A
white room. Noises coming from the next hallway. Sunlight through blinds.
The nurse leaning over her looked startled;
surprised even. Bren tried to ask where her things were, but found it difficult
to speak after having been dead awhile. She’d never tried to do so soon after
reawakening.
“What?” The nurse asked. He looked
over at the computer that displayed her vital signs. Bren could see that her
EEG had been flatlined, just seconds ago. The nurse’s facial expression was
somewhere between confused and relieved. There was just a touch of happy at the
corners of his mouth.
“Where is the gauntlet?” This time
she was sure her voice was clearer, she focused on the words, thinking each
clearly before speaking them. She wondered if she was reteaching her body to
speak, or if the lungs were still healing.
“The glove thing?” The nurse asked.
Bren tilted her head forward and
back. She hoped that nodding would become an activity that was easier to
perform, in the future. Remembering how to move was harder than it’d been the
last time she’d revived.
It’s important to note that the
nurse, a man named Charles Variety, had been told to disconnect the equipment
that was keeping Bren alive. She’d been completely brain dead for a number of
hours, and so everyone assumed she’d stay that way. No one had been able to get
in touch with her family, either, and one questionable government watch list
placed her as a possible international terrorist. The Dean of Medicine had
ordered her disconnected for these and other reasons and Charles had drawn the
short straw.
He’d spent so long dreading it that
now that Bren was alive, and clearly not brain dead, he almost didn’t believe
his luck. He wondered if he’d say he had done something; maybe he had changed
some medication. He was going through the mental checklist of things he might
have done that could possibly have revived her. He didn’t know what had
happened to the gauntlet. It’d just been mentioned offhandedly to him by an
orderly Charles didn’t recognize, who’d said they were going to take it for
safe keeping.
“I don’t know what happened to it,”
he finally said, “Someone took it.”
“Who?” She asked. Her voice was much
better now.
“Some guy,” the nurse said, “Oh god,
that sounds awful. I bet you think we don’t know what we’re doing, do you?
People usually sue over stuff like that. I’m sorry. I don’t know the name of
the orderly. Or where they sent it.”
“Could you find out?” Bren asked.
“Yeah,” the nurse said, “Except, now
I have to tell everyone that you’re not dead.” He made it sound like a chore.
“Neat,” she said. She laid her head
back down, feeling tired.
In a few hours she was discharged.
She told them that it’d been a stunt gone wrong for a friend of hers. A stunt
for a movie. They didn’t believe her, but they needed the beds, and there was
that thing about her maybe being a terrorist that was keeping the Dean on edge.
Bren passed a young man in the ER whose face looked pretty banged up. He leaned
forwards as she’d walked past, probably to stretch his neck or something, and
she hadn’t gotten out of the way soon enough to avoid rubbing the side of his
face with the back of her hand.
“Sorry,” she said, “Wasn’t paying
attention.”
He hadn’t said anything in return.
He’d just looked back the way he’d been facing. Bren saw whom she assumed was
his father give her a stink eye. She looked away.
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