Followers

-continued-

But then,on the eighth day,Anne misjudged this half-conscious man, thinking that he was fast asleep. He wasn't and,

"Make sure you don't miss the schedule Anne, we won't want to miss this chance. His condition is rare...you understand?"

"Yes I understand doctor, but for how long?"

"Nobody came so far, he'll stay here as long as nobody's taking him back."

"But who'll pay for his cost sir?"

"He will."

"What do you mean? I don't expect him to be able to do so,it seems that he has no relatives,"

"He will. Once I've finished studying his case, he sure will pay me back. I'll patent my discovery, Anne,and don't you worry, your name will be in my thesis." He said, a supercilious tone red and alive.

"Doctor,"

"Do your work, no more."

He heard the sound of foot stamps fading away. But he was awake, eyelids glued. The doctor's leaving.

Then some annoying sound of scribbles on a paper.

"Sir...it's time for your medication,"

The man refused to open his eyes at once. This camouflage must go on for another couple of seconds, he thought.

"Sir?"

Then slowly, he woke up. Anne's smile greeted him. He didn't smile back, but gave a lost, hollow gaze.

"Take your pills sir,"

He thought again. It's been almost a week, or more than a week, he wasn't sure. But he believed it has gone over a week by then. It must be.

"Here," Anne repeated.

He could see two white pills on her palm, each looking massively frightening to be swallowed. And he didn't feel like swallowing it.

"I'll take it later."

"No sir, you must take it now or you'll miss the hour," Anne persuaded.

Insisting.

He stuffed in the pills, carefully placing it beneath his tongue and pretended to swallow it with a gulp of plain water which Anne had brought in a glass.

"Good, that's it. Now rest, sir."

"Nurse, why am I here?"

"Why, you're still recovering, that's why you're here sir,"

"I need to go home."

"You haven't recovered your memory. Until you've got it back, you'll stay under supervision. I told you not to worry."

He closed his eyes, and Anne left. He was suffocated by the smell of the room and the urgency for answers.


A week passed as the man, still very much amnesic, struggled with his memory. He didn't get much, except for the boy.

While sitting in a bed all day long might seem enthralling to some, he found himself bored a good 90% of the time. He spent the remaining percentage passing the time by by observing the sad white-yellow ceiling, the ever-present dripper, the "beeping thing" as he now calls the pulse monitor, and also the people on the other side of the four glass walls of his room. You don't call a place where only one patient stays a "ward", right?

People in white robes going back and forth, scrutinizing him with their eyes and more often than not, scribbling something on their clip-boards. The room was illuminated by four mild spotlights, but he can't make out anything that was within 5 feet of the glass cage that he was in.

He felt like zoo attraction more than a medical patient. He asks Anne where he was, but Anne had a template answer ready each and every time: "Sir, you need your rest.."

But then, on the eighth day, Anne

~to be continued~

'Anne', spelled the bold white letters on her name tag, as the man studied.

He started to reach up to his forehead, and his rough fingers touched the texture of gauze cloth. It hurt, very much. Anne eased a pillow behind him and he sat-half comfortably.

"The police sent you yesterday evening, do you remember?"

"Not a single thing." He answered unsteadily.

"That's fine. " Anne handed a glass of water to the man. "Take some rest now and I'm sure you'll recall something soon."

"There was a boy. Where is he?"

"I'm sorry, a boy?"

Anne stared at the folder she had trying to remember if she missed a detail on the patient. Did he come with a boy? The man was still looking up to her for an answer.

Despite the doubtful expressions he's given, he was sure that there was a boy in the passenger seat. Where they were going, he couldn't figure.

Minutes turned to hours and he was still looking out to the window. Soon it was already dark but he hadn't progressed much rather than projecting more questions, one after another. None of these he knew the answer to except one; if he should find a way to escape.

If he had a family it'd be only right for them to show up by his bed now. This boy was the last person he saw, and his only hope to know what happened.

"Find a way out."

He snored.

-->

Maybe it was the Formeldahyde fumes and painkillers that were playing tricks on him, but the man seriously pondered how he got there on the bed of a cheap general hospital in the first place.

When he opened his eyes for what seemed like the first time, no doctors were by his side to tend to him, no nurses by his side to check how he was doing. Everyone seemed pretty happy running around doing other things than to notice him, but then again, who was he to be noticed by anyone?

Yes, who was he?

He was completely baffled, dumbstruck, but at the same time, not too bothered to go into a panic driven rage either. He lied there on the bed with stained sheets that he found himself upon and tried to remember.

"Sir, are you up?"

A voice broke his now 10-minute long meditation. Startled, he stared at his enquirer.

A nurse. Fully dressed in the scrubs that you have come to expect nurses to wear, she was most probably in her mid-30s. From the look on her face, she has had a long-day, but is very well motivated for the job. Judging by the way she stood so comfortably, she must have been working in the hospital for more than 8 years now.

"Sir? Can you hear me?" the nurse asked again in a mildly more urgent tone. He nodded, mouth slightly ajar.

"May I know your name Sir?"

He hesitated, but just for a moment as he only had one answer to that one.

"I don't know my name."