Chapter 13a
When Erwin Packard awoke the following day he quickly found that he was not at all the same person he had always remembered himself being. The world can quickly become terrifying when it is not what you remember. Some people have seen this in small children who fall asleep in the car and wake up someplace unfamiliar. Erwin's response was similar.
When he took his first conscious breath in twenty-five years he was stunned. It was like being set on fire then thrown into arctic waters. When he took that breath in, the conscious one, the sensation seemed new and strange. The scent was familiar, it was the only scent he'd known for a quarter of a century, and he'd certainly been breathing throughout that time but he'd been no more aware of that particular sensation than he had been when his seemingly lifeless body was hefted into an ambulance.
Of course, he didn't remember any of that. What he remembered was his life up until that point, living someplace different, someplace very different, to the point that breathing here seemed somehow strange.
His eyes had been closed, he had no idea how long they'd been that way, but his eyes needed time to adjust to the light. The biggest source was to his left, a large white rectangle. As one might expect, Erwin had seen a window. To most people this is an expected sight when waking. To Erwin Packard it was the most bizarre thing he had ever seen. The sun was something he remembered and remembered well, he'd seen it countless times in the other world, but this? The image of the sun will persist forever but this, this was the subtle splendor that slips away with too many nights and not enough days.
There were sounds, too, and those came more slowly. At first they simply blended in, a constant hum with no consequence or meaning. Then there was a chatter, something mechanical, something electrical, voices resonating around. There were real sounds that stood apart from each other.
The glow of the sun had faded by this point to something tolerable. He could see his surroundings by now. He could see the other beds, all empty, and other windows hidden behind curtains. He saw the equipment placed around him, which was both familiar and alien. He saw everything but himself. He tried to move but his limbs were still and unresponsive. He tried to speak but his lips were dry and had practically forgotten how to shape themselves.
He couldn't hear how old and coarse his voice had gotten. He couldn't see how weak and thin his fingers were. He couldn't remember the bullet that entered his skull or the gun he'd placed in the middle of his forehead. He had no way to know that the front of his skull would be thick enough to save him from death or that only ninety-five percent of gunshot head wounds were fatal. All he had were his memories and this bizarre setting.
In short, Erwin Packard didn't know what the fuck was going on. For twenty-five years he'd lived another life, made other bonds, formed other families, and all but forgotten about what had been left behind. When he finally found himself back where he started, back to life, the transition hit harder than the transition to death.
To doctors, he was a medical anomaly, a case the world had essentially forgotten about, one of only very few people to live so long unconscious then wake up. To Erwin Packard, he had died and gone to Hell.
It would take some time to adjust, that's what the psychiatrist told him, and it would come slowly but soon he would appreciate life again. He thanked the doctor without the reminder of how his appreciation for life had landed him here. He didn't want to say any more than he had to. Speaking hurt. Everything hurt. Everything was weak.
When Erwin awoke that morning, when he took that first conscious breath, he felt pain for the first time in decades. Not just physical, although that was present, but emotional. Everything he'd known and loved had just been snatched away, he did not know this place or its people. Even when he thought he would know somebody, he was wrong.
The first nurse to come to his bedside once he awoke was a short portly woman with graying hair, sunken eyes and time-weathered skin. She had worked at the hospital for years, the same one since she got her first license, and had been acutely aware of Erwin's state. She went to school with him, she told people who asked. Erwin laughed when he saw the woman's name tag. It read "Cindy" and reminded him of a very different person who was sexy and fit and, above all else, easy.
She said to him when she saw he was awake, after taking a moment to check his vital signs and giving him a chance to read her name tag (which, he thought, was funny by itself because of the trouble he had just understanding the letters), "I told you I'd wake you up," and she had.
