Then he left as well, turning to bid her a good night first, unlike the others. The doctor made sense, being he'd likely come back of course, but that Westmorland woman had just seemed... hyper focused as she removed herself. Still, Gwen felt like the woman would actually do what she said, which was a lot more than she usually got from the police back home. Half the time it seemed like they didn't even bother filing a report.
Gwen sat for a while, the device next to her causing the air to thrum, she could feel it in her chest cavity, not just her bones, now that nothing else distracted her. She wondered what its purpose would turn out to be. Nothing had been attached, no leads, IVs, or catheters, so it didn't have anything to do with a pump of any kind, as far as she could tell. It surprised her that they didn't have an IV in at least. Hospitals loved to have people hooked up to a drip, in her experience. Hydration and all that being important. No catheter either.
Taking up the pencil and paper, she began to draw again, trying to capture the look of the robes with their thick black canvas-like material. The ceiling – wood beams and painted slats – as she remembered it, white paint? The design she thought might be on the handle of the knife. It didn't make her feel any better, but maybe there would be something in one of the drawings that would help later, or let her remember something she'd forgotten.
The nurse, a new one, since Rogers had gone home for the night, brought her food at about nine. This seemed late to her, but maybe it was just dinner time here? New world, new rules. She had to get that as fast as possible, she knew. Trying to insist that everything be the way she expected it was a losing game. Each food item got delivered on a separate tiny plate and the silverware seemed little, about half the size she was used to. Like something made for small children. It was cute and like everything here, finely made, but odd for all that. Made strange because of it, if only to her.
The food, like all hospital food, lacked enough salt and flavor to make it interesting and curiously, there didn't seem to be any Jell-o. They did give her ice cream, a small serving of vanilla that was pretty decent. It still hurt to lift her hand to her mouth, but she managed, if slowly, eating about half before tiring of trying.
Then the nurse came in to give her a shot and get her ready for bed.
She set up a strange looking bed pan, allowing Gwen to go to the bathroom as the other woman stood there waiting for her to finish. It didn't take her too long, having gotten over being shy about such things as a small girl going in for regular surgeries to try and make her look better.
Finally the nurse gave her that shot, heroin she told Gwen, just after she pushed the plunger on the metal syringe home.
It didn't make the pain go away instantly, but over the course of an hour or so, she lost track of the discomfort and couldn't find it anymore. She drifted off to sleep, fitful, but better than just sitting in the dark would have been. This place didn't seem to have televisions in the rooms or possibly, a thought that made her a little uneasy, television at all. If not, what did they do for entertainment? Talk to each other or something? Well, Grainger had mentioned books, so maybe that was it.
When she woke up the next day she didn't hurt that much and figured that it had all been a dream until she opened her eyes finding the same room she'd gone to sleep in. It took her a few seconds to focus, but when she did the whole thing hit hard. Right, this new place was... new and she wasn't her anymore. Smiling Gwen wanted to cheer. She wasn't her anymore. Was it worth being stabbed in the heart?
Fucking yeah it was!
Confusing and scary, off-putting and with a million new rules, but totally and completely worth it.
After a while her new friend, Nurse Rogers, came in, her smile a little more genuine today it seemed, even touching her eyes at times. She opened the window using a stick with a hook on the end that caught the copper colored latch plate perfectly, letting in a fresh breeze that wasn't too cool, and brought her a small basket of toiletries, which she helped her use. Surprisingly Gwen found that she could brush her own teeth. It didn't feel good across the chest, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as moving had the day before. The tooth brush had a wooden handle, and the paste tasted of orange and salt, but did leave her mouth feeling fresh.
The nurse carefully brushed her hair and put it up, using six small pins, kind of like bobby pins, but not as complicated it looked like to her, lacking some of the little bumps and humps the ones back home had. Before, since having long hair didn't help her looks in any way, she'd always just cut it short, almost a buzz cut most of the time. Out of the way and less to pull in a fight. Now she had more hair suddenly than ever before and no real clue what to do with it. Brush it and tie it up somehow? She'd learn. Most people did their own hair, so she could do it too, with practice.
Breakfast came, a light meal consisting of a roll about the size of a silver dollar, a small glass of juice, and about enough oatmeal to fill a small coffee cup. It already had a light sprinkling of brown sugar on top and to her surprise, a small pat of real butter. It tasted strange to her, with the butter, but she ate it all. It seemed to Gwen that this world must have skipped the trend of super-sizing everything as far as food went. She did find that this amount of food felt like enough, once she'd finished it. She'd had to take tiny bites and sips to not put strain on her chest, making the whole meal take a lot longer than normal so she felt full, or at least not hungry, by the time the nurse came to take the dishes away.
She drew some more and tried to write out a description of everything from the attack, going over it in her mind. She even tried to describe what she'd smelled at the time, just to keep the memory fresh. A musky scent that seemed familiar, like black licorice and something smokier. It was hard to really capture a scent in writing it turned out, but hopefully just thinking about it would make a difference. If not, it was still better than sitting and staring at the wall.
The nurse checked in on her several times, making small talk, but not staying long, having others to see too, Gwen knew, even though she hadn't seen or heard any of them since she'd gotten there. Hospitals weren't normally noisy places, but this one had to be the quietest she'd ever been in. Did they insulate the walls or was everyone just that polite all the time, even when in pain?
A vision of a man having been run through with a spear and lying flat on his back in the next room came to her then, the doctors politely rushing about their duties and the man softly murmuring “Oh my, I do hope I don't get blood on your bedding...” in the strange accent everyone seemed to have here. If that was the case Gwen must sound like a sailor on leave to these folk. Being alone most of the time she'd never really bothered to learn to curb her language or even not to talk to herself out loud. Well, no time like the present to learn.
After lunch, a meal comprised of a small salad with a vinaigrette dressing, sliced fruit, and what seemed to be a small piece of meat loaf with thick gravy, each served on a separate tiny plate again, she finally found some entertainment. Bethany Westmorland, the detective, and a halfway cute Asian looking man walked in both looking at her a little blankly. He looked ethnically Chinese to her, having known a few from her martial arts classes over the years, possibly Korean though, so she'd be careful not to ask and make herself look stupid. Koreans and Chinese people could get touchy about that at times, in her world at least. Old rivalries basically.
“Excuse me, Miss Farris? We met yesterday, I'm Bethany Westmorland, the Constabulary Detective. This is Daniel Chuan, also a Constabulary Detective. Is it alright if we come in?” She spoke carefully and from very near the door, her voice flat, as if exhausted and trying not to show it, or drunk, but given what she heard the day before, she'd be willing to bet the woman hadn't slept or eaten since they last spoke.
Gwen gestured them in, still slowly, but without a lot of pain.
“Please do come in,” she called to them, as if they weren't standing ten feet away. People here seemed very concerned with being polite, so she'd best copy that. She just hoped her guesses about what would count as proper worked here well enough to get by until she learned what to do for sure.
She gestured at the chairs that had been left since the night before, and asked them to please sit, which seemed prudent as the female detective looked ready to drop where she stood anyway.
“Detective Westmorland... not to be nosy, but when was the last time you slept, ate, or took a proper bath?” Gwen asked bluntly. The woman didn't reek, but she smelled slightly of stale sweat and looked to be wearing the same clothing as yesterday.
Again, the woman asked the time. The other detective checked his wrist watch.
“One fourteen... now,” he told her precisely.
“I ate last night, when you instructed me to. I slept five days and fourteen hours ago and I last had a bath... seven days ago, if showering counts for these purposes.” This came out as if she had checked some interior clock or calendar, leaving no doubt that what she reported could be proven one hundred percent factual.
Detective Chuan's eyes grew big.
“Bethany, you have to eat and sleep! We can put up with the rest, but if you collapse you'll be useless to us. Why haven't you been taking care of yourself?” He didn't sound stern, simply concerned about his partner.
If she was his partner. That hadn't actually been stated, Gwen remembered, trying to pay attention to everything, since anything could turn out to be new and different here, even things she thought she understood from back home.
Bethany looked at him blankly.
“I was given an assignment and no other instructions. I simply kept following those instructions to the best of my ability, as I'm required to.” This came out sounding free of emotion, blank.
The man shook his head as if trying to clear it of something stupid.
“We need to find you a caretaker very badly, Bethany.”
Looking at him without expression, the female detective considered the situation for a moment.
“We need to find these killers more,” she said.
Chapter three
The male detective, Daniel Chuan, held out small, brown glass vials for her to smell, trying to find what she'd noticed during the attack. After twenty or more vials, Gwen thought she had it.
“That one. It's not exactly right, but nearly. The overtones were, I don't know, darker? If that makes any sense to you. Almost like licorice. Plus that, whatever it is.” The Asian man nodded and pulled out another vial, which he held near the first and had her smell again.
“That's it!” She smiled, noticing that Bethany Westmorland kept drifting off into micro-sleep, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer.