AND THEN SHE WOKE UP
by
Vicki E S Biggs
CHAPTER ONE
February 1985 – LA Times Newspaper – Back Page Story
On February 20, 1985, police found a young woman, badly beaten and in critical condition, in the warehouse district early yesterday morning. She was carrying no identification. The woman is white, between 25 and 35 years old, weighs approximately 175 pounds, 5' 3" tall, with brown eyes, and straight reddish-brown hair. She has a prominent nose and distinct cheekbones. The police are requesting anyone with information about someone answering this description to please contact them.
March 1985 – Los Angeles General Hospital – 6:40 AM
Nurse Susan Collins softly closed the white door with the silver number 203. Susan’s hand was still quivering from leftover horror. It was early morning and her Jane Doe patient had been more agitated than usual. She had had to watch helplessly as Miss Doe jerked multiple times as if being repeatedly punched. Her eerily unharmed face had exhibited fear and pain, highlighted by her furrowed forehead and her mouth contorted with soundless screams. All without ever opening her eyes.
The slender nurse walked down the austere, gray-colored hallway of the hospital; her head dipped in thought. Jane Doe was in a coma-like state and had been since she was admitted into the emergency room weeks ago in critical condition, looking more dead than alive. No one could understand why she remained unconscious. Scans of her brain showed a lot of activity, which would not be the case if she were in a deep coma. And in that state, she would not be so restless. So why wasn’t she conscious yet?
Every morning when she came into work, Susan hoped to hear that the young woman had finally awakened. However, every night, Susan ended her shift and headed home knowing that Miss Doe had not yet roused from her deep sleep. It was a miracle that she was still alive. But Susan wanted more for Jane Doe. She wanted her to wake up and be fine; however, unrealistic that outcome seemed right now.
As Susan walked back to the ward’s nurse station, she looked up to see Dr. Julia Mead, one of the doctors overseeing Jane Doe’s care, coming toward her. Her blonde hair was in a French twist that Susan envied. Her wild, curly hair wouldn’t last in such a sophisticated style.
Dr. Mead met her half-way. “Nurse Collins,” she greeted with an amicable smile. “How are you doing today?”
“Good,” Susan answered with a melancholy turn to her lips that contradicted her response. “Are you here to check on Miss Doe?”
“Yes,” agreed the tall, silvery-blonde. Her intelligent blue eyes looked over the slightly shorter woman. She tilted her sleekly coiffed head in quiet curiosity and said, “I saw you leaving her room. I can tell something is bothering you. What is wrong?”
“She was very restless today. She would flinch as if being hit. It was like she was being tortured right before my eyes.”
Dr. Mead winced in sympathy. “Disturbing to be sure.”
“She never woke up,” said Susan, her forlorn blue eyes flickered back to the mystery woman’s room. “I kept expecting her to open her eyes and tell us what happened to her. When she didn’t… It is so sad that no one has come forward to claim her.” Realizing she was displaying far too much emotion about her patient, she tried for a more professional subject. “She was so agitated this morning that it was difficult to provide her physical therapy today.”
The doctor nodded understandingly. “I’ll go check on her now. Please come with me.”
Susan put on a less gloomy smile and said, “Of course, Doctor.” She spun back the way she’d come. It broke the young nurse’s heart to see not just the visual evidence of the beating her patient survived, but to watch Miss Doe’s slowly healing body recoiling in fear from something only she could see. Something atrocious had happened to Susan’s patient, and she feared that if her patient ever awoke, the young woman’s problems would just be starting.
Dr. Mead’s examination was quick but thorough. As her last test, she pulled up the young woman’s eyelid and waved a bright light into her blankly staring eye. There was barely a flicker of discomfort. She met the concerned eyes of Nurse Collins and shook her head. “I don’t see her waking up today. We have not been able to establish a medical cause for her deep sleep. So she could surprise us. But her lacerations and abrasions are healing nicely, as are her more serious injuries.”
Nurse Collins nodded dejectedly. The two women tucked the covers back over their patient and left the room.
*******************
5:40 PM
In the dim light of the sinking afternoon sun, soft whimpers broke the silence, followed by the rustle of bedcovers, as a restless, slight female form stirred. The sleeper’s legs pumped as if she were trying to run. In her twilight world, she’d returned to a shadowy room where evil had taken pleasure in causing her pain.
Jane Doe’s throat tightened with an unvoiced scream as, despite all her attempts to evade them, the horrendous images of a past she did not want to remember, much less relive, invaded her dreams again. Her body jerked as the hazy vision of a striking hand caused her to mimic reactive movements to events she so reluctantly and so vividly remembered.
Then, abruptly, her dream world shifted. Light infused this new place, and the smell of roses filled her nose. So different from the smoky-smelling, grim room of her nightmares.
“Jessie! Time to come home, Jessie,” said a smooth baritone voice that seemed familiar, and yet not. Love so permeated that voice that it pushed away the lurid scenes that pursued her.
Enticed by that soft voice, her eyes fluttered open to stare mindlessly at the ceiling before closing again. Eyes still closed and her breath caught in limbo, the woman cringed in anticipation; certain she would soon feel the strike of a whip or a fist. Afraid to believe she was safe, the young woman’s hazel-colored eyes hesitantly, drowsily, squinted open. When nothing awful happened, she cautiously looked around.
She breathed a sigh of relief when did not see a sinister dark room with layers of smoky air. Her tense shoulders relaxed as the horrific memories faded, leaving her mind blank.
She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but stopped when the movement sent excruciating, stabbing pain throughout her body. Quickly deciding that moving was a bad idea, she slumped back down. Undeniably awake now, the young woman examined the small, sunlit room with slight turns of her head. She examined the drab beige room with windows on one side of the square space, opposite a door…and recoiled when she realized she did not recognize anything.
Where am I? The question resonated in the unexpectedly empty corridors of her mind, and she shivered.
Pushing her fears aside, she investigated her location further. Sniffing, she caught the unmistakable scent of disinfectant and thought, Okay, possibly a hospital.
When she lifted her hand to rub her parched throat, her fingers became entangled in another set of tubes. She traced those tubes to her stomach and discovered more lines connecting to her chest, which is when she finally heard the low-level constant beep…beep…beep in the background. She followed the sound to a machine placed to the left of the IV pole and frowned in dismay. Why are they tracking her heartbeat?
She tugged the covers down and was startled to find her left hand in a short cast that just reached the middle of her forearm.
She thought about it. Maybe that was what caused her pain when she tried to sit up before.
Deciding to try a new tactic, she awkwardly pulled her right elbow to her side and used it to shove her body upward…and thought she would die. Again, stopping all movement immediately, she flopped back down. That pain didn’t come from her wrist; that came from her back and ribs. What was wrong with them? When she moved her back muscles, she felt as if a knife were stabbing into her. Her ribs were poking into places they shouldn’t and her stomach throbbed with every movement of her torso.
Dread began a cold, creeping crawl up her spine, and she shivered uncontrollably. “Could somebody please tell me what happened to me?” she hissed out loud, which triggered a harsh spasm of coughing from her too-dry throat.
Exhausted from her hacking, she slept. More time passed.
6:55 PM
She hesitated to try again, but a core of stubbornness wouldn’t let her quit. So, she pushed her body upward again. This time, she ignored the fiery sparks of pain and did not stop. Some of the monitors beeped a little faster, and she wheezed breathlessly; but she managed to reach an upright position. She smiled with grim satisfaction.
She looked around the bed for a call button or a glass of water and frowned in frustration when she found neither.
Staring out the window next to her bed into the growing darkness beyond, she absently reached up to rub her eyes and was startled to find no bandages or tender spots. Flinching, she pressed her fingers more firmly, exploring with purpose, and was stunned to find her first impression was correct. She had no damage to her face at all.
What kind of accident causes so much body damage, but leaves my face unharmed? That thought evoked a fleeting memory of a shadowy man with a lit cigar and smoke trailing around his head. Trembling, she quickly shoved the image away.
She was beginning to panic. Reflectively, her fingers curled around the crisp white sheets covering her. When she tried to remember anything about the time before she awoke today, a shudder shook her, and her stomach churned.
Unnerved by her body’s reaction, she stopped trying to force her mind to relinquish answers. Still, there was one question that hammered at her.
What was her name?
She prodded her elusive memory again. Frightened when she still only found blankness; her heart began pounding with apprehension and a growing, overwhelming dread. Not knowing her name rattled her more than waking up in a strange room.
Unanswerable questions swarmed her, setting off unrelenting anxiety. Which set her growing alarm into full-blown panic.
“Who am I!” she wailed again and again. Her raspy voice rose higher and louder, growing shriller with each anguished cry. The increasing beeps of her heart monitor escalated into a high-pitched shriek. She thrust the fingers of her right hand through her hair, where they remained entangled in her badly crushed brown curls.
Suddenly, the overhead lights blinded her with their brightness. Through tears that streamed down her cheeks and clouded her vision, she saw a tall, silvery blonde woman and a somewhat overweight, shorter black man approach her bed. Both wore white lab coats over their everyday clothes. A woman, with short, graying black hair, followed behind the first two, balancing a fully loaded tray.
The blonde woman reached the bed first. She grabbed the patient’s flailing arms and firmly pushed them against the mattress. Panicking, the young woman struggled to free herself. She screeched, “Who are you people and what are you doing to me?”
As she struggled to escape the woman’s hold, the man pushed down the railings; before moving in and strapping her wrists to the bed frame. Once she was secured, he gently pushed her shoulders back against the pillow. Blearily, she saw the older woman place her tray, loaded with a clutter of items, on the nightstand between the beds. The woman took a needle and a bottle from the array of items. She gave both to the tall blonde, who prepared the proper dosage before injecting a clear liquid into the IV tube.
The man released his hold and pulled up the bed railing on the right, while the older woman replaced the railing on the left.
As the sedative began a soothing path down her jangled nerves, the patient felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease. She stared around the now bright room and into the faces of strangers. Screams crowded in her throat again.
CHAPTER TWO
Choking on her tight throat, the patient pushed down her returning feelings of alarm and examined the trio of invaders as her vision cleared. The man wore gray slacks and a navy-blue oxford shirt with a gray tie under his white coat. The tall blonde wore blue scrubs under hers. Even with eyes no longer blurry with tears, she still didn’t recognize them.
She noticed the only man in the room giving a dismissive nod to the older woman and said, “That will be all for now, Nurse Jones.”
She would have guessed the older woman was a nurse based on the light blue skirted uniform and cap she wore. The man just confirmed her conjecture. At any rate, that woman placed a cup on the side table before taking the tray and leaving the room.
The remaining woman, a slender blonde, said gently, “Hello. I’m Dr. Julia Mead.” She waved a hand at the older man beside her. He was mostly bald with only a strip of graying black hair that curved around his head from temple to temple. The overhead light glinted off the top of his head. “This is Dr. James MacGill.”
Dr. MacGill nodded a greeting as he worked to loosen the straps trapping her hands to give her enough movement to rest her hands on her chest. But apparently, not yet willing to untie her hands completely.
Lifting the cup from the side table, Dr. Mead offered it with a smile. “Here is some ice. It should help ease the dryness in your throat.”
The young woman warily took the sliver of ice. The straps made it difficult to reach her mouth, but she managed. After sucking on its coolness, the tension of discomfort eased the corners of her lips, and a smile spread across her face as the refreshing fluid flowed over her dry throat. Her voice barely above a whisper, she said “That is much better. May I have more?”
Dr. Mead nodded. “Of course. I’ll just set the cup on your chest, and you can take as much as you want.” The doctor hesitated, a concerned frown etching furrows in her brow. “I’m sorry our arrival was so abrupt, and probably scary, but...”
“But I was screaming the house down and that isn’t good for the other patients,” the young woman finished coolly, with only a hint of sarcasm in her hoarse voice. Briefly, her face screwed up into a grimace that verged on despair before she was in control again. A determined smile curled her lips upward. “I’m sorry. I just...” She stopped and turned away, the smile fading. Though outwardly she appeared calm, inside she quaked with terror. She slowly put another ice sliver in her mouth. A soft sigh escaped as the ice melted and further soothed her aching throat.
“Yes, you just...what?” urged Dr. MacGill when it became apparent that she would not continue. He laid a sympathetic hand on her arm. “I think I can guess what part of your concerns are about. You were cataleptic when you were admitted into the hospital, so you don’t remember coming here. Some disorientation, even fear, is to be expected when you wake up in a strange room and amongst strangers.”
Restlessly, she tossed her head back and forth, as if to deny her words before she spoke them, though careful not to dislodge the gentle touch on her arm. The kindly placed warm hand was strangely comforting to her. And she desperately needed that comfort. Finally, she stopped all movement and stared stoically at the white ceiling far above her.
After a long moment, she murmured with a broken sob, “I don’t know who I am.” Her voice was so faint that the two doctors had to lean closer to hear her words. She turned to face the two doctors. She cleared her throat before speaking louder and repeated, panic creeping into her voice again. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know my name. I don’t know where I came from. I don’t know what city we are in. I don’t remember anything. I don’t...” she paused and swallowed hard. “Do you know who I am?” she pleaded urgently, her eyes flicking from one doctor to the other.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. MacGill replied sadly. He studied her with a contemplative smile. After a moment, he patted her arm briefly, then moved his hand back to the top railing.
“No, we don’t,” he stated firmly. Calm brown eyes counteracted the harsh planes of his dark features. Regret tinged his voice as he continued, “The police found some bearer bonds and a large sum of money in your raincoat pocket. But as bearer bonds don’t have specific names on them, they didn’t provide any help identifying you. There were no labels on your clothes or your raincoat, and no purse was found near you. Other than you were obviously not a victim of a mugging, we have no idea who hurt you or why.”
“Dr. MacGill and I are here to help you,” stated Dr. Mead.
Seeing concern written in the kind eyes above her, she was almost persuaded to trust them. Then her greenish-hazel eyes hardened, and she turned bitter, frightened eyes from one doctor to the other. “How? Do you have a cure for memory loss?”
“No,” Dr. Mead admitted in a soft, husky voice. “There is no specific cure for retrograde amnesia. The good news is that your other injuries are healing without issues.”
“Other injuries?” She hesitated. “I know my back, ribs, and stomach really hurt, especially when I move. I felt dizzy when I managed to sit up, and my left wrist is in a cast. What other injuries do I have?” She looked from one doctor to the other, clearly looking for and expecting the truth.
So, Dr. MacGill stated bluntly. “You have four broken ribs. Your left wrist was broken with damage to the surrounding ligaments. You have a severe concussion. You also have a bruised kidney, a ruptured spleen, and a large assortment of deep lacerations and contusions, both internal and external, to your stomach, back, and arms. Some required stitches to close.” Dr. MacGill’s voice was steady, but firm. There was no gentle way to describe this patient’s injuries without shocking the listener.
The young woman winced at the extent of her injuries. Some lacerations required stitches? Was that the same as saying wounds? No wonder it hurt to move!
Dr. Mead continued, “We can’t guarantee that you will ever recover your memory. Based on your ability to retain new information and the fact that we found no lesions in your brain, you appear to have psychogenic-based amnesia. This means that you could eventually remember your personal information over time. Though there might be some gaps.”
“You said I had a concussion?” When the doctor nodded, the young woman tipped her head down, thinking over what she’d been told. Shrewdly reading between the lines, she finally looked up again and stared steadily at the doctors and stated. “But you don’t believe that is what’s causing my amnesia.”
Dr. Mead briefly exchanged startled glances with Dr. MacGill, clearly astounded by how accurately the young woman had evaluated her situation. Coming to a decision, Dr. Mead answered, with no attempt to soften the blow. “No. Your concussion is mending nicely and left no permanent physical damage. We doubt that is the reason for your amnesia. We believe it more likely your loss of memory is trauma-based and likely repressed.”
Abruptly, Dr. MacGill’s mellow voice barked, “What’s your name?”
She answered without hesitation. “Jessie.” Then added softly, “Sort of.” She faced the plump doctor’s penetratingly dark-brown eyes with a controlled calmness that was noticeably slipping. “I had a dream of someone calling that name.” She frowned down at her clenched hands. “I think it was me they were calling.” She carefully focused on relaxing her fingers out of the fists they’d formed. “Maybe it’s a childhood nickname, because it doesn’t feel like my real name.”
“What does your real name feel like?” inserted Dr. Mead quickly.
The woman moved her eyes from the darkness of Dr. MacGill’s brown eyes to the lightness of Dr. Mead’s blue eyes before squeezing her own closed. “I... don’t...know.” She admitted weakly, all her fight gone. A single tear slid down her cheek, followed rapidly by another and another. Jessie made no move to stop it or the steady flow that followed. She sought privacy by turning her head away. She murmured, “I think I’ve had all the answers I can take for now.”
Sensing she needed time to absorb what they had told her, Dr. Mead said, “Try to rest now, Jessie.”
Dr. McGill patted her hand. He took the now empty cup, and then the doctors quietly left the room.
No sound escaped Jessie’s lips. She remained motionless, except for the salty stream that fell in big drops from her tightly closed eyes onto her pillow. Her emotionless face hid the tormented thoughts that were churning in her mind, where one inquiry resounded repeatedly. Who am I?
Questions pounded through her whirling thoughts, repeating unceasingly. Am I Jessie? But who is that? I guess I am Jessie for now, but who was I before now? Why can’t I remember? Who did this to me and why? Why!
She began to thrash, pulling against the bindings and tossing her head from side to side, trying to dislodge the unrelenting swirl of the unanswerable from her brain. Still, try as she would to escape her spinning thoughts, the inexorably empty corridors of her mind haunted her even into the slumber that the sedative forced upon her.
********************
Once in the hallway, Dr. MacGill pointed to the room behind him and said to a passing nurse, “Nurse, watch over the patient in Room 203. When you are sure she is resting quietly, untie her hands.”
“Yes, Doctor,” answered Susan demurely.
“And Nurse,” he said. He hesitated and glanced at his associate, who nodded her approval. The nurse stared in puzzlement but smiled when the doctor continued, “We believe her first name is Jessie. Make a note of that in her records.”
“Yes, Doctor. So, she has finally come out of her coma? I am so glad!” The young woman beamed.
Dr. Mead responded with a smile. “That she has, Nurse Collins,” Dr. Mead continued, “I realize this is past the end of your shift. If you’d rather, we’ll assign Nurse Jones.”
“No. That’s all right. I’ll do it,” Susan said happily. The sadness from earlier was replaced with a hopeful gleam.
“Thank you,” Dr. Mead smiled and turned with Dr. MacGill to continue down the hall.
********************
7:10 PM
Nurse Susan Collins sat down in a chair near Jessie’s bed and stared in wonder at the mystery patient. Her strange connection to the young woman began when she was transferred from the ER to Susan’s ward. Like they could be friends, odd though that sounded.
Now that Jessie had finally awakened, Susan looked forward to talking to her. Susan’s hopes for her patient were being realized. Except for one puzzling piece, why did the doctors only provide her first name for the records?
While she waited for the young woman to settle into a deeper sleep, the nurse again wondered why someone had brutally and viciously beaten her. Jessie was found in such horrendous shape that she amazed the doctors that she had survived her injuries. And why was her face left untouched? Everyone agreed that the lack of even any bruises on her face was very unnerving.
Nurse Collins studied the sleeping face of the enigma who was her patient. She wished she could discuss Jessie’s case with her brother. Seeing Jessie in this condition made her uneasy; and AJ always made her feel safe. There was something about Jessie’s elegant features that spoke of a gentle person, making Jessie’s injuries even more frightening for Susan.
Jessie continued to toss her head back and forth, her legs thrashing under the covers. Although her tears had finally ceased, they left a poignant, thin trail of salt on her pale cheeks. Jessie stirred yet again to pull at her restraints, still trying to escape unknown dangers. Watching her patient’s restless sleep despite the sedative Susan knew had been administered, she frowned in concern.
Instinctively responding to someone in need, Susan reached through the bed railings to firmly grip the twitching hands and said over and over in her softest voice, “It’s all right, Jessie. You’re safe now. It’s all right.”
She reached out her foot to pull the room’s guest chair closer so she could sit down. She leaned her weary head against the bed railing while her thumbs slowly stroked the slender hand she held, and her gentle voice uttered words of comfort.
Putting her hair into a tight coil might keep it neat longer and hold her cap better, Susan reflected after a while, but after a long day on the ward, the style also gave her a headache. Still, she remained seated, calmly murmuring reassurances, hoping to ease Jessie’s mind.
7:40 PM
Finally, Jessie’s taut form relaxed. Susan watched Jessie fall into a seemingly restful slumber with a sigh of relief.
8:00 PM
Feeling certain Jessie would remain asleep now, Susan untied the restraints. Slowly standing up, she stretched before walking over to the door. She pulled it open but hesitated in the entryway to take one last look at her patient. Once she confirmed Jessie had not stirred, remaining boneless and deeply asleep, she beamed happily and slipped through the opening, closing the door quietly behind her.
CHAPTER THREE
Jessie awoke early the next morning, but long after sunrise. It was a bright, sunny day without a cloud in the azure-colored sky. A day to smile about, but Jessie remained subdued. To anyone watching her, she appeared serene, accepting her situation calmly. But as the saying goes, appearances can be deceiving. There was an eerie deadness in the gleaming depths of her hazel eyes that those who knew her well would have recognized as deep sadness. It was to take her new friends much longer to realize that Jessie was being far too quiet.
Jessie stared out her window without registering what she saw until a welcome object caught her attention. It was the branch of a large live oak tree, just barely within her view. She stared delightedly at the beautiful old tree; her problems forgotten for the moment. Her tension eased as she watched green leaves ripple in the gentle morning breeze.
Then last night’s events flooded back to her. She checked her hands, surprised to find them free. Hadn’t the doctors tied them to her bed frame? No, she recalled suddenly. Someone came in and sat with me. That nice person must have freed my wrists before leaving. Good. She wanted to get closer to that tree. Something in her knew that being near trees always made her feel better.
She hesitated at that thought. Now how can I know how comforting trees are to me and yet not be able to remember my name? This conundrum made her uncomfortable, so she let the matter drop.
Jessie carefully studied the railing to her right. She found it hard to concentrate, but she stared determinedly around the railing until she figured out how it worked. Then she slowly pushed it down one-handedly, remembering not to use her left wrist. She was surprised when the action caused her back and arms to throb. As she pushed, her right arm extended beyond her hospital gown’s elbow-length sleeves, and she caught a glimpse of purple and yellow bruises on her arm and above the cast on her left wrist. Well, she thought dolefully, that explains the twinges of pain I feel whenever I move my arms.
The ache reminded her of something else the doctors had told her. Something about broken ribs, other internal injuries, and contusions. She closely examined her arms. She carefully twisted around to try and see as much of her back as she could. On her shoulders, she found more of those bruises they’d mentioned, as well as the tips of some deep lacerations.
Damn! What happened to me to put that many bruises on me and how did I get the gashes? Had she been in a car accident and gone through the windshield? No, that doesn’t fit, she realized, dipping her head in thought. I don’t have any facial cuts. Maybe she wasn’t facing the windshield when she went through it? She crinkled her nose. That doesn’t seem likely.
Come to think of it, the doctors had not specifically said what caused her injuries. She slowly shoved her covers down and pulled her hospital blue-dotted white gown up over her stomach. There, just as she had suspected, were more signs of healing bruises and ugly deep slashes on her legs. On her stomach was a still-healing surgical scar. Across from the scar was a catheter attached to a plastic bag. Hopefully, now that she was conscious again, that would be removed.
From a constant, dull, stinging ache radiating from her back and around to her ribs, she knew she’d been hurt there too, and badly. No wonder she was in the hospital! All things considered, maybe it was a good thing that she didn’t remember how she became so injured.
She gave her head a hard shake, which made her dizzy. Okay, shaking my head, bad. Do not do that again anytime soon, she decreed. However, she couldn’t seem to stop her many questions from clogging up her brain. In an unending cycle, she continued to puzzle over how she had gotten hurt so badly. She focused her eyes on the friendly tree and tried to remember…anything. Still, nothing.
Frustrated, she pushed the call button lying on the pillow next to her head. She wanted, no... needed answers!