Roxanne had to go back to the dorm room where she and Chloe had been to when they arrived. She had to wake from her trance and tell Chloe what she had seen.
Chloe rose to her feet when she heard moaning sounds coming from beyond the door to the dorm room. She withdrew her gun and stepped up to the door. Chloe grasped hold of the knob, gave it a twist, and quickly opened the door. She entered the hallway with her gun in the ready position. Chloe saw nothing, but the moaning continued. She went back and retrieved her flashlight. When Chloe exited the room, she closed the door and walked in the direction of the stairs. The moaning sound was getting louder as Chloe neared the stairway. She slowed her pace and readied both flashlight and gun for when the time came to look down the stairs. Chloe’s heart was beating fast, and her breathing was labored. She took a minute to calm down and stepped forward.
Roxanne finally woke from her trance. She looked around the dorm room. Chloe was gone! Roxanne rose a bit unsteadily to her feet. It felt like a thousand needles were pricking her flesh. Roxanne fought off the feeling, grabbed her flashlight, and went to look for Chloe. She exited the dorm room and headed towards the stairs. So far there was no sign of Chloe. Where could she be?
Roxanne walked down the stairs and as soon as she reached the first floor, she heard moaning sounds. She turned and flashed her light down the hallway leading to the church. Roxanne saw nothing.
“Chloe!” Roxanne cried out. There was no reply.
Roxanne continued down the hallway and upon reaching the door to the church, she stumbled from something on the floor. She shone her light down to see what it was. Roxanne gasped and was taken aback. It was a gun and flashlight.
“Chloe!” Roxanne shouted after she opened the door to the church. The sound of her voice echoed across the vast, empty sanctuary. Roxanne knew what to do. She had to get help. Roxanne closed the door and was about to turn around. She felt a blow to the head and was immediately rendered unconscious.
Chapter 7
Even before he opened his eyes, the light from the morning sun already lit them up. He rolled over on his side and put the pillow over his head. It was too late. No matter how hard he tried, the blasted light had woken him up. He finally opened his eyes to see the sun just coming over the lake. He put the pillow back and pushed the button to raise the bed. After playing with it a few minutes, he finally found the right position. There was a knock at the door. He replied to come in.
“Good morning,” a red haired nurse smiled. She walked in carrying his breakfast tray.
“Good morning,” he hesitated, “Veronica, right?”
“Well at least your short-term memory is still working,” Veronica smiled, her green eyes scrunched up at the corners. She walked over and put the tray on his lap.
“Thanks,” he replied. He removed the cover to reveal a hearty breakfast of pancakes and sausages. His stomach was growling, so loud in fact that Veronica heard it. She smiled.
“You’re scheduled for a session with Doctor Straussman this morning at eleven,” Veronica announced, as she looked at the screen of her palm pilot. She glanced in his direction just in time to see him take the last bite of his food. “My, you really were hungry,” Veronica laughed. He unexpectedly burped. They both laughed. “Hey,” she suggested. “Since we have time I want to take you somewhere.”
“Where is that?” he inquired.
“Get in,” Veronica announced as she grabbed the wheel chair and moved it to the side of the bed.
The Sunroom was very warm, sunny, accentuated with palms and wicker furniture, and not one single modern electronic device. There were board games, magazines, and books waiting to be read scattered on the tables in the middle of the room. A little alcove on the north side offered sanctuary from the world.
That’s where he wanted to be today; secluded from the world. At the request of Doctor Straussman, he was staying at the hospital a few more days for observation. Apparently he was her test subject since he was her only patient with trauma induced amnesia. The woman he knew as Megan Knight had protested the decision at first, but then conceded that it may help. Either way, eventually he would have to leave and face an unrecognizeable world. It frightened him. Last night he dreamt about this Andrew Knight, the man they claim to be him, but there was no face to recognize. It was blank. So the sunroom was the perfect place to be right now.
Veronica wheeled him over to the alcove. There was someone else already there. He thanked Veronica and she left.
He got up out of the wheel chair and walked over to one of the empty cushioned wicker chairs. He grabbed a magazine and began to page through; not really reading anything of real importance. He looked her over. She was a young girl with the same colored hair as his. She was staring out of the windows and down on the city. She looked very sad. Shadowy circles camouflaged her eyes. It was like someone had stolen the light not only from her eyes, but from her soul.
Her silence befuddled him. He wasn’t really sure why, or how come. Why would, how she looked or the apparent misery she felt, concern him? He tried to go back to reading, but couldn’t. Something unsettling about her was calling him ask her why. Where did this querying feeling come from?
He slid the magazine back on the table, rose and walked over by her. He asked if he could sit down. No reply. He asked again. She gave a slow nod. He presumed that meant it was okay and immediately sat beside her. For the first few minutes they gazed out the large window at the soundless sights in streets below. Pretty soon his thoughts began to drift back to why she could be so miserable. What happened to her? Was it some incurable illness the doctor told she had? Did it have to do with family? What was it? There were so many questions twirling around in his mind; each jockeying for position. Finally, he just sort of blurted out, “My name is, um, um, its.” He hastily stopped. Damn it, he swore in his head. All he had to do was just say the damn name, but he couldn’t. For some reason it didn’t seem to fit. How weird was that he thought. Is it your name that defines who you are, or is it your actions, thoughts, and feelings? You can write your name down on paper, wear it on a name badge, or have some one call it out in the middle of the night. That’s what bothered him the most; your name does define who you are to others. Without it you’re just a vessel with emotions, witnessed by those around you, but no identity to go with it. So what is in a name; everything! He tried again, “My name is Andrew,” he benignly said. “Andrew Knight.”
“Storm,” her voice finally came out of the shadows. “My name is Storm Higgins.”
“I like your name,” He said, observing her closely. It felt weird. Why would he do something like that? Why would he even care? And yet it seemed as if from his observation he could tell a lot about her. For example, when she talked, he noticed her teeth were well cared for, so it meant that her parents had good insurance. Yet her eye teeth were longer; looking more like fangs. Why would she do that? He quickly shook off the feeling and recovered, and smiled. “How did your parents come up with it?”
“My mom…” Storm sniffed back her tears. Her shoulders sunk and she became withdrawn, not so much as before. “My mom gave birth to me during a really bad snow storm. They couldn’t get to the hospital, so I was born at home.”
He saw that talking about her mom was very upsetting. Something terrible must have happened recently. What could it be? Was her mom in the hospital or something worse?
“Are you okay?” He picked up on Storm’s reluctance when she talked about her mom. He pressed further, “Did something happen to your mom. I mean, well, you can tell me only if you want to.”
“My parents,” Storm paused and exhaled deeply. “My parents and brother were killed recently. I was the only one to live.”