R. Edinger - Night Kill

“Get in,” Veronica announced as she grabbed the wheel chair and moved it to the side of the bed.

The Sunroom was very warm, sunny, accentuated with palms and wicker furniture, and not one single modern electronic device. There were board games, magazines, and books waiting to be read scattered on the tables in the middle of the room. A little alcove on the north side offered sanctuary from the world.

That’s where he wanted to be today; secluded from the world. At the request of Doctor Straussman, he was staying at the hospital a few more days for observation. Apparently he was her test subject since he was her only patient with trauma induced amnesia. The woman he knew as Megan Knight had protested the decision at first, but then conceded that it may help. Either way, eventually he would have to leave and face an unrecognizeable world. It frightened him. Last night he dreamt about this Andrew Knight, the man they claim to be him, but there was no face to recognize. It was blank. So the sunroom was the perfect place to be right now.

Veronica wheeled him over to the alcove. There was someone else already there. He thanked Veronica and she left.

He got up out of the wheel chair and walked over to one of the empty cushioned wicker chairs. He grabbed a magazine and began to page through; not really reading anything of real importance. He looked her over. She was a young girl with the same colored hair as his. She was staring out of the windows and down on the city. She looked very sad. Shadowy circles camouflaged her eyes. It was like someone had stolen the light not only from her eyes, but from her soul.

Her silence befuddled him. He wasn’t really sure why, or how come. Why would, how she looked or the apparent misery she felt, concern him? He tried to go back to reading, but couldn’t. Something unsettling about her was calling him ask her why. Where did this querying feeling come from?

He slid the magazine back on the table, rose and walked over by her. He asked if he could sit down. No reply. He asked again. She gave a slow nod. He presumed that meant it was okay and immediately sat beside her. For the first few minutes they gazed out the large window at the soundless sights in streets below. Pretty soon his thoughts began to drift back to why she could be so miserable. What happened to her? Was it some incurable illness the doctor told she had? Did it have to do with family? What was it? There were so many questions twirling around in his mind; each jockeying for position. Finally, he just sort of blurted out, “My name is, um, um, its.” He hastily stopped. Damn it, he swore in his head. All he had to do was just say the damn name, but he couldn’t. For some reason it didn’t seem to fit. How weird was that he thought. Is it your name that defines who you are, or is it your actions, thoughts, and feelings? You can write your name down on paper, wear it on a name badge, or have some one call it out in the middle of the night. That’s what bothered him the most; your name does define who you are to others. Without it you’re just a vessel with emotions, witnessed by those around you, but no identity to go with it. So what is in a name; everything! He tried again, “My name is Andrew,” he benignly said. “Andrew Knight.”

“Storm,” her voice finally came out of the shadows. “My name is Storm Higgins.”

“I like your name,” He said, observing her closely. It felt weird. Why would he do something like that? Why would he even care? And yet it seemed as if from his observation he could tell a lot about her. For example, when she talked, he noticed her teeth were well cared for, so it meant that her parents had good insurance. Yet her eye teeth were longer; looking more like fangs. Why would she do that? He quickly shook off the feeling and recovered, and smiled. “How did your parents come up with it?”

“My mom…” Storm sniffed back her tears. Her shoulders sunk and she became withdrawn, not so much as before. “My mom gave birth to me during a really bad snow storm. They couldn’t get to the hospital, so I was born at home.”

He saw that talking about her mom was very upsetting. Something terrible must have happened recently. What could it be? Was her mom in the hospital or something worse?

“Are you okay?” He picked up on Storm’s reluctance when she talked about her mom. He pressed further, “Did something happen to your mom. I mean, well, you can tell me only if you want to.”

“My parents,” Storm paused and exhaled deeply. “My parents and brother were killed recently. I was the only one to live.”

“Was it a car accident?”

“No, they were murdered.” Storm bust out in tears. She covered her face with her hands. He didn’t know what to do. Should he comfort her? Call a nurse?

“Dear Lord,” was all he could say. He simply sat there listening to her cry. He closed his eyes, and a single tear streamed down his cheek. For some weird reason, her pain had now become his pain. Who would murder a mother, father and brother? What kind of person could do that? Was it for money, or revenge, or something else? Why were all of these damn questions flooding his mind? His eyes flashed open; the room seemed to be getting smaller. He couldn’t breathe; it was like there was no air in the room. He suddenly felt very ill and had to get away.

He bolted from the sofa and ran out of the room. He had to find a way to shut up the deafening, swirling noise in his head. But where could he go? That’s when he saw the door marked ‘Roof Observation Room’. He gave the door a shove to open and bolted up the stairs. Once he reached the top of the stairwell, he saw a glass enclosed observation room. It was empty. He closed the door. He grabbed a hold of his head with both hands and roared at the top of his lungs. His screaming ricocheted off the glass and engulfed him like waves crashing on the beach. “Make the questions stop!” He fell to his knees. “Make them stop! What is happening to me?” Images of people he did not know, places he couldn’t recognize and feelings that couldn’t be explained, joined in the menagerie leading to a torturous crescendo. The battle inside of him was too much to bear; it felt like the thunder of a thousand cannons. All of the suppressed memories and feelings that his mind had built up walls to hold back came flooding out. His head was spinning. He felt sick to his stomach. He tried to get up on his feet, but he couldn’t move. He tried to resist with his entire mind and might but he no longer could prevent it. He grabbed a trash can and vomited until his body finally succumbed and he just lay down. The battle was over, but who was the victor?

Only an hour had passed by; just a small click to the hands of the clock in his life. He opened his eyes. The world was different now. Where was he? He glanced around the glass room. Where was he, oh that’s right, the observation room on the roof. He rose to his feet a bit unsteady yet. He walked over to one of the windows. He moved close enough to see his face reflected in the glass. He moved his head from side to side, each time gazing out of the corner of his eye. He was in need of a shave. He bent even closer to the glass. His eyes were still green, although they looked a bit tired. He made his face contort into an overdone grin. He laughed and his face relaxed again. Staring at the face in the glass, he asked, “Who are you?” With his eyes, he met the eyes of the person reflected in the glass. There was no hesitation. No longer did the specter of doubt rear its ugly head. Unlike the dream he had had a night ago, his face was not blank. His lips parted with a slight grin. “I am Andrew Knight.”

Storm was still sitting on the sofa. She saw the man suddenly get up and rush out of the room. She didn’t know why.

Storm was about to get up and go back to her room, when the man reappeared. He seemed different to her. Unlike before, he was smiling. He briskly walked toward her.