Page 14 of Unforgettable
CHAPTER 4
Morning arrived blindingly bright. It was too sharp, too real and awakening. She turned onto her right side away from it. The incision wound on her upper thigh was too fresh and sensitive. She moaned and moved onto her back. She never noticed the window before. She never remembered any ICU cubicles that had ever had one. Strange.
Randi turned her head slightly against the pillow, her eyes adjusting slowly as the daylight filtered through the narrow hospital window. The steady rhythm of machines surrounded her - constant, inescapable.
She was alive, the machines confirmed the proof giving meaning to the word.
Alive… but not whole, damn it.
Her gaze drifted to the flat screen hung from a swivel mount screwed to the ceiling slightly off to her right. It flickered softly, captions scrolling across the bottom of the screen. It was something else she hadn’t noticed before. Hadn’t noticed much of anything beyond the weight of her own body… and the absence she couldn’t stop feeling.
Her hand.
Carefully, slowly, she shifted her eyes toward it. Thickly wrapped, lying elevated atop two fluffy pillows. Still and frightfully unmoving.
It felt foreign to her. Not a part of her. It was like it had been already amputated and the searing pain was phantom, a cry for its loss.
Her chest tightened.
Don’t,she silently commanded.Not yet. Don’t go there.
She forced herself to pull her gaze away and reached instead for the tv’s remote resting beside her. It was a small distraction. Something normal to fill the emptiness and silence that filled the space.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she pressed the button. Immediately the screen came to life, and the volume was too loud for her sensitive ears. She lowered the sound quickly.
The shocking imagery filled the screen, causing her to gasp as the broadcaster’s voice intruded her other senses.
“…breaking news out of Rochester last night -”
Randi stilled.
“…a head-on collision involving a suspected drunk driver -”
Her breath caught.
“…the victim has been identified as rising artist Randi Caleb -”
No. Not this. Don’t want to watch.
Her thumb pressed the remote quickly.
Channel change.
“…scheduled to debut at the Walker Art Center this past evening -”
Another click.
“…community members expressing shock -”
Click.
“…currently listed in critical condition ”
“Stop…”
Her voice trembling. She tried to click it off but the tv wouldn’t respond. She managed tomute it, but captions streamed across the bottom of the screen. She threw the remote and it landed at the foot of her bed, out of reach, and tried to avert her eyes.
Every channel. Everywhere. No escaping. Her life had become national news and reduced to headlines. It became speculation and something she no longer recognized as her own. It was out of control and not the recognition nor the notoriety she wanted. This kind of news increased ratings and hung around for a while. She didn’t want to be labeled as a headline and defined for the wrong reasons.
