Hospital Rambling
Posted: Fri Jun 02, 2006 4:06 pm
I have posted slowly in an effort to buy myself more time to research, but now I see it is too late. I should have written all at once, no matter the size. I gave all the details in hopes that someone would understand what I have not, but unfortunately, those details are useless without this post. I have scoured what resources I have to find enlightenment on this mystery, but all has been vain for me. So, what I should have done at the beginning, I now do. I turn to you upon this forum. And here is the rest of the story.
There were still many hours left before daylight became even remotely clear. And I wasn’t too worried about my plan failing. My destination was used to nightly interruptions and bizarre cases of people acting strangely.
I took him to the hospital.
With his hands crushed as they were, I had no fear of him undoing his seatbelt, and he was too delirious to be very coordinated with any other body parts. The nonsense of “Jessica” had stopped; he swung in and out of consciousness and was too weak to do anything but groan and mumble incoherently. I quickly parked near the emergency entrance and carried him in, but not before I had searched him for identification and pulled his sunglasses over my own eyes, a precaution in case my eyes did shine with fire, as he claimed. On this forum I shall call him John Doe. I signed him in under his real name and answered the preliminary questions the nurse asked me. I told her I didn’t know how he had crushed his hands. Then I answered the hairier questions.
“You’ll have to be honest, ma’am,” the nurse told me; I was certain she thought my wearing of sunglasses at this time of night odd. But I nodded anyway, and knew she was asking this because of the circumstances. “Is he on anything he shouldn’t be? Like illegal drugs or narcotics?”
“I don’t know. But I think it very possible, from his actions.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when he was cognizant, he claimed I was a vampire out to kill him. He also claimed I killed five other friends of his.”
She stared hard at me. But I said nothing more other than to answer her questions . . . with the vague truth. I also told her my name was Jessica; I had garnered enough information from John Doe’s rambling to impersonate her with a bit of success. However, his situation required immediate attention, so she postponed the questions so she and a male nurse could situate Mr. Doe on a hospital bed. With the misconception of my status as John Doe’s girlfriend, I was continually updated on their procedural actions and assured that he would be all right. After changing his clothing into the requisite gown, they set an IV into his arm that would ensure his spending the night in a painless stupor.
In short, he was useless as an informant so long as he was under the influence of the painkiller. I waited as long as the night permitted. I was later informed after x-rays and tests that his hands were crushed into proverbial powder; something I already knew, but their diagnosis was a permanent incapacitation. I felt no remorse. But time was running short; I could wait no longer this night. I told the nurse I needed to leave and did so, claiming the van for my own, though that ownership would be brief. I was certain there would be a G.P.S. or other equally annoying device planted into it. There was also the chance of it being called in to police headquarters as stolen. I used it to get quickly to a temporary safe house nearby, tore out the engine and anything else to keep it from being useful to the hunters, and found refuge from the sun with enough time to ponder matters and to backtrack a ways to make certain I was not followed.
The trip to the hospital would take me no more than an hour running at full speed. I would return the next evening to have a small “chat” with John Doe.
Celeste Darken
There were still many hours left before daylight became even remotely clear. And I wasn’t too worried about my plan failing. My destination was used to nightly interruptions and bizarre cases of people acting strangely.
I took him to the hospital.
With his hands crushed as they were, I had no fear of him undoing his seatbelt, and he was too delirious to be very coordinated with any other body parts. The nonsense of “Jessica” had stopped; he swung in and out of consciousness and was too weak to do anything but groan and mumble incoherently. I quickly parked near the emergency entrance and carried him in, but not before I had searched him for identification and pulled his sunglasses over my own eyes, a precaution in case my eyes did shine with fire, as he claimed. On this forum I shall call him John Doe. I signed him in under his real name and answered the preliminary questions the nurse asked me. I told her I didn’t know how he had crushed his hands. Then I answered the hairier questions.
“You’ll have to be honest, ma’am,” the nurse told me; I was certain she thought my wearing of sunglasses at this time of night odd. But I nodded anyway, and knew she was asking this because of the circumstances. “Is he on anything he shouldn’t be? Like illegal drugs or narcotics?”
“I don’t know. But I think it very possible, from his actions.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when he was cognizant, he claimed I was a vampire out to kill him. He also claimed I killed five other friends of his.”
She stared hard at me. But I said nothing more other than to answer her questions . . . with the vague truth. I also told her my name was Jessica; I had garnered enough information from John Doe’s rambling to impersonate her with a bit of success. However, his situation required immediate attention, so she postponed the questions so she and a male nurse could situate Mr. Doe on a hospital bed. With the misconception of my status as John Doe’s girlfriend, I was continually updated on their procedural actions and assured that he would be all right. After changing his clothing into the requisite gown, they set an IV into his arm that would ensure his spending the night in a painless stupor.
In short, he was useless as an informant so long as he was under the influence of the painkiller. I waited as long as the night permitted. I was later informed after x-rays and tests that his hands were crushed into proverbial powder; something I already knew, but their diagnosis was a permanent incapacitation. I felt no remorse. But time was running short; I could wait no longer this night. I told the nurse I needed to leave and did so, claiming the van for my own, though that ownership would be brief. I was certain there would be a G.P.S. or other equally annoying device planted into it. There was also the chance of it being called in to police headquarters as stolen. I used it to get quickly to a temporary safe house nearby, tore out the engine and anything else to keep it from being useful to the hunters, and found refuge from the sun with enough time to ponder matters and to backtrack a ways to make certain I was not followed.
The trip to the hospital would take me no more than an hour running at full speed. I would return the next evening to have a small “chat” with John Doe.
Celeste Darken