Chapter Eight

The next few hours followed the same routine: Dax would wake for several minutes, and absorb as much information as he could in the form of the most pressing questions. Once these were answered, he’d fall back asleep again, thanks to a cocktail of painkillers and other drugs that had been pumped into his system since the second the ambulance arrived on scene. Each time he went back to sleep he had a little more knowledge of the accident, and what had followed, but while he knew that his family and team were keeping plenty from him, he didn’t have the energy to press them further.

He had no knowledge of days, or time, or whether it was even light or dark outside. He requested the curtains remain closed. He was unsure why this was, but when he slipped into unconsciousness he was plagued by nightmares where photographers climbed up the walls of the hospital or flew drones up to the windows and snapped picture after picture of him lying prone on the bed, unable even to shield his face.

When he felt the soft, familiar hand of his mom stroke his face, he wept, thick hot tears emerging from his eyelids and disappearing immediately down the sides of his temples to the pillow beneath him. He recalled the time he fell off a climbing frame at the park when he was ten years old and broke his left wrist, and how his mom had done exactly the same: lovingly caress his cheek while he wept from pain and frustration.

There were times he tried to talk to her, but she would only lean down, press her nose against his, and tell him not to worry. Everything would be fine, she assured him. He needed to sleep as much as he could, and get well, and everything would work itself out. He tried to ask about the rest of the family, and how long she was staying, and her answers were the same every time: loving, but vague.

It was only as he drifted back into oblivion that Dax understood how much he’d missed his mom while he’d been on the road. His brain decided that rather than concentrating on the strange, dull ache that occupied his body, it would throw up memories of the past, and of his childhood. He thought a lot about the Christmases he woke up so excited he’d bound down the stairs before he even went to the bathroom. He was shown memories of summers with his friends, riding their bikes around the park, climbing trees and playing softball.

The slideshow of his life played like a movie on repeat inside his head. In each of the memories he felt safe, and nostalgic. He knew he could call out for his mom and she’d be there, the way she was now, beside his bed. Only now, she looked older, and the worry in her eyes had bled out to the lines around her face, on her forehead, so it looked like she was frowning even when she smiled down at him.

After a particularly long nap he opened his eyes and felt more awake than he had in a long time. He stared up at the ceiling, waiting for someone to come over to him, because he couldn’t alert them. Nobody came for a few moments, so he opened his mouth and called out weakly. Then his mom’s face was there, as it had been constantly, and she looked tired once more. “Mom, why don’t you go get some sleep?” he asked. “I want to talk to the doctors, so go get some rest.”

She looked behind her, and then into his vision came Kelly, and then Rocky. “Hey, guys,” Dax said to them, attempting a weak smile. “Guess I should have listened to you, huh?”

They were kind, and shook their heads, and smiled. Dax was sure that if he closed his eyes again, he’d end up falling back to sleep again. The dull ache was there, and it was getting louder, but he wanted to ride it out, to sense where on his body the pain was coming from. He couldn’t tell if he was hungry, but he was definitely thirsty. He mentioned this to his mom. “How am I alive if I haven’t drunk anything?” he asked.

“You’re on a drip, right here.” She tapped a plastic bag over his head, which Dax could just about make out, if he rolled his eyes as far back in his head as he could before it gave him a headache. “You haven’t been able to drink anything yet but you’re still well-hydrated. Nice, clear pee.”

She grinned at him, and he felt embarrassed, like a kid being shown up in front of his friends. As a nurse, his mom had always looked out for his physical health. For now, if he had clear pee, and that made her happy, then he’d take it. He didn’t like the dark shadows under her eyes, especially as he knew he was the cause of them.

“Mom,” he repeated. “I want to talk to the doctors. Can you go get someone?”

“Honey, just rest,” she said. “The doctors are taking amazing care of you. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re due to have your meds soon, so—”

“No!” It was the first time he’d made a noise over a croaky whisper since he first woke up in the hospital, but he desperately needed to be heard. He didn’t know why, but he started to cry again. “Please, Mom. I want to talk to someone who can tell me what’s going on. I know it’s more than a broken arm. I can take it. I just want the truth.”

Diane Monroe looked at her son and swallowed. She pursed her lips together and looked at Kelly. “I’ll go get the doctor,” she said. “He’s right. It’s not fair to keep talking about him like he’s not here.”

She left the room, and Kelly smiled down at Dax. “I really like your mom,” she said. “You look a lot like her.”

“I forgot the two of you hadn’t met before,” Dax replied. “Yeah, people say we look alike. I’ve got my mom’s eyes and my dad’s nose. Or that’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

His father. Dax hadn’t thought about him since waking up. “Has he been called?” he asked.

Kelly nodded. “He’s been talking with your mom several times a day,” she said. “Your mom calls and tells him how you’re doing. He wants to come over and see you, but your mom seems to think it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Dax managed a small smile, although moving his cracked lips made him wince. “She’s probably right,” he said. “It’s a long story I’ll tell you about sometime.” He paused, and looked up at her. He wanted to ask her about that night, and about what the press were saying, but he had to push the worry away for the moment. It was more important that he learn what was really going on with his injuries, and how long it would be before he could sit up, at least, and take stock of what to do next.

The door opened, and then his mom came back into sight, in the small window of vision he had above his bed. He’d started to become used to seeing everyone with their hair dangling down over him. “The doctor’s here,” his mom said. “Her name’s Doctor Pravenda.”

A pretty woman with clear brown skin and glasses perched on the edge of her nose was the next face above Dax. He narrowed his eyes. “I think I’ve seen you before,” he said.

“That’s right,” said the woman, smiling. Her voice had a clipped British accent, tinged with a soft Indian lilt. “It’s good to know you’re memory’s doing well. My team and I have been looking after you for the last few days, and I must say it’s been a real pleasure, although I wish we were meeting under different circumstances.”

“Me too,” Dax said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“So how can I help?” the doctor asked. “I believe your mother said you’d like to have a chat with me.”

“I just want the truth, Doc,” said Dax. “Just you and me. No bullshit. Okay?”

“No bullshit,” repeated the doctor, and she smiled warmly. “That sounds like a good idea.”

She looked up at whoever it was who was still in the room. “You’ve heard the man,” she said, with an authoritative, but not cruel, air. “He wants everyone out, please.”

Dax heard the shuffling of feet, and he tried to work out how many there were, but he lost count. But the door clicked, and he knew he was alone with the doctor. “I know it’s bad,” he said, looking up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. “Just tell me. I haven’t felt my legs since I woke up, and I know I’m in pain, but it’s like my head can’t tell where the pain’s coming from.”

Doctor Pravenda nodded. “You’ve had both a terrible accident, and a very lucky escape,” she said. She crossed her arms and leaned on the railing that ran down either side of the hospital bed. “When your car hit the wall, you went right out through the window, and it was only the wall that stopped you from going any further. If it hadn’t been there, there’s a good chance we’d have had to fish you out from the Thames.”

“It’s because I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, right? It was all my stupid fault. The whole night.”

“I wouldn’t beat yourself up about it too much, Mr. Monroe,” the doctor said. “There was no airbag on the passenger side of the car, so there was every chance that with the impact, you might have been jerked back by the belt and could actually have caused even more damage. We’ll never know. But, you ended up outside of the car. Now, the preliminary x-rays showed extensive damage to your right arm, and you’ve had a three-hour operation to insert pins inside to keep everything together while it heals. You’ve got a few cuts on your face and hands but you’re still as beautiful as you are on the posters in my daughter’s bedroom.”

Dax appreciated her mix of candor and humor, and he stayed silent, waiting for the next news. He knew there was more to come, and he was right.

“We’ve taken you for several scans,” said Doctor Pravenda, “and it’s been very hard to tell exactly what damage you’ve sustained to your neck and back, because of the inflammation. When we have someone in your situation, we have to balance the drugs very carefully. We have to give you strong painkillers, along with anti-inflammatory drugs, but we can’t give you too much of either, so we’ve been relying on the passage of time for much of the swelling to go down, so we can get a proper picture.

“The main thing I can tell you is that you have incurred some rather extensive damage to your back. You’re scheduled to be taken for another scan later today. Now that you’re awake and can tell us where you have the most pain, or where you have little or no feeling, it’ll help us to determine what sort of injury you have, and what the next options are.”

Hanging onto every word, Dax didn’t take his eyes from the doctor’s face. He waited for her to stop speaking, and she asked if he had any questions. He only had one. “Am I going to be flat on my back for the rest of my life?” he asked. His voice cracked, and his eyes welled up with tears.

“Not if I have anything to do with it, Mr. Monroe,” said Doctor Pravenda. “How could I ever break the news to my daughter that I’d failed her hero?”