open my mouth and try to respond, but he quickly interrupts me.

  "Oh, of course. Don't worry about trying to speak. It's perfectly natural that your voice isn't back yet. The good news is it should be soon. Nurse Jackie tells me that your vitals look good."

  "The best I've seen from someone just coming out of a coma!"

  The word coma seems to put everything together. I was in a coma? For how long? The facial expressions of the doctor and Nurse Jackie change from glee to somber seriousness. I don't think the doctor wanted me to receive this information so soon, but now that the news is out he improvises.

  "Yes, you've been in a coma, Andrew. You've been in here for a little over seven days now. But it's nothing to worry about. I have the utmost confidence, just by looking at the monitor, that you're going to be OK. Nurse Jackie and the rest of the staff have taken very good care of you and have been giving you healthy doses of food and water. We'll run some more tests, but I have no doubt you'll have a full and healthy recovery."

  Well, it's great news that I'm going to be OK. A lot of people in hospitals don't get to hear news like this from their doctors, but I still can't get over that I was in a coma. I mean, my God, a coma! That's something you see on a soap opera. Not something that happens to a normal person like me, and for over seven days! It's hard for me to wrap my head around this. It must mean the events of the past week were nothing more than an extended dream. Could this possibly be true? I look down at my left arm, no bite marks.

  I look up at the doctor and, although I can't speak, I do my best to show approval in my face. He tells me I'll need additional tests, but at this point I've tuned him out. There's so much to absorb and it doesn't help he's using medical jargon that I don't understand. What I do pay attention to comes at the end.

  "For now, relax and get some rest. If you need anything, just press the red button and Nurse Jackie will get to you right away. It's right here."

  He shows me, on the outside of the armrest, the button I was searching for. I didn't have the energy to stretch out that far earlier. Once I give a nod, the doctor and "Nurse Jackie" exit the room and leave me to my thoughts.

  Every fifteen minutes or so I test out my voice. It seems to get better with each attempt, just as the doctor said it would. I'm tired, and I wonder how that can be when I've just slept for seven days straight. When you are in a coma, does it count as sleeping? I make a mental note to add this to my list of questions, although that one is far down on the list.

  I'm more interested in how and why I'm here. Just as I feel good enough to carry on a conversation, though, fatigue takes over and I fall asleep.

  When I wake up, three new doctors are whispering amongst themselves beside my bed. One has a clipboard and is writing whatever the other two doctors are telling her. When I listen in, I hear they are discussing my condition. Again, the medical jargon is too much for me to understand, but their enthusiasm makes it sound like I'm some sort of miracle patient. I'm not sure if they know I'm awake or not, but I find it rather annoying they would be in my room talking while I'm supposedly asleep.

  "Excuse me, can I help you?"

  Three heads jerk up at me like deer seeing headlights. They are so startled by my awakening they don't say anything, so I break the silence.

  "Is there something I can do for you?" A tone of resentment slips in my voice.

  "No sir," the doctor on the far left says. "Is there something we can do for you?"

  "Can you please bring Nurse Jackie in?"

  "Oh, yes. Right away. I'll page her now."

  And with that, the three doctors scurry out of the room.

  While waiting for Nurse Jackie, my heart rate starts to pick up. I was hoping to plan out some questions to ask. It may be better this way, though; I won't have to drive myself crazy over-analyzing things. It takes ten excruciating minutes, but Nurse Jackie finally walks in. I see in her face that she's just as scared as I am.

  "Hello Andrew, what can I do for you?"

  I don't know where to begin and I'm terrified of the answers she's about to give me, but I tell myself I have to find out sooner or later.

  "I have a lot of questions to ask you."

  She looks at me hesitantly then finally says, "I figured that. Keep in mind I'm not allowed to answer anything except for specific medical questions."

  "But I don't have specific medical questions. I have questions about where I am and how I got here."

  "Yeah, those are questions that I should let the doctor handle."

  "Well..." I hesitate. "Can you at least tell me where I am?"

  "You are in the Ohio State Medical Wexner Center."

  "How did I get here?"

  "I'm not allowed to answer that."

  "OK, umm how long have I been here?" I know the answer to this, but I'm lousy with interrogating someone and this question buys me some time.

  "You came in last Tuesday. Today is Wednesday the week after, so you've been here eight days."

  "Has anyone been in to see me?"

  "Yes, your parents have been here the entire time," Nurse Jackie quickly tells me.

  "What about Abby? Has she been here too?"

  Nurse Jackie pauses for a moment before responding, deciding how best to phrase her answer. Then she says, "I'm not allowed to answer that."

  Her answer infuriates me and before I have a chance to control my anger I blurt out, "And why the hell not?"

  She pauses, "Something has happened Andrew. Something bad. I've been ordered not to tell, but something happened to your wife."

  With this, I sit up for the first time in eight days. I want to stand up and run out the door but I don't know what's hooked up to me.

  "What do you mean something has happened?"

  "I'm not allowed to say. Please Andrew, let me go get
the doctor and I'll have him answer any questions you have." She starts to back up toward the door, but before she moves far, I reach out and grab her.

  "What happened to Abby?" I plead.

  Nurse Jackie looks at me, eyes bulging now. I never realized a scrawny guy who has just come out of a coma could be so intimidating. She looks at me and swallows before speaking.

  "Andrew, your wife was attacked. You're both being treated here at the hospital."

  "Attacked? What do you mean attacked?"

  "We don't know all of the details, but police officers are set up everywhere investigating the situation. I'll tell you that the attacker didn't survive, but they didn't give me any further details on that when I asked." Nurse Jackie's voice trails off.

  My first thought was good; that son-of-a-bitch is dead. I don't know what he did to my Abby, but if he weren't dead he would be later when I beat him to death.

  "What about Abby? How is she doing?"

  "I've said more than enough. But Andrew, we're hopeful she's going to be all right."

  "Well, how bad is she?"

  With this, Nurse Jackie starts crying. This surprises me because I've always assumed nurses were emotionless by nature. Not saying that's a bad thing; when you have patients die every day, I understand you probably develop a thick skin. Nurse Jackie does look very young, like she's still in college. Maybe she's still in the beginning stages of controlling her emotions.

  "I'm really sorry about the situation you're in, Andrew. I haven't worked directly with her but I hear she's been having a difficult recovery. The doctors can't seem to figure out what's going on with her. I'm sure they're doing their best." And with that, she walks out of the room.