Catharine
Wright
Mr.
Breaton
EWC4U1-01
April
23, 2015
That Escalated Quickly
She heard them leave finally. They had
been here for hours holding her hands, kissing her forehead. It had been
difficult to appear unconscious the whole time. She had told the nurses not to
let them or anyone in. She did not want to be here, but if she had to be the
least they could do was respect her wishes.
Gabrielle opened her eyes and stared up
at the grey ceiling tiles. The light was too bright at first and she needed her
eyes to adjust. Slowly she turned to face the window. The orange tint meant that
the sun would soon be gone. She pulled herself up gradually so she would not be
too dizzy. Lying in bed all day was weakening. She had contemplated sleeping
during the day and waking at night. Her love of the sunlight and bright colours,
which were only revealed by daylight, had turned her against that idea. Her
toes touched the cold vinyl floor and she shivered. Gabrielle padded over to
the window and let the warmth fall on her face. The windows did not open and
she wanted to make sure that her family had gone before she ventured out of the
room. She surveyed the small space and noticed that they had left a duffel bag
on the couch beside the bed. She walked over to it and unzipped the top. They
had left her clothes and toiletries. Finally she could leave.
Gabrielle showered and put on the
clothes her family had left. They were too big for her. She looked closely at
the garments, they were used. Maybe they had been hers and she had just lost
weight. Donning her glasses, her eyes like a camera struggled to focus.
Adjusting to the lenses her world became sharp and clear. She retrieved her
wallet from under the pillow. Pulling up her hood she slipped out of the room.
Walking fast, Gabrielle averted her gaze
and stared at the floor. There was no telling which doctors or nurses would
recognise her, so it was best to avoid them all. She exited. Monstrous brown
buildings caged the unfamiliar street. The wind in her hair was freedom’s
welcome. All she needed was a suitable hotel to spend the night. Darkness was
coming. A red brick building labeled Queens Inn invited her.
The
lady at the front desk turned up her chin at Gabrielle, perhaps because of her
attire. What a loathsome woman.
She
got a room despite her appearance and upon entering she threw her bag on the
ground and jumped on the bed. The duvet covers poofed all around her and she
breathed in the scents of the bed; fresh and clean without a trace of chemical.
There was no getting used to the thick scent of the institution. She slid her
body off of the bed down to the floor and sat on the carpet.
“Now what?” she said. Silence greeted
her. Beautiful silence. There is never true quiet in a hospital. Someone always
needs something and nurses are bustling about. She pulled the duffel bag over
to examine its contents more closely. Phone, wallet, clothes, charger,
essential toiletries, and rings. She pulled the rings out: one from her parents
when she was ten, an engagement ring, and a wedding band. She put the one from
her parents on and placed the other two in her shoes. If she needed money she
would sell them. Gabrielle’s indifference toward the metal objects surprised
her. She walked back over to look at the rings. She did not remember.
“We can’t talk about it, it will cause
her distress. Maybe we won’t tell her at all. It’s better that way,” said
Patrick. She remembered the comment clearly because it was the reason they
denied her knowledge.
This was the man that she had married.
She did not know who he was. Gabrielle remembered the careful interrogation he
had made when she had first woken up. She was in such pain at the time that she
took no notice of the peculiarity of a husband interrogating his wife after she
had been in a coma for a week. There was no relief in his eyes at her being
okay. The relief came when she uttered three words.
“I don’t remember.”
Her family was no better, as they too
were hiding something from her. There were never secrets between the
family members. Gabrielle was pacing trying to recall anything that she had
heard that would tell her what had happened. Everyone she heard all said the
same thing: it was the accident. Patrick was no doubt responsible for the
families silence. She sat on the bed the heels of her palms digging into her
eyes.
Think Gabrielle, Think!
Balcony. One word. In the haze of waking
she had heard the nurse utter the word. Gabrielle knew that she would never
kill herself. Tripping and falling off a balcony was a distinct possibility;
she was accident prone. There was no reason why her family would withhold that
from her. Then there was the issue of Partrick. The fear she felt when she
looked at him.
Gabrielle stood and walked to the
mirror. The shock of what she saw almost made her fall over. Of course she
would have to get used to this. She expected to see an eighteen year old girl,
but there was a woman staring back. The years were gone. Lost in an abyss. Her
accident, as they called it, had stolen years away. Gabrielle reviewed the
facts. There was a police officer that had come to see her after a few days of
consciousness. Her lack of memory had allowed her to be rid of him quickly.
Perhaps there was foul play. She knew that police would be involved when
injuries of this magnitude were present no matter what the circumstances.
Gabrielle spun around at the faint click of a door.
“What a lovely room. Seventh floor. You
must have a wonderful view.” The dark figure advanced revealing a man.
“Patrick!”
“You are a resilient little thing,
aren't you? I was sure my little nudge over the balcony would rid me of you.
Well, let’s see you survive the seven story drop,” he said. Patrick came at
her, grabbing her now frail figure and clasping his hand over her mouth. As he
pulled her to the window, his other hand grasped hers and he closed her fingers
around a lamp. The lamp smashed through the glass.
“I apologize for this, but you are a
witness. Your conscience would not have let you keep quiet for long,” he said.
“Witness to what? I don’t understand.”
“It is easier now. If your suicide is
later, they will start looking deeper into my situation and I can’t have that.
Don’t worry, this time it will work and you won’t have to suffer in the
hospital,” he said. He pushed.
The wind pulled at her hair as she
plummeted toward certainty.
