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Post by Lois Lane on Aug 1, 2012 4:05:47 GMT -5
For the first few days, Lois drifted in and out of consciousness. She'd awake periodically to hazy images of needles being put in her arm or the bright florescent lights of the hospital hallways moving past her as she was being wheeled to and from the operating room. Some days, she'd be awake long enough to see the various new stitches and bandages on her body. But those moments never lasted long. Someone would come in and fuss with her IV lines and she'd feel drowsy almost immediately.
At one point, a lady in a white coat came in and spoke to her. Something about being dehydrated and malnourished, having broken ribs and fractures to her skull and internal bleeding. Lois wasn't quite paying attention but she nodded. When the lady left, she went back to sleep.
During the hours she was awake, She felt strange, almost like she was floating. The pain was there but whatever it was that they were giving her was keeping it in the background. Thankfully, it was working. They even gave her a little button to push for when the pain returned. She pressed it a few times but stopped after that. The pain was bad but she liked feeling clear-headed for a change.
She hadn't spoken since she was admitted. Not a word. No one knew her name so her bracelet just read "Jane Doe." The staff thought it curious how she would stare emptily at points on the wall or out the window for hours. A few nurses tried to get her to talk but stopped after a while. They figured something awful had happened and thought it best to leave her alone. Lois' trays would come back untouched most of the time. When she did eat, it would just be a few spoonfuls of soup or a bit of the jello. The psychiatrist was called in and he diagnosed her with severe depression. First round of treatment were antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication. When they didn't work, he tried speaking to her. Conversations were decidedly one-sided and with her continuing to lose weight, he knew he had to figure something out quickly.
While looking over her files, the doctor noticed one other name. It was in the contact portion of the emergency room form: a Ned whose occupation was written as a pie maker. There was no relation other than his being the person who brought her in but, at this point, he was the closest things she had to family. It was worth a try.
He called him that evening and told him the woman he had helped save wasn't doing very well and asked him if he wanted to come and check on her.
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Post by Ned on Aug 1, 2012 20:22:20 GMT -5
For his part, after their rather unfortunate 'meeting' in the alleyway, Ned had managed to weather the, er, weather and shoulder the unconscious young woman to a local hospital. He'd lingered hesitantly in the waiting room until a doctor had emerged and informed him that the patient, while in critical condition, would make a full physical recovery in the coming weeks. No word yet on her mental health. The doctor had added that there wasn't much more that could be done at the present (besides waiting) and had ushered Ned home. Ned had nodded, expressed his thanks, and left behind his contact information. And he'd departed for the Pie Hole.
Then, about a week later, he got the call.
"Yes, of course. I'll be right there," he assured the doctor before hanging up, grabbing his coat and keys, and heading out the door. Furrowing his brow, Ned hoped it was nothing too bad; yet the circumstances surrounding the young woman had been strange from the start. He'd seen a lot during his time as a private investigator--well, amateur private investigator--but nothing quite like this. He had to wonder what kind of a person would intentionally inflict such damage, such hurt upon another human being.
The cab that he took deposited him at the hospital entrance, and he briskly strode through its front doors. "Hi," he greeted the lobby receptionist. "I was, um, listed as a contact for a woman I brought in last week."
"Oh, yes." She rummaged through various documents and tapped a rosy fingernail on the bottom of an official-looking paper. "You are...Ned?" she inquired severely over her spectacles.
"That's me," he smiled uneasily, showing her the proper identification.
"Very well. Down the hallway, make a left, then another left, then a right. You want B117."
"Gotcha, thanks."
Ned meandered through the hospital until he thought he'd come to the right door. He knocked.
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Post by Lois Lane on Aug 2, 2012 3:17:42 GMT -5
A nurses at their stations observed the tall gentleman stop at the quiet girl's door. One nurse figured she should let him know why there wouldn't be an answer.
"Oh honey, she's asleep," explained the evidently chatty nurse as she quickly left the station and walked over to him. "How exciting. You must be that guy! Come in!"
She opened the door and walked in ahead of him. This nurse was rather energetic for someone who was on her eight hour.
"You can go ahead and and sit yourself right there if you want," she said in a hushed voice, pointing to an unattractively pastel teal coloured chair next to the bed. "She'll probably be up soon. We've been calling her Jane-- you know, Jane Doe-- because we don't know what her real name is. Just so you know. We're hoping she'll talk to you, though. Maybe we can finally get in contact with her family or something. But obviously, no pressure! Just see what you can do. I'll be right out here so just give us a holler if you need anything." And with all that said possibly quicker than the speed of light, she left.
Lois' vitals monitors beeped on steadily as she slept.
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Post by Ned on Aug 8, 2012 1:32:30 GMT -5
Ned didn't quite know what to make of the nurse. Unable to get in a word edgewise, that maybe he could return later when the patient was awake, he obligingly slumped into the chair she pointed out and smiled crookedly until she'd left the room. In the silence that followed, Ned awkwardly cleared his throat and took in his surroundings before throwing a sidelong glance in Lois's direction.
He checked his watch and leaned forward to retrieve a magazine from a stack on the bedside table. He supposed he had no other option than to wait.
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Post by Lois Lane on Aug 8, 2012 1:54:04 GMT -5
A few minutes later, she came out of a deep sleep into a place of semi-consciousness. As she tried going back to sleep, she felt a presence in the room, not too far away. People didn't sit when they came into her room. That one doctor would sometimes but he would talk and his breathing always sounded different. This was someone else. She froze and opened her eyes.
Her vision was still a little hazy from having been a sleep just a moment ago and she couldn't quite make him out. And in that second of confusion, she was petrified. But as she blinked, his tall, seated form slowly focused.
It was that man from the alley.
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Post by Ned on Aug 9, 2012 20:26:24 GMT -5
Ned didn't notice that she'd awakened, so absorbed was he now in his magazine. Or upon closer inspection, the comic strip in the magazine. He chuckled under his breath.
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Post by Lois Lane on Aug 18, 2012 4:40:33 GMT -5
She watched him warily for a moment. He looked very different dry but she recognized his voice from the chuckle. After a while, she slowly sat up in her bed and pulled her blanket a bit closer. It wasn't particularly cold; she was just nervous.
A part of her wanted him to leave. She wanted everyone to leave, to just leave her alone. She wanted to leave: the bitter sterilized smell of the hospital was unbearable, the fluorescent lighting gave her headaches, and everyone here kept looking at her like she was from another planet. She would have up and left days ago if there had been a place to go. But that all would've ended very badly seeing as how she didn't even know where she was.
But she knew she couldn't tell him to go. He was probably the person who got her here. Maybe that's why he was here. Maybe he was expecting a 'thank you' or some money or whatever people did to repay the person that saved their life. What was she supposed to do? She didn't have any money, or at least she didn't think so. Thanking him was probably appropriate but she wasn't sure she was thankful. The exact reasons why she felt that way was hard to describe or even understand. How could she communicate to him that she didn't know what to do?
"What do you want?"
Lois cringed at the way the words came fumbling out of her mouth. She hadn't even meant to talk, let alone be so confrontational... or sound so weak. She wanted to take it back but her mind kept drawing blanks.
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Post by Ned on Aug 20, 2012 2:37:38 GMT -5
The magazine fell with a sharp thwap to the floor as Ned fumbled (and failed) to retain a steady grip upon it. He merely froze in his seat, arms comically outstretched, until at length he cleared his throat without much conviction and let his arms fall to his sides.
"Oh," he began awkwardly. "Um, I just--I don't want anything in particular. I mean, besides wanting you to get better, of course. But they, the hospital, just wanted me to drop by and maybe check on you to see how you were getting along and"--he scratched his head--"maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. I can leave. If you want," he added hastily.
The magazine lay open on the floor to the page of the comic strip Ned had been laughing at moments earlier, staring up at him with its garish colors and exaggerated illustrations.
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Post by Lois Lane on Aug 20, 2012 4:28:40 GMT -5
His voice drowned out momentarily as her eyes fixated on the drawings. Blues, reds, whites, blacks, greens.
The hair-- no-- his hair, the grins... his grin.
She immediately looked away. The images made her feel sick. Her head swam and her hands felt sweaty. She blinked, trying to make it go away, but every time she closed her eyes, strange images kept coming to her. No, not images. Just one. A smile. A ghoulish, red smile etched across a face without eyes, growing bigger and bigger--
"Stop!" she screamed, her knuckles white as her hands clutched at her sheets. The outburst seemed to jolt her out of whatever was going on. She looked at him apologetically. She had no idea what she was supposed to do or say, but screaming at this man probably wasn't it.
"I mean, no, you don't have to leave," she corrected, breathlessly. Her grip on the bedding loosened and she buried her face in her hands for a moment. She took a deep breath to try and collect herself.
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Post by Ned on Aug 21, 2012 18:24:47 GMT -5
Ned flinched ever-so-slightly in his seat but offered the young woman an understanding smile. It was, after all, the least he could do.
"Um...well, do you want me to get anything for you? Water, perhaps?" he inquired, absentmindedly twiddling his thumbs. "I mean, I seem to recall being perpetually thirsty when I ended up in the hospital myself a few years ago. You know that feeling after you eat peanut butter, where your tongue kind of sticks to the roof of your mouth? Like that. Only without the peanut butter. But that might have just been me." He added this last statement as a means of relieving the tension between them and of allowing the young woman time to compose herself.
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Post by Lois Lane on Aug 22, 2012 2:33:18 GMT -5
Her efforts to pull herself together weren't exactly effective; her hands were visibly shaking and the only way to deal with them were to shove them under the covers. And the atmosphere she had created had become unbearable to the point where she almost asked him about his time in a hospital just to make things less awkward; but she realized that story could only be depressing. Times spend in hospitals always were.
"You can't," she stated plainly. There indeed weren't any pitchers of water or cups anywhere in the room. It was also devoid of any hard objects like pens, pencils or even the errant paper clip. "They have to supervise whatever goes in my mouth and that nurse gives me a headache so..."
She trailed off, not knowing how to tastefully explain why.
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Post by Ned on Aug 22, 2012 13:51:59 GMT -5
"Yeah. No, I completely understand," he laughed. "Only with me, it's not so much of a headache as it is seeing red and feeling this sweltering wave of heat wash over you, and there's nothing you can do about it. You just smile and nod and wait for it to pass, even though it's painful. I want to say it's like a hot flash...but I'm not menopausal. Or female."
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Post by Lois Lane on Aug 24, 2012 4:44:09 GMT -5
The look on her face was a melange of confusion, wariness, and possibly even concern. It resembled the wide-eyed "what planet are you from?" look one would give a teacher lecturing on advanced calculus or a subject equally perplexing. She wasn't sure she caught all the words that came out of his mouth.
"Um... I guess she does have that effect," she began, a bit dazed, then muttered a tentative, "I think," at the end. She wasn't sure if he was talking about his experience in a hospital or the nurse.
It was the first time since she had been admitted that someone just talked to her. His being there and talking was starting to get her mind off of things.
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Post by Ned on Oct 4, 2012 20:03:25 GMT -5
Ned bit his lower lip in an attempt to suppress his laughter. He'd often gotten that look from friend and colleague Emerson Cod, although in his case, it had been usually followed by a snarky comment or two. Or three.
He was suddenly homesick.
"Sorry. I tend to ramble a lot," he began to explain, shrugging and offering Lois an apologetic smile.
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Post by Lois Lane on Oct 22, 2012 3:45:43 GMT -5
Lois smiled a little to put him at ease. She felt bad for perhaps making him feel awkward with her response.
"It's okay. Maybe if I talked like you, they'd let me out," she said, trying to be funny. By the end of that sentence, she realized it wasn't all that funny.
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