Chapter 9

The first thing I became aware of was the beeping.

A slow, rhythmic sound.

Then, pain. A deep, bruising ache radiating from my left side, a dull throbbing in my head. My body felt heavy, weighed down by something more than exhaustion.

I opened my eyes, wincing at the sterile brightness above me. The unmistakable scent of antiseptic filled my nose. Hospital.

“Stay still, John, please. You’re badly hurt. Let me go find a nurse.”

Her voice was thick with emotion, and when I turned my head slightly, I saw Monique’s tear-filled eyes before she disappeared from the room.

I lay back, blinking slowly, trying to piece together what had happened. My left arm was immobilized, encased in a cast. I reached up with my right hand, my fingers grazing the bandages wrapped around my forehead. Every breath sent a sharp twinge through my ribs.

Monique returned moments later, a nurse in tow.

She checked the monitors before giving me a warm, professional smile. “Welcome back, John. The doctor will be here shortly. How are you feeling?”

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “My head is pounding ... and I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

The nurse’s smile turned sad. “The gendarmes believe it was a car rather than a bus, I’m afraid.”

Before I could process that, a doctor entered the room.

“Good morning, John. I’m Doctor Thiery. It’s good to see you awake. How much do you remember about what happened?”

I struggled to find the memory, but everything was a blur. The rain. The horn. Impact.

“I remember riding ... the rain coming down ... then a horn. And now I’m here.”

The doctor nodded. “On Saturday, you were found unconscious at the side of the road. A passerby called emergency services, and you were brought here. You suffered a fractured ulna—hence the cast—and severe bruising down your left side. You’ve also had a concussion, which kept you unconscious for three days.”

“Three days?” My voice came out in a rasp.

“It’s Tuesday,” Monique said softly.

The doctor continued, “As your daughter says, John, it is Tuesday. After setting your arm, we thought monitoring you for a few days was best. In layperson’s terms, your brain wasn’t ready to wake up yet. Later today, I will run further tests now that you are awake. We will decide then about further treatment.”

At the mention of daughter, I looked at Monique, who blushed, before concentrating on what the doctor told me. I was trying to comprehend the amount of time I had been unconscious. I must have looked confused as the doctor continued, “Let me be clear, John, physically, you will recover. Based on the bruising we see, you will be sore for a few weeks, and your arm will heal just fine. Concussions are always a concern, though. I will ask the nurse to unhook you from some of these tubes, and I will be back in a while to run my tests.” After finishing, he turned and left, leaving me with the nurse and Monique, who was still blushing.