Smoke filled Ch 3

The rapes continued. Oral, anal, sometimes Larry sometimes with others. I was lost in time. days, weeks, or hours were indistinguishable. When there was thirst I drank, I ate the scraps of food I was given. I knew they must have been drugged by the smokey haze that took over my body and thoughts. I laughed, horribly inappropriate chortles escaping my lips without joy. I floated over and over.

At some point I had a lucid moment long enough to notice I had no clothing anymore. I was naked, dirty, bloody. I smelled. Then Larry brought me more of the water that wasn't water and I disappeared again.

I began to hallucinate. I heard my mother. She was crying, mad that I had broken the rules again. She couldn't hear me asking for help though. She sat there talking to my father as if I wasn't even in the room.

One day my ethereal mother cried through Larry's visit. She sobbed louder as he became more forceful. Then she drifted away, and I realized the sobs were mine.

*********

Evelyn was making progress. The nurse said so, the doctors said so. The police who had come to question her several times as she sat in the hospital room with the pale pink walls and green pleather chair were frustrated.

All attempts at speaking failed. She understood them, and she tried, but no amount of energy brought a sound forth from her throat. They gave her paper and pen, and she held them willing them to form words on the page. She managed a line.

The man with the black t-shirt returned, Mitch. He told her he was a fireman, that he had been there that night. He was kind, making sure she had water, pillows, reading to her, sitting with her. She was filled with wariness that he was there to guard her, the keep her hostage or to protect her she didn't know.

The doctors began to look for what they termed "an organic reason" for her non communication. First x-rays, then CT scans, then MRIs. After days of testing they had returned.

"Brain Trauma. Localized to Broca's region, here. " She stared at the blue area in the image. The doctors told her that there were indications of some sort of injury, coupled with x-rays evidence of a healed break in her temporal bone, and a small scar just behind her hairline above her cheekbone. Based on the scar shape, they suspected that the wound had not received medical care or stitches. The wound was old enough for the scar and bone to have healed completely. They believed it had occurred prior to the end of her growth, so likely in her late teens.

The age reference startled her. How old was she? She realized she had no idea anymore. When was her birthday? June. Yes. she was born in June. The date on the whiteboard said November 3, 2019. She realized this was the first time she had seen the date 20 anything. she had known the millennium happened, but it wasn't quite the same to see it written like that. The thought was overwhelming. She no longer heard what the doctors were saying. Tears began to run down her face as she sobbed for air.

********

"What the hell am I doing here?" Mitch muttered to himself for at least the third time today. This wasn't his problem. She was not his problem. It had been six days since he all but tackled her to stop her from walking into the structure fire. She had had no visitors except the medical staff and police. He had checked, no one had filed a missing persons with her description.

At first he had thought that her lack of communication was some sort of shock or trauma. Now the doctors were saying she might never speak or write due to some sort of brain damage. He had never heard of Broca or what it controlled. Sometimes while she slept he found himself using Google and webMD obsessively trying to learn everything he could.

A speech therapist was with her now and he had left to stretch his legs. He was due back at the fire house for his next 4-day on shift in a few hours. He hated to leave her.

*What's that even about?* He thought as he slipped coins into the vending machine and selected his favorite green tea. He couldn't shake the thought that he needed to be here. Needed to protect her. He didn't even know her name.

He had been reading to her. Red at the Bone was definitely a chick novel, but it was the only thing at the gift shop. She seemed to enjoy listening, it soothed her. He liked to look up and see her face distant and pain-free for a moment. It seemed like his purpose.

Jesus. The guys back at the fire house would be merciless if they ever knew what Mitch was doing. He spotted the speech therapist leaving and headed back to the room. He had a bit of time before he had to go.

Upon entering he saw her standing, back toward him in two hospital gowns, one worn traditionally and one worn as a robe. She was bathed in the sunlight from the window. Her brown hair showing bits of gold, red, and grey. His breath caught and she turned with a start.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." MItch said quickly cursing himself for the look of fear that passed over her. She gave him a quick dismissive smile then indicated the device on the table. It was open to a YouTube tutorial on ASL sign language. I looked from the device to her. "Is this what the therapist did with you today?"

She nodded.

"May I?"

She nodded again. Picking up the device and pressing play he saw a girl moving her hands with the caption, "Nice to meet you." He played it twice and then set it down to imitate the motions. First brushing the palms of one hand gently over the other, then pointers up, circling and knuckles bumping, finally pointing at her. She smiled and repeated the sequence. He shouted and smiled and grabbed her in a hug swinging her before realizing that she had gone from smiling to holding her breath and closing her eyes tightly. He immediately let her go. She stumbled away towards the bed.

"I...I 'm sorry," he said quietly. She nodded, but did not face him. "I am going to go. I have to go to work. I will be back in a couple of days." She nodded again. She was shaking.. He started to say more, wanting to take back his foolishness, to have her smile again. He could think of nothing to say. Sighing he left, his heart in his throat.