Stephen Strange Holmes: A Journey of Magic and Faith

Chapter Three: Waking Up

Pain. So much pain. Stephen slowly opened his eyes . . . eye. His left one hurt too much to open more than a slit. His right hand was clasped gently but firmly in warmth, anointed with tears. Tender lips brushed his knuckles as a familiar voice murmured, "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

"Christine," he said, voice hoarse.

"I'm here," she said, light brown hair slipping over her shoulders. Hazel brown eyes filled with relieved tears.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Billy sent a chopper," she answered. "It took a while for them to find you. By some miracle, you suffered no severe damage."

That didn't sound right. He could see his hands suspended above the bed, grotesquely fixed in place by numerous pins. In his mind, he could hear Christine saying, "Golden hours for nerve damage went by while you were in the car. . .. Eleven stainless steel pins in the bones. Multiple torn ligaments. Severe nerve damage in both hands. You were on the table for eleven hours."

Look at those fixators.

"No one could have done better."

I could have done better.

Stephen heaved for breath even as he tried to comprehend what his mind was presenting him as opposed to the reality. His left hand rested beside him. His right hand returned Christine's hold. They weren't damaged. They weren't. Then why did his mind believe they were damaged beyond repair?!

"Stephen?" Christine asked.

"My hands," he said. "They—" he sucked in a breath, "they aren't damaged."

"No," she answered, slowly, brow furrowed in confusion. "They needed a few sutures for the longer cuts, but nothing permanent."

"Yet, I can see it, almost as vividly as what lies before me," he said.

Christine gently soothed his brow. "Talk to me, Stephen," she said. "What brought this on?"

Stephen forced himself to focus. "D-during the crash. I almost grabbed the steering wheel. But just before it was swallowed by the dashboard, a voice said, 'Keep your hands away from the wheel during a crash. Just trust me on this.' It wasn't some celestial voice. It felt more like some long-buried memory.

"Then, as I was being taken into surgery, I thought I saw two of you and Nic, but both images were slightly different. Like two films being superimposed over each other. Different names were swirling in my head. Like I should know the people they were attached to, but I don't. I don't!"

"Sh, sh," Christine murmured. "Try to breathe for me." She slid up beside him on the bed, helping ground him. "Try to relax. I know it's scary, but let's focus on breathing for a bit."

Stephen forced himself to breathe, followed Christine's breathing and heartbeat. After a few minutes, he ventured, "Am I going mad? Be honest."

"I don't know," Christine said, resting her head against his, a familiar, comfortable weight. "It's too early to say anything just now. It could be that something you've read or seen is being superimposed on your memories after getting knocked around a bit. Maybe after getting that warning, and seeing what happened to the wheel directly afterward, triggered your mind to consider what may have happened." Her fingers lightly combed through his hair. "Let your mind rest a day or two. We'll figure things out then."

"But if there's damage," he started.

"All the scans and x-rays were already taken," she said. "They all came back clean. If you want, after you've rested a little more, I'll let you have a look yourself."