"Doc? Doc, come on! Wake up!" Lucas' panic-filled voice echoes on my ears.
My whole body feels numb. It takes a while before my senses start coming back to me. The pounding in my head is the first thing that I notice, followed by the scent of moss and flowers lingering in the air. I struggle to open my heavy eyelids at first, but I manage to do so after a while. Even though my vision is still a blur, I can see Lucas' silhouette in front of me and slowly I can feel his hands on my shoulders, shaking them ferociously.
"Jesus, Doc. Wake up, please!"
I gulp. Just as the numbness begins to wear away, pain radiates through my whole body.
"Argh!" I want to scream out loud at the excruciating pain, but a soft groan is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.
"Oh, thank God!" Lucas stops shaking my body at once. He lets out a sigh of relief and takes his seat next to me.
"Jesus Christ, Doc! What the hell happened? Th-the scar just came out of nowhere! It was like watching Freddy Krueger slashing you in your dreams!" he rambles on and on with a tinge of panic in his voice.
"What?"
Curiosity starts building up inside me. With one hand on the ground, propping my body, my other hand reaches to Lucas' arm for support. Lucas places one hand on the nape of my neck and the other on the small of my back.
"Take it easy," he says as he helps me switch into a sitting position.
While my head is still pounding, I feel a sharp pain on my right cheek that makes me wince. That's when my gaze inadvertently falls to the detective, who's busy rummaging my bag.
I grimace. "What are you doing?" I ask, my voice comes out soft and hoarse.
He ignores my question and continues to ransack my bag. The pain from my cheek slowly worsens, causing me to drag a hand to the origin of the pain. When my finger feels a tinge of warm fluid seeping from what feels like an incision on my cheek, that's when I notice something is wrong. I take a look at my hand and discover a smear of blood on my fingers.
Holy cow! My face! My pretty little face!
Don't be such a drama queen, Alexis! I'm sure it's just a small cut!
MY FREAKING FACE IS BLEEDING, EVIL ME!
"Look at me." The detective puts two fingers on my chin, gently forcing me to look his way. His eyes are fixated on the incision on my cheek. His warm fingers slide across my cheek, carefully inspecting the fresh wound. The fact that our face is just a few inches away makes me gulp. He uses a ply of tissue—one that he most probably gets from my bag—to gently wipe the blood off my face. The pain when the tissue touches the wound makes me flinch.
"Sorry." He retracts his hand in an instant.
I try to reply but this time no voice comes out of my mouth, so I shake my head lightly instead.
Before I know it, his hand is already busy roaming through my bag again. "You don't suppose to have any band-aid in this magic bag, do you?"
An inevitable smile finds its way to my face. "Front pocket..." I answer, my voice still strained.
On the corner of my eyes, I can see a tinge of a smile formed on the side of his lips as he murmurs to himself, "Girlscout, huh?"
It doesn't take long before he finds the pack of band-aids. He takes one out and leans closer to my face. With a serious look on his face, he observes the wound once more before he gently puts the band-aid on it. My heart skips a beat when his warm finger grazes my cheek.
Oh, no. Pull yourself together, Alexis!
"Thanks." I try to smile even though parts of my face still feel numb.
I can still feel my pulse races, so I try to focus on something else to get that strange thought out of my head.
That's when I remember.
John. Where is he?
My eyes search the vast land before finally finding the spirit laying unconscious about ten feet away from me.
"John!" I cry.
I put one hand on the ground and another on the detective's arms to help me stand. Just when I'm about to rise on my feet, my legs feel weak and unsteady. The whole land feels like its spinning around me and before I know it, I'm about to fall to the ground again.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Careful, Doc." Lucas uses one hand to grip my waist and keep me from falling. "Let's just sit for a while, shall we?"
My breath hitches and my pulse races even more when I feel his arm wrapped around my waist.
Uh-oh. This is not good. Not good.
Before I know it, I'm already sitting on the ground with him sitting next to me. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down.
When I finally get a grip of myself, I shot my gaze across the room to the spirit who's waking up with a groan, holding one hand on his forehead. That's when I notice something odd. I squint my eyes, hoping to get a closer look, and that's when I see the tears on his face. When he finally realizes the reason I was staring at him, he wipes the tear away in an instant. He raises on his feet and approaches me.
"Oh my God. What happened?" John kneels in front of me, his eyes fixated on the newly pasted band-aid on my cheek.
"I... don't know..."
With one hand holding my aching forehead, I try to recall what happened. Meanwhile, I draw one hand to my left eye, which somehow feels like it's been beaten repeatedly. I gulp, trying to hold the pain.
How did I get so badly injured? Did I happen to hit my head on a stone? But... As the memories keep flooding back to me, I remember the wounds that John got from being beaten by the Italian man.
Yes. The wounds.
Then, I remember what Lucas said earlier and start to put two and two together. I realize that whatever was happening to John in his memory affected me too, in the worst possible way. But that's when I notice something odd.
"Wait... didn't you remember?"
"Remember what?" John draws his brows together.
"The memory! Where you got beat up, and this!" I point to my scar. "It's the same scar you got."
When he finally understands what I mean, his look of confusion slowly turns into guilt. "So..." he drags a hand to my cheek. "This is my fault?"
"No, John... It's not your fault..." I give him a reassuring look. "But... How can you not remember?"
"I was..." He pauses, the guilt on his face grows clearer. I let my expression repeats the question. "I was in your memory..."
His words send me to utter shock.
So it works both ways?
Then, my curiosity forces me to ask the inevitable, "Which memory was it?"
He purses his lips together while I slowly sense pity in his expression. His face silently tells me the answer.
"That night, huh?"
He nods in approval. No wonder he cries.
"I know you've told me about it and all, but being there in person felt... different. I'm—"
"Can someone please fill me in on what is happening here?" Lucas interrupts. "Honestly, it feels like I'm the ghost here."
When I see his baffled and extremely annoyed expression, I let out a small chuckle that makes my stomach hurts.
"He—John, I mean—got beaten pretty badly in his memory, so I suppose... it affected me somehow."
"Just like in the movies?"
"Yep." I give a firm nod.
"Okay..." he murmurs. Even though he still looks confused, I can tell he's trying to make sense of it all.
He takes a long breath. "So did you see the killer?"
I shake my head. "I... went back to the wrong memory."
His forehead puckers. "What do you mean?"
"I didn't enter his memory of that night. Instead, I... enter another one."
"One where he got beaten up?"
I give a firm nod.
He lets out a sigh. "Okay... Tell me more."
I start to tell everything I saw to the two of them. How I woke up in a bar and a suspicious man with an Italian accent was beating me, asking for money. Then I remember the few first words I heard the man saying, words I cannot really make up the meaning to.
"Rat?"
"No... not exactly a rat." I bite my lip, trying my best to remember what the man said to John.
"A rodent... A... What was it?" I purse my lips together and grunt out of frustration.
"Calm down. Close your eyes, take a breath. It'll come back to you," the detective guides.
I take a long deep breath and close my eyes. My mind goes back to the memory that I saw and I find myself at the beginning, down on the ground and there's that song... Can't Help Falling in Love. Then I remember the Italian man shout and this time the words sounded clearer.
"Vole!" I shout loudly, relieved and partially excited that I'm now one step closer to finding John's identity. On my peripheral vision, I can see John jerks his head back out of surprise.
"Vole?" Lucas asks.
"Yes! He said, 'Get up, vole!'" I say with an unexpected amount of glee. I turn to John with a glimmer of hope in my eyes. "Does it mean anything?"
John draws his brows together, his forehead puckers. His mouth continues to draw a straight line while he's thinking the life out of him. It seems like he's still struggling to remember anything. After a while, he shakes his head. My disappointment must've written all over my face since he softly apologizes.
"Well," Lucas chimes in, "if he was involved with the Italian mob, it could be a codename. I'll contact my friend who works organized crime in LA, see if maybe we can get lucky."
I feel a soft smile hovers at the edge of my lips. Maybe it isn't such a bad idea to team-up with the detective.
"In the meantime, let's get you home."
***
The next day, I'm forced to take a leave and stay at home since I barely have any energy to get out of my apartment. After finishing the soup Claire cooked for me earlier, I head back to my room to continue my hibernation. I'm about to pull up my sheet when I get a text from Lucas.
No luck getting in touch with my friend in LA. I'll try calling him again tomorrow. How are you?
Still curled up in my bed, I reply to the text.
Better. Thanks. Just need some time to recharge my energy.
Good. Just take some rest and don't do anything stupid, okay?
Yeah.
I mean it.
Yes, MOM. Btw, have you asked Dean about John's car?
Yep. He said he'll take another look at it, see if he can determine the assailant's car.
Btw, you don't, by any chance, meet another ghost today, right?
LOL. Of course not. How many ghosts do you think are there in Casa Nova?
Dunno. Many, I guess.
A thread of suspicion finds its way through me. I drag myself up into a sitting position and lean against the headboard. Knowing Lucas, he won't ask something like that out of the blue. Something must've happened.
Why? What happened?
My suspicion arises even more when he doesn't reply right away. I can imagine he's probably weighing the options of sharing 'confidential information' to an ordinary citizen.
Good thing I'm not ordinary.
Another girl reported she's being 'haunted' and harassed by Jill's ghost. Guess she was just searching for attention, huh?
Hmm. Judging by Jill's temperament the last time I met her, I wouldn't be surprised if she's now off haunting the people that wronged her when she was alive. That's what I would've done if I were her.
I wouldn't be so sure about that. Who is she?
Wait. Don't tell me you've met her ghost for real?!
It's kinda long story. Who's the girl?
You'll see when you got to work. Speaking of which, Freddy's operation is soon, right?
I snort out a laugh as I read his text. Another text pops in about five seconds later.
Shit. John Doe, I meant.
Before I know it, I already burst out laughing.
Stop laughing.
Too late, Mister. Too late.
Seriously, STOP LAUGHING.
It takes a while for my laughter to die down enough for me to reply again.
I'm not laughing. And yes, John's operation is in 3 days.
So how long will it be before he wakes up?
'bout 2, 3 more weeks. Why? So you can have him arrested?
Btw, I can't believe you have no other suspects. What about that guy Nurse Jackson mentioned? Have you looked into that?
Of course, I did. You were standing outside the window, remember?
Ahem. Focus.
It's true, I checked it. She really does have a cousin named Andrew Briggs who lives in Texas and he's got a pretty long list of misdemeanors. He had a solid alibi for the day of Jill's murder though.
Ah! I forgot to tell you something.
What?
The killer is an Eagle.
Huh? How'd you know that?
He wore an Eagles jacket on the day of the murder.
I can tell he's surprised because it takes him a while to reply to my message.
Why didn't you tell me this sooner?!
And how exactly did you know this?
Two messages in a row. Oh, he's surprised, all right.
I told you, I forgot. And it's a long story.
Fine. Next time we meet, tell me everything you know.
And I mean EVERYTHING.
Yeah, yeah. What about that other thing I mentioned?
Way ahead of you. I've sent their DNA to a lab in LA. They'll notify me in 2 or 3 weeks.
2 or 3 WEEKS?!
Welcome to the real world, doc.
***
Today was supposed to be an exceptional day. After 3 days of hibernation, I'm finally ready to go to work with full energy to take that one giant leap for my career.
Yes. Today is John's second operation day.
So imagine my surprise when a certain charming-slash-genius-slash-total-douche 38-years-old anesthesiologist suddenly pops out announced and flippantly makes a one-sided decision to take my case. I, of course, go ballistic.
"What do you mean 'You're taking my case?'" my anger clearly fills my voice.
He scoffs. "You've been absent for three days, Howard. And as you can see, I am back now, so it's quite clear there's no need for you to be here in the first place," he answers with an annoying tone and concluding it with a smug smile on his face.
My anger rises even more. I put both hands on my coat's pockets, crumpling the small note I put in it earlier. I swear I can punch his pretty face right now and make him regret his decision to mess with me. In the meantime, Claire, who's standing behind the doctor with a pile of case note folders, shakes her head miserably, trying to calm me down.
"Doctor Brighton." I take a step forward with an obviously fake smile on my face and look up at the tall man. "I've handled him since the day he was first brought here and I knew every single thing there is to know about his condition so far. So it's only fitting that I continue the procedure, don't you think?"
He hands John's medical chart over to an anxious Claire and turns his gaze on me. "Look, Howard. I get it. This case is big and it certainly would look good on your resume."
Damn. He reads my mind.
"But let's just face it, you don't have what it takes to finish such a complex procedure yet."
Ah, here we go again. No wonder his wife tried to poison him. I'm surprised she didn't do it sooner.
"You are welcome to watch behind the glasses, of course," he concludes with an even more annoying smirk. "In the meantime." He turns to Claire with an open hand. Claire quickly pulls a folder and hands it over to him.
"Here's a case more... suited, to your current ability."
I take the folder from his hand with a clear pout on my face, which I don't even bother to hide anymore. As he walks out of the room with his head held high, I open the folder to read the case.
Patellar tendon tear. The patient, who is scheduled to be operated tomorrow, is an 18-year-old female in overall good health, except for... psychotic episode? I squint my eyes as I'm about to take a closer look at the case when the good doctor distracts me again.
"Oh, and Howard." He stops by the door and turns around. "do something about that face of yours, will you? You look like you've been mugged."
Oh, that's it!
The folder I'm holding would've already been thrown at his face if not for Claire, who's busy holding me back and grabbing my arms in panic.
"Ugh!" I scream out loud when he's finally out of my sight.
"Calm down, Lex. He's a real jerk, especially to you, but only because he must've felt threatened by you," Claire says, her voice soothing.
"I know, I know."
I grit my teeth. I can still feel the heat all over my face. First, he takes over my case, now he insults me? Granted, the band-aid on my cheek and the subtle bruises do make me look like I was beaten up; which I did, in the weirdest way possible. But it's not like I haven't tried covering it up with make-up. I guess that's just not enough for some people.
"Don't take his words too seriously. You look awesome! Considering you fell on your face and all." She pats my shoulder. "You're lucky you don't end up like her." She gestures at the case folder I'm holding.
"Thanks."
"Anytime. Lunch later?"
"Yeah."
I flash her a small smile and take a long, deep breath. As soon as she walks out of the room, I focus my attention on the file.
Now, what was it about a mental breakdown? My mind brings me back to the text from Lucas a few nights ago. I take it this is the girl he was talking about.
I proceed to read the full report on the girl's psychiatric evaluation. It says that the girl suffers from delusion of seeing her recently deceased acquaintance. She believes that she is being haunted by said acquaintance to a point where she was pushed down the stairs by the supposed ghost. There are high traces of Adderall and alcohol in her system, which lead to the psychiatrist's final diagnosis of extreme paranoia as a result of drug abuse.
Adderall?
I flip to the previous page and re-read her medical records. According to what is written here, she doesn't suffer any illness that requires her to take the pills. Of course, I'll have to ask her to be absolutely sure; but right now, my hunch is telling me she's not taking the pills for medical reasons.
After I finish reading the whole file, I close and rotate it clockwise about 90 degrees to read the patient's name.
Sheila McKinney.
Ah. The perks of living in a small town.