Visions

1

Blue and orange flashing lights shone through my eyelids. My head hurt; it felt so impossibly heavy my neck couldn’t lift it. People were shouting. I wanted to yell at them to be quiet, but the message from my brain refused to leave its origin. I focussed on the one calm voice that penetrated the chaos. It sounded vaguely like my Uncle Carl, but I was sure it wasn’t him. The family hadn’t heard from him in years. Was I dreaming? Those lights were so bright, so invasive. Surely, I was still tucked up in bed. If that was the case, I needed to wake up. An image of a face flashed before my eyes. It belonged to a teenage boy and he was full of hatred, anguish and fury. He was screaming something at me, but I couldn’t make out the words. The face blurred before I could attempt to recognise who it was. This was one hell of a nightmare. Why did I feel so raw and sore?

              “Can you hear me? Gillian?” There was that lovely calm voice again. He should be a radio presenter or perhaps narrate children’s stories on television. I would tell him so when I figured out how to get my mouth working. “Gillian, I need you to move your fingers for me. Let me know that you can hear me, okay?”

I did as I was told. They moved. So did my toes and I could twitch my legs, too. Not my left arm though and not my head. Why not my head? Oh my God. I’d been driving to my mum’s house to drop off some books that I’d borrowed. It was midday. Something had happened. I was still in the car. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know that much. Was there something wrong with my neck? Was it broken? With all my strength, I threw my head back and screamed.

              I awoke in unfamiliar surroundings and had to force my eyes to focus before I could look around. I was in a hospital bed. The lights were dimmed and I was alone. Outside the window sprawled Saint James Park and I was alone. A solitary room at Saint James’ Hospital could only mean one thing; it was serious. My mum often told the story of how she had given birth to me on a crowded ward because the private labour rooms were all taken and I wasn’t waiting for a transfer before I came into the world.  I started to take stock of my body to the best of my ability. My head throbbed dully and my vision was cloudy. Drugs to numb the pain maybe? My left arm was much heavier than the right and seemed to be held firmly in position. I looked down, pain shooting through my neck as I did so. A cast. It was broken. Breathing in was difficult so perhaps I had injured a lung or my ribs. Everything below that felt fine but heavy and tired. Somewhat reassured, I fought sleep for a while, trying to remember and then drifted off into nothingness.

              Somebody was holding my hand. I could hear them breathing softly. There was another person in the room rustling papers and shuffling their feet. Painfully, I opened my eyes. “Mum?” My words sounded too distant to belong to me, like I was throwing my voice.

              She looked up and smiled. “Hi, sweetheart.” She looked exhausted.

              “Is this the first time I’ve been awake?” I asked, taking in the room using my peripheral vision. My head was still far too heavy to move. “Is my neck broken?” I asked before she could answer my first question.

              “No, your neck isn’t broken.” It was the other person in the room who

answered. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. He came towards the bed and slowly into focus.  His voice seemed familiar. It had a very distinctive accent. Italian or Greek maybe?  “I’m Dr Arnold and I’ve been taking care of you for the past two days.”

              “Two days?”

              “Two days,” he affirmed. “You have been awake but not really coherent. We weren’t aware how much you were taking in. Do you know what happened to you? Do you know why you’re here?”

              “Something happened while I was driving to my mum’s. There was a teenage boy there and he was really angry with me, but I’m not sure why. I think he wanted me to die.” I saw the doctor and my mother exchange confused, concerned looks.

              “You hit a wall, Gillian.” His voice was matter of fact. “You drove into it without braking. We aren’t sure what caused you to have the accident. We’ve tested your blood for evidence of any substance misuse or alcohol…”

              “I don’t do drugs and I would never drink and drive,” I interrupted, annoyed that it had even been considered. The croaky sound of my voice surprised me.

              “Of course not, but they had to rule it out, sweetheart,” my mother said in a low voice obviously meant to pacify me.

              “The tests came back negative. It’s possible you may have experienced what we refer to as a micro-sleep, which would impair you for just seconds, but obviously, when you are driving at forty miles an hour, seconds matter.”

              “I can’t remember,” I said to him, honestly. My mind was fuzzy. “What about the boy?”

              “What boy?” my mother asked. “Did you swerve to avoid somebody?”

              The doctor moved in closer. “Perhaps we should let the police ask these questions when they come in to interview her?” he suggested, gently.

My mother nodded, assenting that this was the right thing to do.

Dr Arnold continued, “For now, we will continue running tests and monitoring you. You have three broken ribs, a broken shoulder, and severe concussion. Luckily, the swelling on your face will go down and there won’t be any lasting damage. The tests we have already conducted show no signs of any abnormalities, which makes it less likely that you have had some form of epileptic seizure. All we ask of you is simply that you continue to rest and be patient. If there is anything you need, the buzzer on your right hand side will bring a nurse.” When he left, I turned to look at my mum and she took my hand.

              “You gave me quite a scare, Gilly-Bean!”

              “Mum, there was a boy. I can tell you what he looked like. He had dark hair and the darkest eyes I have ever seen. He was…” Try as I might, I could not recall the exact features of his face; it was as though I had been looking at him through drunken eyes or through a smeared screen.

              “Gilly, calm down. Save it for the police.” Her face was wrinkled with worry. Quickly, she changed the subject, talking about my friends who had phoned to see how I was. We didn’t really have any other family apart from Grandma Judy, who lived in a home that specialised in dementia care. My dad passed away when I was five years old and I was an only child, as was my mother. My father had a brother, Carl, but he was a bit of a wild spirit, never settling for long and rarely bothering with us or Grandma Judy.

              “The deadline for my assignment on pupil assessment is on Monday,” I said, remembering.” “It’s all completed and saved on my laptop. It just needs printing out and taking in to the university office. I don’t suppose you’d mind taking it in for me?”

              “It’s Tuesday,” Mum reminded me. “Don’t worry. I phoned Simon.” She was referring to my tutor and mentor. “He’s sent a card, see? He told me to pass on the message not to worry and that deadlines have been extended for far less serious circumstances than this.” 

I was training to be a teacher like my mother. She was always honest about her turbulent career in the tough secondary schools in our area, but her anecdotes had not put me off. Occasionally, she would talk about the help that she’d been able to offer to troubled students who lived within difficult circumstances, and the job satisfaction she enjoyed was evident. In fact, teaching seemed to be the only topic of conversation that lit a fire in her eyes. That had been the case for as long as I could remember. It was for this reason I’d decided to train as well. I was in my last year now and within a few months, I would be applying for my first full-time position as a newly qualified teacher.

              “When will I be able to go home?” I asked.

              “That depends on what Dr Arnold says really.”

              When my mother left, I found the peace welcome. I tried hard to focus on what had actually happened before I hit that wall, but those dark eyes were all that I could see. They were so…piercing. Surely if he’d been just a figment of my imagination, a creation of my dreams, his appearance wouldn’t be so specific. His angry expression had screwed his face up into a look of almost inhuman aggression. Then it dawned on me, there had been no pane of glass in between us. The boy had most definitely been invading my personal space. I’d felt the heat of his breath on my face as he looked down on me. He had been standing. Therefore, the confrontation had not taken place while I was in the car, but equally it could not possibly have occurred before then because I could account for all the events leading up to my getting into the car. It just didn’t make any sense at all.

              “How are you feeling, Gillian?” It was Dr Arnold. I took in his appearance for the first time. Pale skin and dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed his fatigue, though his voice was cheery. It struck me how young he was to be a doctor but yet he suited the role perfectly. His green eyes had the kindest look that I’d ever seen on such a young person.

              “Confused,” I replied honestly.

              “That might last a while, I’m afraid. It’s not uncommon when people are recovering from concussion.”

              “Do they imagine things that seem so vividly real, they can’t distinguish them from reality?” My words caused him to stop what he was doing and look at me as though seeing me for the first time.

              “Sometimes.” He turned back to what he was doing. “Lots of relaxation will help. That’s what the doctor orders.” To my surprise, he sat down in the visitor seat. “I’ve had quite a few chats with your mum while you’ve been here. She said you’re training to be a teacher. That’s brave.”

              “How can it be any more difficult than being a doctor?” I laughed.

              “I guess I’m just thinking of my memories of school, that’s all. There were plenty of kids there that just didn’t want to be and they made the teachers’ lives hell to prove it. I actually liked school, but then I do regularly get accused of being a geek.”

              “Me too,” I admitted.

              “The thing about being a doctor is that I help people and they are nearly always grateful. Teachers put a lot of effort in to help people but don’t always get a lot of thanks in return. I don’t think that I would have the patience for that.” We chatted pleasantly for a while before Dr Arnold asked me a question that he had been clearly working his way up to. “Gillian, have you ever had any issues with your mental health?”

              “Why?” I couldn’t help but be offended. Naively, I’d assumed that he was talking to me through genuine interest.

              “There’s nothing on your medical records but often people choose not to go to the doctor when they suffer from stress or depression, for example. They might choose to use natural remedies or simply try to cope without any help at all.”

              “I’ve never had depression and everyone gets stressed sometimes. I’m no exception, but I don’t get any more stressed than the next person.” Try as I might I couldn’t seem to take the tetchiness from my voice.

              “Your mother mentioned that when you were younger, you used to seem preoccupied at times,” he said, his tone still friendly. I waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t and I couldn’t bring myself to ask. “I go off shift in an hour, if all goes to plan, so I’ll say goodnight now and leave you to get some peace.”

              I expected his words to keep me awake until late in the night; weren’t all children preoccupied at times? What could she have possibly meant by that and how did it relate to my current medical situation? There wasn’t much time for the questions to circulate before sleep enveloped me and I was wrapped in a nightmare about the boy with the dark hair and dark, piercing eyes.              

A police officer arrived the next afternoon, but stayed only briefly. The crash site had been examined, witnesses spoken to and she was happy to take my word for it that nobody else had been involved. I’d already made the decision before she arrived not to speak about the dark haired, dark eyed boy anymore. It would only add fire to the talk of my mental health. I was allowed to leave within a couple of days. Life would continue pretty much as normal, the only major difference being that I no longer had a car. It had been a write off and had been taken to the scrapyard to be crushed. This was more upsetting as it was my first car and I’d saved long and hard for it. There would be no money from the insurance company because, trusting that my safe driving would prevent any major disasters, I had paid only for the basic package.

              My mum came to pick me up and, despite still being sore, I was relieved to get away from the tedium and boredom of the ward. I hadn’t seen Dr Arnold since we’d had our chat, and I couldn’t help but keep an eye out for him as we made our way slowly and painstakingly to the exit.