After being ordered by the State to undergo Deep Sleep, a treatment for troubled teens, Jo awakens in the hospital with sporadic and unexplained memories. Upon celebrating her rebirthday, she recalls strange past events that makes her question reali...
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The color red swamped my vision, and enveloped me in an icky warmth as it dribbled from my lips and cast the room in its sickly hue.
"Are you feeling well, Jovial?"
I blinked and the bright lights overhead reflected off of the clean, white walls and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, only to see the doctor standing before me in his immaculate white lab coat. Confused by his worried stare and unblemished clothing, I looked past him at the large machines and their systems projecting lines and numbers on several screens.
"What just happened?" My sights followed the seams of his coat down to his hands where his fingers were perfectly intact as if the entire bloody, panic-inducing incident never happened.
It happened. Didn't it?
He moved closer, aiming the light that shined from the center of his eyeglass frames in my face. "I examined the soft palate of your upper jaw to confirm the stitch is still there. In fact, it is. However, I suspect you may be experiencing some sort of cerebral trauma that is interfering with your ability to remember."
"What is cerebral trauma?" I narrowed my eyes, trying to read his facial expression while forcing myself to remain calm. "Brain damage?"
"Injury," he corrected. "Due to swelling at the surgical site. It can be repaired by healing, so I wouldn't categorize it as damage. As I mentioned before, with time it will heal, and your memory will gradually improve. In the meantime, your mother will assist you with your recollections."
Mom. Once again, I tested the bed's grip but the straps remained in place. "Where is she? I wanna see her."
"I will bring her in shortly." Instead, he returned to the monitors, using his fingers in perfect rhythm to type and click away at the onscreen buttons.
What had just happened? It couldn't have been my imagination. It felt so genuine. Every jolt of pain, the wailing of the alarms, the taste of his blood had seemed so real. Had it all been a result of a brain injury or had I somehow been dreaming?
I searched my memory for Mom, sensing that she would know how to fix the problem or at least ease me through the experience. Her short, slim frame, dark hair with tighter curls than mine, and unblemished dark brown skin popped into my mind. It was Dad and his features that eluded my memories. The only thing I could recall was his pale, untanned complexion and immense height.
What color were his eyes? His hair? The more I thought about those details the less I cared.
"I want my mom." I stared at the dark, wispy hairs mixed with gray at the back of the doctor's head. "I want to go home." Where was home and why I wanted to be there was uncertain. I felt it in my bones that home was where I needed to be.
The doctor pressed a button and a beep sounded from his monitor. "Send Ms. Spencer back to room two-thirty-seven, please."
There was no reply or confirmation. Only the occasional beeps and whirls of the machines penetrated the silence between us and the click of the door opening and closing behind me. "Mom?" My mouth craved liquids and moisture, but I ignored it for motherly assurance.
