Page 63 of Renegade
Epilogue
Liam
I notice the smell first. It’s an unmistakable, familiar antiseptic smell, and for a minute, I think I’m back in the hospital with my mom, reading her her favorite romance books and entertaining her with stories of my last mission while poison drips slowly into her veins. But no. The rush of memories washes over me like a tidal wave. Mom’s voice, so tired and frail, saying she doesn’t want to suffer anymore. Dad holding her in his arms and Kenzie and me holding her hands as the morphine took effect and she slipped away forever. A funeral, and a year later another one—my dad’s this time. Mounting bills. A guy with dark hair and a Boston accent, and the relief that it was all going to be okay. But the memories are fleeting, and as soon as I grab hold of one, it seems to flit away.
There’s no doubt I’m in a hospital. My eyes feel like they’re sealed shut, and no matter how hard I try to open them, I can’t. I can’t move, either, but I know not to panic. I do what I’ve been trained to do. I stay calm and focus on the details around me, assessing the situation, although I can’t say how or why I know to do this. Still, I catalog my observations in my mind. The efficient sounds of people going about their business. The soft slap of shoes on tile. The beep of machines. The murmur of voices speaking a language I don’t understand. But the smell prevails. I’m certain I’m in a hospital, but I have no idea why or how I got here. I try to think, but my head feels thick and foggy, and I fight sleep. Where the hell am I? The darkness closes in.
The chatter of voices wakes me up again, but this time I can open my eyes. I’m definitely in a hospital, but it doesn’t look like the hospitals I’m used to. It’s small and primitive by U.S. standards. I turn my head to see a row of cots filled with patients, but none are blond like me, or white.
“You’re awake.” I turn toward the softly accented, feminine voice. A kind-looking, middle-aged woman with brown skin looks from me to the beeping monitor above my head. “We were not sure you would make it. You have been in a coma.”
“A coma?” My voice is a hoarse croak. “How long? What happened?”
“Shh.” She places a cool hand on my forehead. “Let me get the doctor for you.”
Five minutes later, a man with glasses and an air of kind authority arrives next to my bed. “I’m Dr. Singh. Welcome back,” he says with a smile. “You are at a hospital in Punjab. You’re in India.”
“How long have I been here?”
“A couple of months. Do you know your name?”
I can hear my mother’s voice calling to me in my head. “Liam.”
“Liam what?”
I think hard, but I’m drawing a blank. I shake my head.
He nods, writing something on his clipboard. “Do not worry. It is quite common. Your memories will return slowly. Do you remember what happened? How you got here?”
I think back, trying to remember something. Anything. “No. What happened?”
“You arrived under rather mysterious circumstances. You’d been shot, and perhaps had been in some sort of fire or explosion, as you had burns. Someone had taken excellent care of your wounds and got you here, but they left you with a nurse and disappeared. Her description of the person could fit just about anyone. You had no identification on you, only a cell phone, which was password protected.”
“Where is it?” McKenzie must be worried sick. I struggle to sit up, but the edges of my vision turn black, and I suddenly feel woozy.
Dr. Singh places a hand on my shoulder. “Rest. Tomorrow when you are stronger, you can contact your family. It has been several months. Another day is not going to make a difference.”
I lie back against the bed, exhausted. “They don’t know where I am?”
He shakes his head. “The local police were called in to investigate, but your fingerprints did not match any passports or confirmed entry. There was no way to identify you. We are a small farming community. Our resources are limited, but we can call the consulate for assistance if your memory doesn’t return.” He places a hand reassuringly on my arm. “But I think it will. Over time, it is likely that many of your memories will return, although you may never remember all of the events surrounding the time of injury. Sometimes it is a blessing. Rest now.”
Over the next twenty-four hours, I eat, thrill the nurse by pissing into a bedpan, drift in and out of sleep, and try to remember what happened. Memories return, but they’re spotty, fragmented pieces that don’t make any sense. Diving with my college friend Anthony in Malaysia. Walking off a military plane with a duffel bag full of guns. A silver necklace with a design etched on it. They all seem so bizarre. Maybe they’re not memories at all, but simply dreams I had while I was in the coma.
I rack my brain, frustrated by my inability to remember who I am or what the hell I’m doing on the other side of the world.
“You should get some sleep. Your brain needs time to heal.” It’s the nurse again, and I’m grateful for her kindness. She gives me a pill, and I slip off into the abyss again.
I feel stronger the next morning, and after I pass several rounds of cognitive and physical tests, Dr. Singh brings me my phone.
I turn it on but realize I have no idea what my password is.
Day by day, the memories slowly come back. Some of them, at least. Eventually, I remember that my last name is Prescott, and that I am a Navy SEAL, although I don’t share that information with anyone, even Dr. Singh. I think it’s best to keep it to myself until I know what happened to me and why. Unfortunately, those memories still elude me.
For some reason, I dream of Charlotte, one of McKenzie’s two best friends, almost every night, and almost every morning I wake up with a stiff cock, her scent permeating my nostrils. While it’s good to know that appendage is still working, I don’t know why I dream of her, or why my dreams are so vivid. I can’t really know the things I dream of—intimate things, like the little whimpers she makes when she comes, and the tiny mole at the small of her back. Although I think of both her and Kenzie’s other best friend, Gemma, like family, I’ve never even dated her.
It takes two weeks before I remember the password to open my phone. I tell Dr. Singh, who puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Several months without contact from a loved one can be hard. People act…unexpectedly. Take your time.”
He’s a good doctor and a kind man. I know enough about the medical system in this part of the world to know I was lucky to have been dropped off in his hospital. Another doctor would have left me on the streets, or let me die. “Yes, sir.” I salute him with a smile, and he smiles back before he pulls the curtain around me, giving me a tiny bit of privacy.
