Arms of Mercy

by Ruth Reid

  “Take small sips,” the nurse instructed.

  She opened her mouth and took a drink. The room-temperature water helped soothe her throat some. When she finished drinking, she tried to communicate but was unable to push her voice above a strained, hoarse whisper no matter how hard she tried. Growing frustrated, she touched her throat again, and the nurse offered her more water.

  “Do you want to try again?” the doctor asked once she had taken a longer drink.

  She shook her head. It was no use. Not only did her voice not want to cooperate, but she couldn’t answer his question. Her mind was numb—empty.

  “Let’s give your vocal cords some rest and try this again later,” Dr. Gleeson suggested.

  She tightened her grip on his hand, not wanting to let him leave before he explained why her eyes were bandaged. Was she blind?

  “I made a few phone calls as promised regarding the bus passengers.” Officer Bennett stood with his shoulders squared, his hands clasped in front of him, and his unwavering gaze fixed on Elijah. He offered no indication if the news he’d received was good or bad.

  Elijah steeled his nerves. “What were you able to find out about Catherine?”

  “Nothing concrete.”

  Despair and fatigue merged on Elijah, and his shoulders wilted like a plant with no water. He needed answers. “So no one knows where she is? Not even the police or rescue workers?”

  Officer Bennett sighed. “Please understand that in cases of mass casualties, a large number of patients are unconscious. They’re separated from their loved ones, as in your situation, and they don’t always have identification on them. As for Budget Bus, they have no record of her boarding the bus.”

  “And I explained how we had lost our tickets.” Elijah shifted his weight to his unhurt leg, the physical demands beginning to take a toll.

  “Please, have a seat. You look like you’re in pain.” He waited for Elijah to sit before continuing. “I know you mentioned the bag her ticket was in was stolen, but the ticket that has me puzzled is yours. According to bus records, you boarded a different bus. Your boarding pass was electronically scanned.”

  “Jah, I did board that bus. I hopped on it thinking Catherine had already boarded, but shortly after, I discovered I was wrong. She wasn’t on board. So I convinced the driver to let me off, and he did. Only I forgot to get my ticket back.” Noting skepticism in the officer’s bent brows, Elijah said, “Neither one of us tried to cheat the bus company. We paid for our tickets in Michigan, and we should have already arrived in Florida.”

  “No one is accusing you of cheating the system,” Officer Bennett said. “Unless the bus company plans to deny your claim, which you’ll be able to fight in court. I was merely stating the facts. Budget Bus doesn’t have either of you listed as passengers, which means they have no reason to believe Catherine is missing.”

  “Are you saying she’s at the bottom of the ravine or”—he gulped—“in the river?” He prayed it wasn’t the latter.

  “I would be wrong to say there isn’t a chance. However,” Officer Bennett added sternly, holding his palm up when Elijah opened his mouth. “Before you set your mind on joining the search, you’ll need to check the patients listed as Jane Doe—which I found out is many—and check the morgue, as the number of deaths has increased.”

  She’s nett in the morgue. I refuse to believe she’s dead. What was he going to tell George? Elijah had promised to call with an update.

  “I jotted down the toll-free number assigned to passenger information.” Officer Bennett handed him a slip of paper. “Someone at this number should be able to assist you in reporting Ms. Glick as a missing person. I have her information in my record, but you’ll still need to fill out the necessary paperwork with the bus officials. Be assured, my men will continue to search even though the official count hasn’t been changed yet. I believe your story, and we’re going to do everything we can to find her.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Also, I made a list of the hospitals in the immediate area that received patients from the accident. The list of John and Jane Doe patients are too many to match with your description over the phone, but I’ve contacted each facility, and one of their representatives will be available to assist you. You’ll have to check in with security. Unfortunately, I don’t have data on how many patients were treated at one facility and transferred later to another. Again, call the eight-hundred number and file the report. I hope you find her.”

  “Thank you. I hope so too.” He scanned the information he’d been given. Community General Hospital, Mercy Regional, St. Luke’s Hospital, Shepard Hill Memorial, and Muskingum County coroner’s office. His gut wrenched reading the latter. Elijah looked up from the list. “I don’t have a phone.”

  The officer removed his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Elijah. “Use mine.”

  His fingers trembled as he pressed the number keys. The line rang, then rang again before an automated voice came on the line guiding him to press one if he was searching for a passenger. “Please be advised that we are experiencing a heavy call volume at this time. All of our representatives are currently busy . . .” He covered his hand over the phone. “They want me to leave a message—yes, hi, I’m looking for information on Catherine Glick,” he said after the beep. “She was a passenger on Bus 1248, seated in row five. I don’t have a callback number. I’ll have to try again when you’re nett busy.” As Elijah disconnected the call, one of the rescuers entered the tent.

  “We’re all packed up,” the worker said.

  “Very well,” Officer Bennett replied. “Tell the crew we’ll regroup at sunrise.”

  A sense of despair shrouded Elijah. Was Catherine in the ravine . . . in a hospital . . . in the morgue? If he called the number again, would anyone be able to answer his questions? He pressed redial on the keypad but heard the same automated message. What should he do next?

  As he tucked the paper into his pocket for safekeeping, his fingers touched the cab driver’s business card. The man had offered to pick him up. “Do you mind if I make another call?” he asked once the worker had left. “I’d like to call a cab.”

  “Yeah, go ahead. Do you know the number?”

  “The driver gave me his card earlier.” He placed the call, then handed the officer back his phone. “He’s on his way.”

  “I don’t do this for everyone.” Officer Bennett wrote something on a pad of paper. He tore off the page and handed it to Elijah. “This is my cell number. If you want to call me tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be able to tell you if there’ve been any changes. And please, let me know if you find her.”

  “Thank you, very much. I’ll be sure to call.”

  By the time Elijah lumbered out from the tent, it was dark. Most of the trucks with the dog boxes were gone. Lord, mei body aches and I’m weak. Would You bless me with a double portion of strength? Please.

  Chapter 23

  She awoke with a gasp, her hands automatically going to her throat. Her airway wasn’t blocked—the breathing tube had been removed yesterday. Yet she was choking. Relax. Take a deep breath. She focused on the large volume of air entering and expanding her lungs.

  The nurse had talked her through the same calming exercises when panic struck the last time. It worked then, but this time was different. She was alone—surrounded by darkness—and haunted by an endless void in her memory.

  Yesterday Dr. Gleeson had taken time to explain her injuries and the reason her head was bandaged. Shattered facial bones had caused her face to swell, but that wasn’t the worst of the damage. According to the surgeon, it still wasn’t known if she would lose her right eye. Reconstructive surgery to fix the fractured orbital socket wasn’t possible until after some of the swelling went down, and that wouldn’t be anytime soon. Based on the extent of her other facial fractures, the doctor had said he was cautiously optimistic about the amount of damage to her optic nerve and eye ligaments, although to her ears his tone held more hopelessne
ss than optimism. Her eyesight would never be normal again. At best her vision would be double or blurred. But she was alive— whoever she was.

  “You are a child of God,” a voice within her said.

  A tingling sensation spread throughout her body. Not all of her memory had been lost—deep down she knew God. He was part of her past. Thrilled about her recent recollection, her outlook brightened, then dimmed. Perhaps it wasn’t a memory from her past at all. Perhaps that knowledge was something innate to every believer. God was past, present, and future all in one—that she remembered.

  A soft knock at the door pulled her attention. She had learned the sounds of the door creaking open, the light-footed padding of the nurse walking to her bedside.

  “Did you need something, sweetie?”

  She recognized Nurse Amy’s voice and mumbled, “No,” through the small opening in the badges.

  “Hmm. Let’s see why your call buzzer went off at the nurses’ station. Sometimes it gets wrapped up in the blankets and is accidentally pressed.”

  A slight tug on the cord told her she had inadvertently rolled on it. “I’m sorry to trouble you.”

  “Don’t be silly. This happens all the time, and besides, it’s time for your antibiotic. I’m wrapping the remote around your handrail.” As the nurse worked around the equipment, she talked in general. “It’s bright and sunny out today. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the snow melts. I’m good with that.”

  Amy giggled. “I’ve never been a fan of winter. Too cold. I’ve done some cross-country skiing. One of the old golf courses near my apartment makes a ski trail as a way of making extra money during the off-season. Truth be told, their golf course is a little dated and not always kept up, so I think they do better in the winter.” She continued chatting as though they were longtime friends.

  At the moment Amy was her only friend.

  “I need to scan your wrist bracelet. Now the Zosyn. Good. Now I’m piggybacking the antibiotic tubing to your IV fluids.”

  Amy’s step-by-step explanations always put her at ease.

  The nurse’s nails clicked against the computer keyboard. “I see it’s been over four hours since your last dose of morphine. How are you doing?”

  “Okay.” The dull overall body ache was manageable at the moment.

  “That’s good to hear. I’m going to let you rest for now. I’ll be back in an hour after your antibiotic is infused. If the pain returns before then, please don’t hesitate to call the desk.” Amy left the room humming an upbeat but unfamiliar tune.

  The room went silent. Loneliness struck once more.

  “God has not forsaken you. Talk to Him.”

  The male voice was gentle sounding, but it wasn’t someone she recognized. “Is someone . . . in the room?” Her throat quivering distorted her tone. Reaching for the handrail, she blindly felt her way to where the nurse had strung the remote. Controller in hand, she pressed every button.

  The TV blared. “Again, a second body has been recovered from the ravine off of River Ridge Road at the site of Friday night’s multiple bus accident involving a total of 102 passengers and drivers. This brings the current number of fatalities to 16.”

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  With the television volume up high, she hadn’t heard Amy return. “I can’t—” She pressed the buttons, frantic to silence the noise before it disturbed the patients with rooms next to hers. Instead of turning the audio down, she pressed the wrong button and the volume went up.

  “Here, sweetie, allow me.”

  Within seconds of releasing the remote to Amy, the television was adjusted.

  “I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t see the buttons.” Efforts to mask her frustration failed.

  Amy patted her hand. “Try to relax,” she said soothingly. “I know this is hard.”

  “Is someone else in the room?”

  “No.”

  “I heard someone. A man. His voice was deep.”

  “In your room?”

  “Yes. Like he was standing next to the bed.” Or possibly in my head. Everything was too confusing. Her head hurt. Pain shot across her cheekbone and her nose. Pressure behind her eyes made it feel as though her eyes had a pulse of their own. Her muscles tightened and she clenched her teeth.

  “Sweetie, are you in pain?”

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move her head to nod.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  In the short time Amy was gone, the eye pulses turned into a stabbing sensation as the pain intensified.

  “I’m giving you morphine,” Amy said. “You should feel better in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can you describe what you felt?”

  “Stabbing. No, first pressure behind my eyes. Then it turned into feeling like something sharp was stabbing me. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure, but when I get back to the desk, I’ll page Dr. Gleeson and let him know what you’re experiencing. Meanwhile, the morphine should help the pain and hopefully help you to relax some.”

  “Can I bother you for a sip of water? My mouth is cottony.”

  “You’re not a bother.”

  Hearing water poured into a cup made her even thirstier. The straw touched her lips, and she opened her mouth. Cold. Refreshing. She was already starting to feel better. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Is there something you would like to watch—listen to?” she corrected. “I can change the channel and put on something other than news.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay, I just thought hearing about the accident might—”

  “You’ve been in a terrible accident.” The doctor’s words replayed in her mind. He hadn’t said what type of accident. Only that amnesia wasn’t all that uncommon in traumatic situations. “Was I in a bus accident? Is that what happened? How I ended up in the hospital?”

  “Yes. Are you starting to remember what happened?”

  “Dr. Gleeson . . . terrible accident . . . memory loss.” The numbing effects of the morphine made it difficult to talk.

  “If you’re concerned about the amnesia, I’ll have Dr. Gleeson explain everything again.”

  Words refused to form. Her mind—same as her memory— went blank.

  Catherine’s eye pain wasn’t completely gone, but she thanked God anyway. Lord, thank You for reducing my pain enough for me to sleep. I pray that You will heal my body. Please forgive my unrest. I believe You hold me in Your hand, but I still worry. Am I blind? Is my memory loss temporary, or is my past erased permanently? I have so many questions. Is it wrong to question Your will? Why has this happened to me?

  “‘Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.’”

  “Who’s in here?” She turned her head first to the right, then the left in an effort to hear better, but she couldn’t detect where the stranger was located in the room. Maybe the medicine had something to do with her hearing things. She’d experienced strange dreams—maybe the medicine could have induced the voice in her head.

  “If you were able to consider your past ways and the toil of your hands, would you want to go back to chasing the wind?”

  Toil of her hands. Chasing the wind. “Who’s in here!” The silence that followed had her once again questioning her state of mind. If she were delirious, would those be words she would use? Would she be able to reason or rationalize if she were delirious?

  Pray.

  “You have this time alone with God. Rejoice and be glad in it.” The deep voice belonged to a man. Her mind couldn’t possibly be conjuring up all this. Focus.

  It was true that she’d been consumed with why things had happened, and she’d begged God to heal her body and give her back her memory. Lord, are You trying to get my attention? Is that why I’m blind—isolated in darkness—to bring me closer to You? Perhaps, in her past, she had only known about God but hadn’t made Him Lord of her life.

  Father, forgive me. I’ve been foolish
ly whining about being afraid and lonely all while You were here by my side. I am a child of the Most High King. I don’t need to know what my future holds, for I will trust in You. Even if the healing never comes and I remain blind. In my darkness, Your light will shine on my path. My feet will not stumble. I will go where You lead. Your Word I will place upon my heart. Let it be that You find me faithful. Amen.

  For the first time since waking up in the hospital, her mind, body, and soul were at rest. To God be the glory! Her pain was gone— she was healed.

  Confident her healing was complete, she touched the bandages on her face and considered removing them—at least the area covering her eyes. She wanted to see. Moving her fingers over the gauze in search of the end of the bandage, she hadn’t heard the door open.

  “Sweetie,” Amy said with a gasp.

  She wished the nurse had knocked as she had every other time before entering.

  “Please, don’t pull on your dressing. It’s important to keep it intact so your wounds stay clean.”

  She brought her hand down to her side. “Is there someone else in the room?”

  “No,” Amy said cautiously.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve been sitting at the desk, so I would have seen if someone came in or out.”

  She fell silent.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  “A few minutes ago a man stood at my bedside. I heard his voice as plain as day. Are you sure no one came into my room?”

  Amy placed her hand over hers. “Pain medicine can sometimes cause hallucinations. I’m sorry you were frightened.”

  “Would you want to go back to chasing the wind?” She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t afraid.”

  Chapter 24

  The sign posted on the information desk in the lobby of Community General Hospital read Closed and listed 7:00 a.m. as the time when the desk would reopen. Having no place else to go, Elijah roamed the main floor of the hospital, praying God would send someone to help him find Catherine.

  “You lost, mister?” a man pushing a housekeeping cart stopped to ask. “I noticed you circled this area a few times. I figured I’d ask.”