WhiteSpace: Season One (Episodes 1-6 of the sci-fi horror serial) (28 page)

The door pushed open and Dr. Close appeared, a tall, dark haired man in his late 40s who reminded Cassidy of that actor, Jon Hamm. He invited them out to the hallway to talk out of earshot of Emma, who was still sleeping. As they stood outside the doorway, Houser joined their circle.

“Emma’s going to be just fine,” Dr. Close said, “I didn’t find any signs of injury or sexual assault.”
 

Cassidy turned bright, but it was only a moment before the doctor cast a dark shadow on her happiness.
 

“However,” he cleared his throat. “Emma has no memory of anything after going to bed. She has no idea how she left the house, or what happened to her until she was found. No clue how she wound up in the woods. Nothing.”

“What does that mean?” she said.
 

 
“We don’t know, at least not yet,” the doctor shook his head. “We’re running several tests on her blood right now. We’ll let you know if and when we find anything.” He looked down at his clipboard, then up at Cassidy. “Besides her acute memory loss, Emma is also severely dehydrated, so we’re keeping her on the IV and for observation overnight.”

Cassidy felt like she was one more sentence from cracking. The doctor placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “Everything will be fine. She’s been found. That means the worst is over. We’ve put in a call to Dr. Kinkaid, and he’ll be arriving first thing tomorrow morning to give Emma a full checkup. We should have all of our test results by then as well.”
 

“Can I stay the night with her? Sleep in the chair?” Cassidy asked.

“Certainly,” Dr. Close said. “Actually, I’ll see if someone can bring in another bed, if you’d like.”

“That would be great,” Cassidy said. “Thank you.”

“You okay?” Jon asked as Dr. Close left them.

“Yeah, much better. Good to know Emma’s gonna be okay. But what do you think that means,” she looked at Jon. “About her memory? Is that something permanent?”

Jon opened his mouth, but Houser’s mouth moved faster.
 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Sometimes the brain has a way of blocking shit it can’t, or isn’t ready, to deal with yet. She’ll come around, maybe slowly, but I’d be surprised if she couldn't remember anything at all. And I promise, Cassidy,” Houser leaned closer, “once she does, whoever took her, whether it was Whistler or someone else, I’ll find the fucker who did, and make him pay.”
 

“Not if I see him first. There won’t be anything left once I’m through with him — whoever it is.”

Houser smiled at Cass. “You’re a bag of nails, Cassidy Hughes. I like you.”

She smiled back, then surprised herself by lightly laughing. “So, what now?”
 

“I think we wait,” Jon said. “Get some rest and see what Dr. Kinkaid says tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I think you should go be with her. I can’t think of too many things worse than waking up alone in a hospital room.”
 

“Thanks, Jon,” she said, the words like medicine in her mouth. “And you, too, Brock.” Cassidy turned and went back into Emma’s room, leaving the two men in quiet discussion behind her.
 

As Cassidy entered the room, Emma looked up, caught Cassidy’s eyes, and said, or rather squealed, “Cass!”

Cassidy knelt by the bedside, and threw her arms around Emma, pulling her close and holding her tight, carefully avoiding the IV drip and the other wires which were monitoring Emma’s vitals.

“How’re you doing, kiddo?” Cassidy asked.
 

Emma thrust out her bottom lip. “I hate the smell of hospitals.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy nodded, “me, too.” She shivered, trying hard not to remember the torment of detox. “But at least you’re safe.” She punched Emma lightly on the shoulder. “You have no idea how worried you had me.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “I can’t remember anything,” she said. “I’ve never forgotten stuff before, at least not like that.” She shook her head. “I don’t like it at all.”
 

“I can’t expect that you would.” Cassidy scooped Emma’s hands inside her own, making a hand sandwich between her palms. “The doctor was telling me all about it just a few minutes ago, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Know why?”

“Why?” Emma widened her eyes and waited for an answer.
 

“Because I think you’ll remember everything.”

“When?”

“Soon enough. Maybe by this time tomorrow. But you probably have to stop trying. That’s how these things sometimes work. Of course, it might be totally impossible to remember if you were sleepwalking.”

“Is that what happened? Do you think I was
sleepwalking?
”

Cassidy shrugged. “That’s what makes most sense to me.”
 

Cassidy didn’t feel bad for lying, since sometimes the white of a lie proved enough to lighten the darkest of truths.
 

“What if I sleepwalk again?”

Cassidy pursed her lips, trying to determine the best way to answer. “Well, we should probably prepare for the possibility.”

Emma cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ll probably start sleepwalking a lot now. I’ve heard that once you start, it’s hard to stop. But you won’t have to worry because we have a team of specialists coming over to the house.” Cassidy leaned into Emma and whispered. “We’ve signed you up for sleepwalking lessons.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, uncertain if she should take aunt Cassidy seriously. “What are sleepwalking lessons?”

“Well,” Cassidy said, “we figure we’re not going to be able to get you to stop sleepwalking, so we’re going to teach you to do your chores instead. Starting with washing the dishes and cleaning your room. Once you’re trained, you’ll never leave the house again. You’ll be too busy doing chores.”

Emma laughed. “That’s not true.”
 

“Tell that to Sergeant Sleepwalker,” Cassidy said, straight faced. “He’ll be over to the house 7:00 a.m. sharp on Monday.”

“Not true,” Emma repeated.

“Sorry,” Cassidy shook her head. “But he’s already booked and paid for. Too late to back out now. Unless you want to pay for his time out of your allowance.”
 

Emma laughed again, then let the joke die and said, “Where’s Nana?”
 

“She had one of her headaches.” Cassidy resisted the urge to use air quotes while saying ‘headache’ like she would have with an adult.

“Oh,” Emma said, scratching her arms. “One of the bad ones?”

“Yeah,” Cassidy nodded. “Super duper bad. Otherwise, there’s no way she would’ve missed coming to see you. She said she can’t wait for you to come home.”
 

When the word ‘home’ fell from Cassidy’s mouth, it unleashed the worries that Cassidy had been trying not to think about. But now that Emma was safe and would soon be home, Cassidy had to acknowledge the concerns. What was Jon going to do about Emma? Would he demand custody of his daughter? Would she be able to do anything to stop him? Anxiety began to eat away at her momentary happiness, and she felt the old familiar tug of the pills calling to her.

She closed her eyes as if doing so would keep the seeds of addiction from setting camp in her thoughts.

Though her hate for Jon had deteriorated significantly in the past 24 hours, he was still a Conway. And her loathing for them would not die so easily. There was too much history to ignore. And as nice as he might be, Jon was still a Conway, and there was no way in hell Cassidy could sit by while that family poisoned sweet, innocent Emma.

Sending Emma into that family would be like dropping a baby in a basket, then sending it downstream on the river to Hell.

Yet, Emma was Jon’s daughter. If he wanted her, there would be little, if anything, Cassidy could do to stop it. Jon had the lawyers, power, and bloodline to prove she was his in less than a day, then take Emma away for eternity.
 

Cassidy reached toward Emma and pulled her niece into another, longer embrace. “I love you, Kitty Cat Bubbles,” Cassidy said, tickling Emma on the side, calling her the same nickname she’d used since Emma wore her Hello Kitty pajamas with Hello Kitty blowing bubbles, back when she was three.
 

“I love you too, Cass,” Emma said, pushing herself deeper into Cassidy’s hug.

The door swung open and Cassidy could feel Jon standing behind her. His words, harmless as they were, flooded her with fear.
 

“How are my girls?”
 

* * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Milo Anderson Part 2

Sunlight hit Milo in the face, forcing his eyes open to blurred, unfamiliar surroundings. His vision slowly adjusted to bright light above illuminating the mostly white room. A punctuated blip from somewhere behind him beeped.

He rubbed his throbbing temples and saw the first of the tubes, sticking from the middle of his arm and trailing into the IV bag dangling above him on a metal pole.

Why am I in a hospital?

Milo shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his memory and draw clarity to his present. He looked around the room, hoping to see someone,
anyone
, but he was alone.

Milo looked for a mirror, but found nothing. Just as well, he figured, since he could feel the tubes in his nose and throat, and clearly see the horrid layers of bandages snaking around both of his arms. Though it took Milo a minute to place the unfamiliar pinch, he realized with a quickly rising fear that the sharp pain in his groin was from a catheter sticking into his penis.
 

How did I get here?

Milo remembered getting the call from Cody in the middle of class, then Beatrice in the parking lot, nearly mowing down Russ Harvey while she zoned out like a zombie just as she had done in front of the snow-filled TV screen.

Milo remembered Beatrice riding the crazy train, right off the tracks and into the glass wall of the grocery store.
Milo squeezed his eyes shut, replaying everything that had happened from the moment Beatrice picked him up from school, until the minute his world lost every drop of color.
 

Nothing made sense, and unless Milo was remembering things wrong, which he was sure he wasn’t, Beatrice hadn’t said a single word from the time he climbed inside the BMW, all the way until he was begging for her to stop or slow or at least say something. It was if something else had taken over her or something.

Milo felt a sense of growing dread as he remembered Cody’s warning:
 

“I didn’t think they’d strike now. In fact I was sure they wouldn’t. But they did, and that means they’re more worried about what Manny was going to say than I realized.
That means you’re probably next.”

Was Cody’s message and Beatrice’s behavior related, or had Milo seen too many movies, and written one too many Twilight Zone-inspired short stories with Alex?
 

They might think you know more than you’re saying, Milo.
 

You need to get out of town. Now.

A flutter of panic filled Milo as the room around him felt as if it were somehow shrinking, and
caging him
.
 

He wondered if Beatrice was okay. Was she laying in a bed nearby? Or was she dead?
 

Milo looked to his side and saw a button on his bed rail which said, “Help.”

He pressed it.

A painfully eerie silence drifted through the room, absent even the usual sounds of a hospital. While he hadn’t ever been admitted to the hospital, his doctor’s office was located in the hospital, as was the case with everyone on the island. The hospital provided steeply discounted medical services in exchange for huge tax breaks for Conway Industries, who owned the hospital.

 
“Hello!” Milo tried to murmur over the tube in his throat.

There was a sudden shuffling outside his door, and Milo saw a shadow beneath the door, of someone just standing there and not coming in.

What the hell? Come in!

The door opened so slow it seemed as if an infant were trying to push it, rather than an adult.

But it wasn’t an infant.
 

Mr. Heller stepped inside his room.
 

His eyes were gone, replaced by black pits of dried blood. The entire lower half of his face was bloody, much of his bottom jaw missing and what was there, barely hanging by shreds of muscle. Small chunks of teeth had migrated from his mouth to speckling the outside of his chin, held in place by blood.

“Eleven,” Heller’s voice groaned like a brain dead zombie as he moved closer to Milo.

Milo screamed, shuffling back in the hospital bed, and shoving his back hard against the pillows, as he grabbed the tube and began to pull it out so he could scream.

“Hello, Milo,” Heller said, approaching Milo’s bed.
 

Milo was frozen, tube still in his throat, and his left hand pressed the “help” button repeatedly. But no help was coming.