M McDonald - March Into Hell

In fact, the reason that Matt had remembered the bruise at all was because when he'd initially seen it, he wondered about possible complications to having three head injuries in such a close period of time. It was fortunate for Taylor that he'd had no brain swelling or bleeding.

Matt supposed that there were some crackpots out there who might go to such extremes to garner attention, but after speaking to the people who actually knew Mark Taylor, he found it hard to believe the speculation that the whole thing had been staged.

Cards, letters and flowers had poured into the hospital for their famous patient. So many, that his business partner advised the hospital to give most of the flowers away to other patients.

Matt stood at the foot of Taylor's bed and glanced at the windowsill to where a small sample of the gifts were displayed. For the most part, his patient had been kept too sedated to notice any of them. A couple of times they had tried to decrease the sedation but the results had been scary. The poor guy had awakened extremely disoriented and fighting. They'd had to restrain his right hand and his left was in a sling due to the dislocated shoulder, but that hadn't stopped Taylor from straining to get free. At the moment, Mark was still, his breathing unlabored and his color good, but the livid bruises on his neck had taken on an even more colorful hue as the edges began fading. The yellow contrasted sharply with the still vibrant purple that circled his neck like a morbid tattoo.

"Good morning Doctor Jenkins. Mark's doing a bit better. His blood pressure has been stable and all his labs came back within normal limits. Oh, and the radiologist's report says that the laryngeal swelling is down." Tina adjusted the flow rate of the IV.

Matthew Jenkins grinned. "Great! I'm going to take a look at his chart, and then we'll see about waking him up and pulling that tube."

He couldn't help feeling a little excited about finally being able to meet the man.

Mark blinked several times and tried to focus. Above him were white ceiling tiles with little tiny holes in them. A faint water stain darkened the corner of one. His eyes felt gritty and dry and he gagged on a hard plastic thing in his throat. It hurt. Lots of things hurt. He reached to remove the object, but found that his hand was tied down. Panic raced through him and he pulled as hard as he could against the bonds. The effort made him gag again and he tried to call for help. Nothing. The only sound he could make was an awful raspy whistling as his breath moved inside the tube.

What the hell was going on? Mark quit fighting, but his chest heaved as he tried to take stock of the situation. He turned his head, wincing at the stab of pain as the tube shifted in his throat, gagging him again. Bright sunshine streamed into the room hitting his eyes like shards of glass. He felt foggy and muddled and wondered about all the plants on the windowsill. This room definitely wasn't his loft. A dark-haired woman dressed in pink scrubs crossed in front of his vision and closed the blinds. Bless her, she must have read his mind and at least now he knew where he was.

Mark relaxed and let his head fall back against the pillows. Snatches of memory from his ordeal played in his mind; memories of Kern, the chanting and the warehouse. He closed his eyes and tried to push it all out of his head. He saw again the large wooden cross and his breathing quickened. How had he made it out of there? His last coherent memory was of seeing the sun rise. He had thought for sure it was his last.

"Good morning, Mark. I'm Tina, I'll be your nurse today." She checked the tubing on an I.V. in his arm. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

Mark looked at her eyes, saw the barely concealed pity and turned his head. Slowly, he nodded.

"Now take a big breath!"

Mark tried to obey the nurse's request, but choked as the tube scraped up and out of his throat. He coughed hard and followed by a groan when the coughing caused the pain in his belly to flare. Lying back against the pillows, he closed his eyes, starting when he felt a cool washcloth wipe against his mouth. He swallowed. There was still pain, but the removal of the tube was a big improvement.

"Mark?"

He opened his eyes. "Yeah?" It came out more as a croak than an actual word, but it was the first word he'd spoken in three days.

"Are you having any trouble breathing?"

Mark took a deep breath. Except for some abdominal pain caused by inhaling so deeply, he didn't have any trouble. "No." He tried to clear his throat; grimacing at how raw it felt- like someone had taken a metal grill brush and swirled it around down there.

Tina swiped the damp cloth along his neck, a dry towel following behind. The personal care embarrassed him and he didn't want to think of what else had been wiped and cleaned while he'd been out of it. Her brown eyes lifted from the task and met his gaze. "Try not to talk too much. We'll see how you do and if everything is good, I'll get you some ice chips in a little while, okay?"

It crossed his mind that if she didn't want him to speak, then she shouldn't have asked a question. Especially since nodding his head wasn't something he was eager to do either, but if a cup of ice awaited him at the end of the line, he'd do whatever she wanted. "Okay."

He didn't have a whole lot he wanted to say anyway. The last three days had been a blur. Mark vaguely recalled waking up a few times, but the details were sketchy. He remembered the blind panic he'd felt one time when he'd found that he was unable to free his arms. The room had been dark and he had thought he was still in the warehouse. When he'd tried to call for help, he'd gagged on the tube and tried to bend his head down to his hand to pull the offending object only to be firmly pushed back against the mattress. It embarrassed him now to think of how he must have behaved, all wild and fighting everyone.

Although he was more awake than he had been, Mark spent most of the day sleeping. Lily had come by. He remembered that, but it seemed like one minute she was there, the next she was gone and the clock had skipped ahead several hours. The biggest event had been the ice chips. After keeping those down and not having any trouble swallowing, he'd graduated to a small cup of lemon-lime pop. He figured he hadn't eaten since the night before he'd been abducted from his loft, but found he didn't have much appetite. The pop had been enough to fill him up.

The room grew dimmer, the bustle outside in the halls settled down, and Mark shut his eyes once more, wondering just before he drifted off, how he could still feel tired when he'd done nothing but sleep for three days.

A hand shook his shoulder, and Mark's eyes flew open as he gasped and blindly swung his arm in that direction. Dimly it registered that soft cloth brushed his fingertips and there was a clatter as someone stumbled. The room wasn't completely dark; light from the hallway spilled in and he blinked when he recognized his surroundings.

"Hey! Take it easy, Mark! I'm just here to check your vitals." He recognized Brenda, the nurse from the night before, as she stepped close to the bed, her expression wary.

Embarrassment flooded through him even as he sank back against the raised bed. "Sorry. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, I'm fine, don't worry about it." She reached up and angled the I.V. bag, peering at the fluid level before meeting Mark's gaze and folding her hands on the bed-rail with a sigh. "And I'm the one who should be sorry. You'd think I would know by now to make a little noise and to call your name before touching you."

Her reminder of the previous night and the similar incident only served to further embarrass him and he felt his face burning. At least the room was still very dim. Unable to look her in the face, he mumbled another apology and closed his eyes, hoping she'd hurry and finish what she had to do. He was okay in the daytime when they would wake him up because the room was light and it was immediately apparent where he was, but night was harder. Even without someone touching him, he frequently awoke in a panic, his heart racing.