Chapter Three
Ben’s eyes lazily scanned his surroundings as he slowly regained consciousness. While not fully aware of what was happening, he was able to deduce where he was. A man wearing a uniform was leaning over him affixing an oxygen mask to his face, while another one covered his body with a thick wool blanket. As far as Ben could tell, he was in the back of an ambulance. He inhaled deeply and began to cough, which fogged up the inside of the clear mask.
“Easy,” one of the paramedics said, placing his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Don’t try to take such deep breaths. You may have sustained smoke-inhalation damage to your lungs.”
Ben was still a little buzzed from the whisky and was not quite sure if he was dreaming. He tried to sit up, but the paramedic forced him back down. With just his head tilted up, he looked out the back window of the ambulance and saw the street lights whiz by him. Eventually, his head became too heavy to hold up and he collapsed onto the pillow. He was still very drowsy and tried to fight off the effects for as long as possible, but as soon as he closed his eyelids, he fell back asleep.
The next morning, he woke up hoping the events from the previous night had been just a nightmare, but he soon realized that was not the case. He was lying in a hospital amongst a row of beds separated by curtains. There were doctors and nurses hustling about, tending to the new arrivals and distraught tenants from his building. Most people had no injuries at all, but as their apartment building caught fire at 4:00 a.m., the hospital was the only place many of them could go. Ben sat up and looked around.
The hospital was small, so all around him were conversations he could not help but overhear. One couple a few feet away looked familiar, but he did not know them personally. The woman was hysterically crying in her husband’s shoulder.
“I can’t believe we lost everything,” she bellowed. “All our precious family heirlooms are gone!”
“We don’t know that for sure, Martha,” the husband said to comfort his wife. “We should be thankful nobody was hurt. Anything we may have lost in the fire can be replaced.”
“What about our photo albums and my collection of—” she broke down before finishing her sentence.
“Honey, until we know the extent of the damage, we should not worry too much. Our unit might be fine; it’s the people on the third and fourth floor who should worry.”
As the man said that, he made eye contact with Ben and gave him a sympathetic smile. Ben got out of the bed just as the nurse was making her rounds.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Owen?” the nurse asked.
Ben’s throat was a little sore, but he was able to muster a few words to let her know he was okay.
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “We’d like to keep you here for a little while longer to monitor your condition. Would you like me to notify anyone for you — family, friends, your employer…?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
Ben sat on the edge of his bed and scanned the familiar faces in the crowd, trying to spot the elderly man who had helped him, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Ben had not made a great deal of effort to get to know anyone from his building except for Patrice, a retired mechanic who shared Ben’s love for muscle cars. They never hung out as friends, but anytime they ran into each other in the hall, they would stop and have a conversation.
Patrice saw Ben and moseyed over to him.
“Hi, Ben,” Patrice said. “How’re you holding up?”
“Hey, Patrice. I’m doing okay. How ‘bout you?”
“Could be better,” he said. “I don’t know the extent of the damage, but from what I heard and saw, the fire started on the third floor. I’m just thankful I made it out alive.”
“I am too, but I’m pretty sure I lost everything.”
“Yeah, it will be tough for a lot of us, but the fire department was quick to put the blaze out. I would hate to hear that you lost all your stuff.”
“To be honest, I’m not really too worried for some reason. Unlike some people, I didn’t really have anything of value.”
“What about your stories?”
“What about them?”
“It’d be a shame to lose them.”
“Doesn’t really matter,” Ben shrugged. “Either they burn in a fire or sit on my hard drive forever. Nobody was ever going to read them.”
“Ah, don’t say that. I’ve read some of your stuff, you’re really talented.”
“Thanks, Patrice.”
“Who knows, through all this, you may have something new to write about.”
That was the last thing Ben needed, another tragedy to write about. The conversation with Patrice ended and Ben spent the rest of the day relaxing and walking around the hospital. The nurse was vague about when he could leave, which was fine by him since he was in no rush to get out. Not only did he not have any obligations to be elsewhere, he also did not have another place to stay. Staying in the hospital provided him with necessities that he was unable to provide on his own — a clean shower, food, and a roof over his head. If he could stay longer he would. However, he knew eventually a nurse would come around and tell him it was time to leave. When that time came, he was not sure what he was going to do.
The Secret Manuscript Page 3