Page 20 of Never Tear Us Apart
‘I’m so sorry, Maia. It must have been a shock, coming back to consciousness like that, but you are OK. You are safe.’
A nurse removes the cage thing from my head, and then my eye mask. Bright light makes me screw my eyes shut for a moment, cover them with the palms of my hands. They smell of something unfamiliar: smoky and sharp.
When the nurse removes the ear plugs from my ears, the ringing fades a little into the background.
‘What the hell?’ I say, sitting up too fast; the room tilts and spins a little before settling back on its axis. ‘Couldn’t you have woken me up first?’
‘Paula, would you fetch . . .’ Dr Gresch nods discreetly at the door. ‘That was the problem,’ she continues, turning to me. ‘We couldn’t wake you up. The nurse came to take your vitals this morning, and you slept through them, slept through breakfast, and when your cousin came, she couldn’t rouse you. All your vitals seemed fine, but you would not be woken. We were very worried. I’m sorry you came round in the machine – it must have been very frightening.’
‘What do you mean you couldn’t wake me up?’ I ask her. ‘Why not?’
‘We don’t know,’ she admits. ‘And I’m afraid that I need to ask you to go back into the MRI machine so that we can complete the scan and try to find out.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. I’m still wrapped in the horror of those last few minutes between waking and sleeping, when dreams and reality became one.
‘Maia, please—’ she begins.
‘I’m awake now, right? So, problem solved.’
‘Maia, something is going on that we don’t understand. Please. I beg you. We need to be certain that nothing has been missed.’
‘She’s begging you, and I’m telling you.’ Kathryn appears at the door with the nurse who fetched her. She hurries over to my side, hugging me to her bosom.
After a moment, I put my arm around her waist. My arms are stiff and sore. When she lets me go, I notice they are bright red.
‘You scared me to death, Maia. Now, let them finish the scan. I’ll stay in here with you, OK? I’ll talk to you through the thing, but youaregoing back in for that scan. End of.’
When I run my fingers through my hair, little bits of grit and dust film my hand. I stare at my palms for a long, confused moment. It’s not normal to bring a little of your dream back with you, is it?
‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll go back in.’
* * *
‘It was so real,’ I tell Dr Gresch, back in my sun-drenched hospital room. ‘I felt like I was there, in real time. The heat, the smells. And then I wake up smelling of smoke, with dust in my hair? And with sunburnt arms. People don’t get sunburn in their sleep.’
‘No.’ Dr Gresch is thoughtful, her dark brows knitted together in a frown. She taps a silver pen against her bottom lip. ‘Yet your scan is clear for physical anomalies or concerns.’
‘What does that mean?’ I ask. ‘Does that mean I’m going mad?’
‘No.’ She studies the results of my scan again for a long moment, while Kathryn sits down next to me.
Getting up suddenly, Dr Gresch calls to a nurse in the hallway. A slight young man in scrubs steps in.
‘Gi, who did Maia’s stitches?’ the doctor asks.
‘I am not sure,’ Gi replies. ‘They were done when I came on shift. I did notice . . . but I thought perhaps an older member of staff or . . . ?’ He shrugs.
‘What’s wrong with my stitches?’ I ask, touching my fingers to where a sterile pad is fixed to my forehead. It stings.
‘Nothing.’ Dr Gresch comes round and, bending down carefully, removes the pad. ‘Fetch me another, please, Gi.’
The nurse departs.
‘Your stitches are very neatly and expertly done,’ Dr Gresch tells me, ‘but in a way I haven’t seen practised for . . . well, ever! Very old-fashioned, using silk. We haven’t used silk to stitch wounds indecades. I’m not sure how this happened. We sometimes have older agency nurses, but where would they find silk stitches?’
‘What does this mean?’ I ask.
‘Nothing, really – just another little anomaly to add to the mystery of Maia.’ She smiles at me. ‘I’ll take them out for you in a few days. You’ll hardly notice the scar.’
