Chapter 1

January 12th 2015

As I lay in the hospital bed listening to the whir of machinery responsible for keeping me alive, I couldn’t help but wonder, why would god program our bodies to register this much pain? I was unable to open my eyes yet but one didn’t need to open their eyes to register pain.

What got me through it was knowing that one way or the other, it would end.

And end, it did. I didn’t die, obviously. In all honesty I think god, or the creator, or whoever pulls the puppet strings in this great and infinite universe decided it would be better if I lived and continued to suffer that way. God decided that I was to begin this part of life's journey marred by the scars of what I had done. Both physical and otherwise.

Only three people had come to visit me so far. To be fair I had only been conscious a few days. The aftermath of the accident had everyone shaking and scrambling. Our community was not a big one, not so small that you knew everyone, but small enough that everyone knows about what happened last week. Or at least that was what my mom had said when my parents did arrive. My dad, silent in moments of seriousness such as this, only seemed to be able to shake and nod his head in conjunction with my mothers updates. My sister waited until the day after they left, then she spoke.

Before they had arrived everything was a muted black. I suppose that is what the backs of everyone's eyelids look like. Then there would be sharp lights periodically and blurry shapes and noises that didn’t make sense but did make me nauseous. Eventually as I gained awareness, the first thing I noticed was how much it hurt. My legs, my chest, my stomach, my shoulders, my face. There were dull aches and sharp pains and needle pricks everywhere. The second thing I noticed was that I was in a hospital and a nurse (I think) was standing near me and talking. I have no idea what she said.

Eventually words became intelligible. I caught words and phrases like “accident”, “attack” and “intoxicated”. I closed my eyes, nauseated again. When I opened them days later, things were much clearer in my head but just as painful in my body.

Now I could see where I was. Could see what had happened to my body. And in the reflection of the glass window, I could see who I had now become.

Bruises covered my face in a multitude of colors. One eye was swollen shut and a cut ran through my eyebrow. My head was half shaved and covered in bandages. My left arm was in a sling and my right leg was in a cast. I could see bandages on my arms and feel some sort of padding on my stomach and mid back. Basically, I was in bad shape. The doctor came in to confirm it with a monologue of medical words that went in one damaged ear and out the other. As he wrapped up, that was when my mom arrived.

“Jesus mercy Ev!” My mother came in, her mass of red curls subdued by a scrunchie, eyes wet. One hand flew to her mouth, the other to her chest. “Oh! My poor girl.” She walked to the bed reaching out to me and hesitating, her hands hovering over my body, afraid to inflict more pain. She met my eyes, or well, my one open eye.

She whirled around at the sound of more footsteps. My fathers face was white as he took in the sight of his broken eldest daughter. He seemed not to breathe. My mother, finding the silence unacceptable, turned from my father to the doctor who was still in the room. “Well what the hell happened? All I get is a call saying my daughter has been in an accident and that I need to get to the hospital now. No one would give me details over the phone! Do you people have any idea how sadistic that is?” Her voice cracked with fury.

The doctor began, “Well–”

“And who the hell are you?” She looked him up and down.

The doctor paused, as if to make sure she was ready to listen, and then said, “I am Dr. Martins, you can call me Phillip. I was the resident on call when your daughter Evelyn was brought in. When she was brought in, the paramedics had already stabilized her broken leg and a dislocated shoulder. As for the wound to her abdomen they had only patched it up until they got to the hospital–”

“A wound to the abdomen?” My fathers voice was hoarse.

Dr. Martins nodded. “Yes, we believe that she sustained that when-” He looked at me, blue eyes meeting brown eyes and said to my parents, “Perhaps we should speak in the hall?”

My mom paused to consider. She glanced from Dr. Martins, to my father, to me. Then to me she said, “I believe he is about to tell us something that he thinks will be difficult for you to hear. Do you want to hear it anyway?”

My body pulsed with pain, and I wanted to throw up, but I nodded. I needed to know what happened. Was it what I actually remember happening? I only remembered bits and pieces but what I did remember didn’t make sense. I needed facts to replace the blurs of memory that were bouncing around my throbbing skull.

I nodded.

“Mrs. Davidson, I really don’t think-

“My daughter is a grown woman and has made her decision. Besides, she's already survived whatever it was.” Her voice was like granite. Needless to say, I love my mother.

Dr. Phillip Martins glanced at my dad, as if he would say something when Violet Davidson was in this kind of mood.

“My husband is in complete agreement with me, Dr. Martins. Looking at him to intervene is so typically male. Proceed with all of the details. Now.” Violet had broken out her high school principal's voice. Poor guy.

He took a breath and steadied himself. “We, the police and I, believe that when your daughter lost control of the car she was driving she was propelled through the windshield. Paramedics found her on top of the car hood with glass protruding from her abdomen. She was rushed to surgery when she got here, I was one of the surgeons during her operation. When we called you we didn’t know how the surgery would go so we couldn’t give details.” He held up his hand and spoke louder to deter my mother from interrupting again. “We removed all of the glass and repaired the damage that was done to her muscle tissue and her intestines. Evelyn is lucky that any other major organs were missed by the glass or she would have most certainly died before arriving here.”

The image of me going through a window like a cartoon character made me want to laugh. It seemed impossible. Glass was so solid.

“But how did she end up like this? A drunk driver?” My mother did not like not having all of the information, no matter the situation.

Dr. Martins cleared his throat. “Your daughter's blood alcohol content was significantly over the legal limit.”

My mother blinked. “What.”

I hadn’t said anything yet. What could I say? Sorry? That didn’t cover it. But this wasn’t even the whole story. I’m not even sure of the whole story. A rush of memory flooded through me. A single thought reverberated in the center of my brain. Annie. My mother was still trying to interrogate the doctor.

My dad looked up from the floor and pulled his hat off his head. He sighed. “Violet.”

“Bruce I’m talking to the doc-”

“Violet, Evelyn was the drunk driver.” My dad said to the floor.

My mother visibly stiffened. The whir of the machinery filled the room. I still couldn’t speak. Where was Annie? Was she here too? Was she…? No. Dr. Phillip Martins was looking at me with something that looked like pity. He continued in my silence.

“The police will be here shortly to discuss the next steps and what they found at the crime scene.” The words crime scene clanged through me and my parents. “What I want you to know now is that Evelyn is stable. She will heal completely as long as she takes care of herself. I will give you a few moments alone.” He looked away from me and turned to my parents. “Then I have some paperwork for you to fill out and there is some additional information that I will not disclose until we are in the hall. I’ll be back in a bit.” He turned and left the room.

The guilt felt oily in my stomach and throat. Or maybe that was the nausea. I stared at the side of my moms face, waiting for her to face me and yell, or tell me how disappointed she was. I wanted to tell her that I don’t even remember driving and that I had thought I had given my keys to Annie. Is that better or worse? My face ached.

My mother turned around after what felt like an eternity. She walked over and put her hand against my cheek, feather light. Her voice was quiet now, no longer Principal Davidson, just my mom, “I am so thankful you're going to be alright. We’re going to go figure this out okay?”

Before I could respond she turned to my dad and grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the room.

Alone and pulsating with every kind of pain, I tried to say something. But my mouth wouldn’t work. My tongue was heavy and dry. I tried again and it wasn't working. Panic sprouted in my chest. I screamed.

Dr. Phillip Martins and my parents came rushing in with a nurse in tow. “Evelyn!” He scanned the machines as the nurse rushed directly to me. “Evelyn, what's wrong? What hurts?”

“Annie!” I finally got out. I didn’t realize until I tried to speak how difficult and painful it would be. My throat was so dry, my voice sounded like I smoked, which I didn’t. Blinking back tears. “Where's Annie?” I grabbed the pocket of his coat with my good arm.

My parents were huddled at the end of the bed. The nurse and the doctor exchanged looks and I asked again. “Is she dead?” I had to know. Was I responsible?

“Is she asking about Annie Condroy?” My father asked. “Why?”

“Who is Annie Condroy?”

“How much pain are you in honey? On a scale of one to ten?” The nurse looked at Dr. Martins, “You didn’t give her very much morphine, Doctor. She is definitely feeling her wounds more than she should.”

“I couldn’t give her too much right away because of what was in her system.” replied Dr. Martins.

“What?” My mother yelled at the same time my father said, “She’s not an addict!”

“Please,” I rasped, not caring about what they were saying “Is Annie okay?”

Dr. Martins looked at me blankly and then looked to my parents for help.

My mother rubbed one of my feet at the end of the bed while glaring at Dr. Martins. My father said, “Annie is her best friend.” Then to me he said more gently, “Why are you so worried about Annie sweetheart?”

The nurse who had just finished giving me a sip of water moved the straw from my lips. “Annie was with me. We were leaving the bar together.” Tears leaked down my face. “I don’t remember driving Dad.” I looked to the doctor. “Did I hurt her?”

The nurse and Dr. Martins exchanged another look. My mothers hand was covering her mouth and tears had welled in her eyes, afraid. My family loves Annie.

Dr. Martins slowly removed my hand from his coat, “When the paramedics brought you in you were unconscious, we had to rely on their account of the accident. They told us how they found you, what they did to stabilize you, and that you were the only person at the scene. They told us there were no casualties. But the thing is Evelyn, no one else was found at the scene of the accident. There were no signs of anyone else in the car.”

“But… but she was with me…” This didn’t make sense. Memory flashed, dimmed, and spun in my mind.

Dr. Martins said gently, “No, she wasn’t. You were alone.”