I remember the sound the truck made when it collided with our vehicle. A grinding crunch of metal and glass, layered with the screams of fear clawing at my family’s lungs.
I remember the sickening, tumbling motion of our car – a dizzying arc between sky and ground, repeated again and again.
I remember the cool shock of water rising around my sneaker-clad feet. I’d always loved the water, but as the blue droplets swelled, threatening to engulf me, I found myself hating its eerie, suffocating embrace.
I remember a man, calling out above the frantic cries of my little brother. His voice, somehow calm amidst the chaos.
But I don’t remember how I got here, to this nearly silent hospital room.
A surge of anxiety grips me as my eyes flutter open, along with a familiar ache settling deep in my stomach. My vision swims for a few seconds, and I moan softly with the pain before it stabilizes. I gaze around the room, taking it in.
The rhythmic beep of the heart rate monitor to my left is annoyingly insistent, a reminder of the wires and tubes tethering me to this bed. I’m completely alone.
Where am I? Where are my parents? Oh God, where is Edward?
Frantically, I fumble for the call button, pressing it repeatedly. A moment later, a harried nurse with greying hair bursts into the room, her face flushed.
“Sweetheart, enough of that.” She chuckles lightly, rushing to my side and releasing my hand from the button, silencing the alarm. “You’re alright.” She checks the monitors, ensuring everything is secure.
“Where is my brother? He must be so scared. His name is Edward Chambers. He’s five years old, with brown hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a blue and white striped shirt and dark wash jeans and –”
“Shhh, dear, take a deep breath. Your brother is okay.” Her statement does little to quell my anxiety. I shake my head.
“No, listen, we were in a car accident and he was crying and there was blood and –”
“And he’s doing just fine now. In fact, he’s right down the hall.”
At her confession, I throw the blankets off my bare legs and try to swing my legs over the side of the bed, intending to run to my brother’s side.
“I need to see him.”
“Miss, you need to remain in bed. I cannot permit you to leave. You have a serious concussion, bruised ribs, and several lacerations. Please, lie back.”
“No, I can’t! You don’t understand!”
“Miss, please!”
Why doesn’t she understand? It’s my little brother. He’s probably terrified.
“Mary, is everything alright?”
A familiar voice cuts through the tension, smooth as honey with a hint of rasp. The depth of it pulls me from my panic, as I assume Mary’s grasp is broken by the arrival of this calm man.
“Annabelle.” The voice isn’t Mary’s; her lips haven’t moved. I assume it comes from the man entering the room.
I gulp, watching his shoes – worn brown boots – come into focus beside my bed. My eyes slowly lift from the boots to the tight skinny jeans and then to the patterned shirt beneath a white lab coat.
The outfit is far from what I’d expect from a professional doctor, but I’m not here to critique his wardrobe.
When my eyes finally reach his face, the anxious thoughts swirling in my head cease. His lips are parted slightly, his green eyes scanning over my still body. If I weren’t so panicked, I’d think this was my lucky day, to be in the presence of a god.
“Who are you?” I nearly growl. The force of my voice surprised even me, as if my vocal cords had acted without my consent.
The man doesn’t flinch at my harsh tone. He slowly nods, glancing at the nurse beside me before turning back to me.
“I’m Doctor Styles. Can you tell me your name?” I purse my lips, exhaling loudly.
“Annabelle Chambers. And I’m twenty-two years old. I can assume that was going to be your next question.” I say with as much attitude as my body will allow.
Usually, I’m not this on edge and moody, but knowing my little brother is somewhere in this hospital, possibly in pain, is overwhelming.
Again, Dr. Styles doesn’t seem offended or even surprised by my outburst. He simply nods, a minuscule smile playing on his lips.
“Do you know how you got here?”
Upon his question, our meeting flashes back to me, and I bite my lip, trying to reconcile the memories.
“I was in a car accident, and you were the one who pulled my family out.” I mutter, partly to convince myself that it wasn’t a nightmare.
That wasn’t some hospital medicine-induced delusion. The events of tonight – or whenever it was – had really happened.
“That’s right. Annabelle, I just have a couple questions for you and then I’ll take you to see your brother myself. How does that sound?” I frantically nod. I would do anything to see my family.
I need to be with my brother; perhaps my parents are with him as well. He needs them more than I do, he’s younger and probably doesn’t understand what’s happened.
“Alright.” Dr. Styles circles the bed, flipping open my chart, his fingers tracing the edges. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness, loss of vision, or black spots appearing in your vision?”
“When I first opened my eyes, there were spots, but not anymore. I have a bit of a headache, but I get migraines frequently so this is nothing really. And now that you bring it up, my side really hurts, like hurts to breathe.”
“That’s all to be expected. You knocked your head pretty hard during the crash. As for the pain you’re feeling,” he gestures to my side, “you bruised a couple ribs. With plenty of rest, they’ll heal up just fine. Do you mind if I take a look at your stitches?”
Stitches?
“We had to stitch up your shoulder. A piece of glass was embedded into the skin and required a few stitches after the glass was removed. Nothing too serious, I assure you.”
Taking a glance to my right shoulder, hidden under the hospital gown, I nod slightly. He wastes no time, crossing the foot of the bed and maneuvering around the nurse who stands silently by.
“You got my brother out before me, correct? How is he? And my parents? I don’t remember you getting them out of the car, I barely even remember you getting Edward out.”
If there’s ever a time to be selfish, it’s now, but I can’t. Knowing my family is here in this hospital makes everything about them, not about me.
“I got your brother out before you, yes.” He says, untying the strings of my hospital gown at my neck and pulling it down just enough to uncover the bandaged shoulder. “He’s down the hall, my colleague Dr. Horan is looking after him. He’s an excellent pediatrician, one of our best, and is taking good care of your brother. Other than a couple bumps and bruises he is completely unharmed. The both of you are incredibly lucky.”
A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding escapes my lips at his confession. Knowing that little Edward is basically unharmed while I lie here in incredible pain is a good feeling. The relief that takes over my emotions is almost too much to handle, and I find myself wanting to cry.
“Really?” Dr. Styles glances from his careful eye where the bandage once stuck and gives me a nod. I lick my dry lips and bite the delicate skin.
“And my parents? Where are they? Are they with Edward?” Dr. Styles’ eyes flash to mine before he returns to working with my shoulder. I lose what little smile I had and shake my head at him.
He’s hiding something.
“Mary, can you redress Miss Chambers’ shoulder?” The woman replies quietly, her eyes never meeting mine as Dr. Styles tosses his blue gloves into the bin.
Deep down, the avoidance of the question alerts me to a nagging suspicion. They had to be in bad shape, awful shape if he were avoiding such an easy question. And the sadness in his eyes as he takes his post at the foot of my bed does nothing to comfort my worries.
“Dr. Styles.” I plead, tears already welling in my eyes before he’s even said a thing. He clears his throat again, before glancing at the ceiling and then returning his emerald eyes to me.
“After I got you and your brother out of the car and was certain that you both were okay, I went back for your mother with some other motorists that had stopped. The car had become fully submerged whilst I was rescuing you, but we were able to free your mother from the restraints.” I release a deep breath as a small smile comes to my lips.
Thank God.
“But her injuries that were sustained during the rollover were far too severe.” The smile on my lips slowly fades. “And by the time another passerby got to your father, it was too late.”
“No.” I simply state. “That can’t be true. You said you got my mother out, so she’s out. She’s fine, in surgery then?” Dr. Styles looks over to Mary, who has finished dressing my wound and is standing idly by, ready to assist if needed.
“I am very sorry Miss Chambers –”
“Annabelle.” I interrupt. “It’s Annabelle.”
“I am very sorry Annabelle,” Dr. Styles corrects himself and takes a deep breath before continuing, “but your parents did not survive the crash.”