Chapter 2

Brooklyn Hospital – Waiting Room

Martha and Oliver sat anxiously in the waiting area, their three children—Duke, Jennifer, and Ashley—beside them. A tense silence filled the space as they awaited the results of Alex's medical tests. They weren't alone; their longtime friends, Jack and David, were also there, accompanied by their wives, Donna and Maria.

Donna reached over and took Martha's hands, offering a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, no matter what the doctor says, we're all here for you. Just like we always have been. So try to stay a little positive, alright?" Her voice was gentle yet firm, a quiet anchor in the storm of uncertainty.

Martha nodded absently, though her gaze remained distant. Ashley sat close by, gripping her mother's arm, while Jennifer had distanced herself, sitting a few seats away. Donna noticed this separation and sighed internally. The rift between Martha and Jennifer had only deepened, and it was clear that Duke and Oliver were just as estranged from her.

On the other side of the room, Jack sat beside Duke, offering quiet words of reassurance while Oliver remained engrossed in a phone call.

Donna, at 37, carried herself with an air of composed elegance. Her light blue eyes reflected a quiet resilience, though a flicker of fatigue hid beneath their surface. Long, wavy brown hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing an oval-shaped face with well-groomed eyebrows, a straight nose, and full pink lips. A small mole beneath the corner of her left eye added a distinctive touch to her features. Standing at 5'6" (1.68m), she presented a poised, if somewhat distant, demeanor.

A secretary in the sales department of a small cosmetics company, Donna was known for her meticulous professionalism. However, her personal life was far less orderly. Her marriage to Jack was strained to the point of near silence, the growing distance between them palpable. Since arriving at the hospital, she had barely acknowledged his presence.

Despite their fractured relationship, they still shared a life together, including their three children—two sons, Mark and Grayson, and their adopted daughter, Emma. They had taken Emma in after a tragic accident claimed her parents' lives, a decision that had reshaped their family dynamic in ways neither of them had fully prepared for.

Across the room, Maria stood beside her husband, David, quietly observing the scene. She sighed, arms crossed. "When I heard Alex had woken up, I thought things would finally go back to the way they were," she murmured with a frown.

Maria, at 31, exuded an effortless elegance that turned heads. Standing at 5'7" (1.70m), she carried herself with a natural grace. Her long, wavy dark brown hair framed striking features—deep brown eyes lined with sharp eyeliner, high cheekbones, and full lips painted in a warm nude shade. Sun-kissed skin only added to her beauty, while her confident posture reflected both strength and composure.

Dressed in a fitted black corset-style top beneath a tan trench coat, Maria struck a balance between sophistication and approachability. As a dedicated primary school teacher, she exuded warmth and intelligence, effortlessly making lasting impressions.

"It'll take time, honey," David said thoughtfully, stirring a bit of sugar into his coffee. "We just have to be patient and support Jennifer in mending things with her mother. That's all we can do right now while we wait for the doctor's results."

Maria sighed again but nodded. With that, she and David picked up the prepared coffee and tea, handing them out to their friends.

David approached Oliver, who was still on the phone, and quietly handed him a cup of tea. Oliver gave him a silent nod of thanks, taking the cup and continuing his conversation. "Yes, the doctors are running tests as we speak. We're all just waiting for the results."

"That's good to hear," came the voice on the other end—deep, smooth, and laced with a thick British accent. "I'll stop bothering you if that's all for now."

The man speaking stood in a tall office building, his reflection visible against the vast glass window. Dressed in an impeccably tailored gray suit, he exuded quiet authority. His deep green eyes, sharp and calculating, contrasted with his light blond hair, neatly styled.

"Just keep me updated. We'll talk soon." With that, the call ended.

Oliver sighed, lowering the phone and taking a sip of his coffee. His younger brother in England had been checking in, wanting updates on Alex's condition.

Back in the waiting room, the air remained heavy with tension. As the others worried and speculated, Alex lay in the hospital bed, undergoing tests and examinations. His face remained eerily blank, the same vacant expression he had worn since waking from his coma.

Hospital Room – Alex's Tests

Meanwhile, in a brightly lit hospital room, Alex lay motionless on the examination table, his blank eyes fixed on the ceiling. His small body, still fragile from months of immobility, trembled slightly as medical professionals moved around him, running tests to determine the extent of his condition.

Given his medical history—intellectual and developmental disorders, past trauma, and the severe injuries from the shooting—his doctors were leaving no stone unturned.

1. Neurological Examination – The doctor would check Alex's reflexes, muscle tone, and coordination using basic tools like a reflex hammer and a flashlight for pupil response. Given his prolonged coma, they would assess his ability to track movement with his eyes, respond to voices, and show signs of cognitive awareness.

2. CT Scan– were use to check Alex's brain structure, potential swelling, and damage from his injuries. The scan would help doctors rule out hemorrhages or lesions affecting his cognitive state.

3. Electroencephalogram (EEG) – Used to monitor Alex's brain activity. If he exhibited signs of seizures or abnormal electrical activity, this test would help determine if his condition was linked to neurological trauma.

4. Cognitive & Memory Testing – Doctors could only rely on direct interaction for assessing cognitive function. A specialist (likely a neurologist or psychiatrist) asked Alex simple questions—his name, the current year, or to identify objects and people. If he remained unresponsive, they might try basic commands like "squeeze my hand" to test comprehension.

5. Blood Tests & Metabolic Panel – Was check for electrolyte imbalances, infections, or metabolic issues caused by his prolonged coma. A lumbar puncture (spinal tap) might be considered if doctors suspected an underlying infection or inflammatory condition affecting his brain.

6. Psychiatric Evaluation – Mental health in 1985 wasn't as well understood, but catatonia and dissociative states were recognized. A psychiatrist observe Alex's behavior, his level of engagement, and whether he showed emotional responses. Given his history, the doctors suspect post-traumatic stress or a severe dissociative episode.

7. Evoked Potential Tests – These tests measured brain responses to stimuli (flashing lights or sounds) to assess neural function, especially for coma recovery.

Despite the flurry of tests, Alex remained adrift with minimal reaction. Which seemed more of annoyance than anything, from the few reaction the doctors got. As the world around him felt unreal, distant, as if he were watching it from behind a thick layer of glass. His body responded to the tests, but his mind was drowning in an incomprehensible flood of knowledge—concepts, images, languages, and memories that were not his own. It was as though something beyond human understanding had imprinted itself onto his consciousness.

The doctor's voice reached him like an echo from another world. "Alex? Can you hear me?"

But he could do nothing but stare at the ceiling, trapped in the storm raging inside his head.

Waiting Room – Doctor's Briefing

The private consultation room was small but comfortable, designed to soften the harsh realities often discussed within its walls. The soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh linen. The atmosphere was tense, heavy with anticipation as Martha, Oliver, and their friends sat in a semi-circle around Dr. Reynolds. The seasoned neurologist, dressed in a crisp white coat, exuded a calm authority, his silver-rimmed glasses resting low on his nose as he flipped through Alex's medical chart.

Martha's fingers were ice-cold as she clutched Oliver's hand, her grip tightening with every second of silence. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, an erratic drumbeat of anxiety. Oliver gave her a reassuring squeeze, though his own shoulders were rigid with tension. Donna sat beside them, her hands folded in her lap, her expression unreadable but her eyes filled with quiet worry.

Dr. Reynolds finally looked up, his expression serious yet compassionate. "Thank you all for your patience," he began, his voice steady but laced with the weight of the news he was about to deliver. "I know this has been a difficult time for you."

Martha inhaled sharply, bracing herself.

Dr. Reynolds continued, his tone measured. "Alex has made progress since waking up from his coma, and that in itself is a positive sign. However, I want to be upfront with you—his injuries were severe, and his recovery will take time." He paused, allowing the words to settle. "The gunshot wounds caused significant trauma, particularly to his brain. While he is stable, there are some complications we need to address."

Martha felt the air leave her lungs. "What kind of complications?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Reynolds met her gaze with quiet empathy. "Alex is experiencing cognitive disorientation, which is not uncommon after a prolonged coma, especially one induced by traumatic injury."

Oliver frowned, his free hand balling into a fist on his knee. "What exactly does that mean?"

Dr. Reynolds nodded slightly, as if expecting the question. "It means that while he's conscious and responsive, his brain is still working to reestablish connections. He may struggle with memory loss, confusion, difficulty processing information, or even recognizing people or places. Some of these symptoms could be temporary, while others may persist for a longer period."

Martha's stomach twisted. "But he will remember us, right?"

"We're hopeful," Dr. Reynolds said carefully. "He does show recognition, but it may come and go. Familiar environments and frequent interactions can help stimulate memory recall."

Donna spoke up, her voice tight with concern. "What about his physical condition? Will he be able to walk?"

Dr. Reynolds shifted slightly, glancing at his notes. "Due to his injuries and the six months of immobility, Alex has suffered significant muscle atrophy. He will need intensive physical therapy to regain his strength, coordination, and endurance. At this stage, it's difficult to predict the exact timeline for his mobility, but early intervention and consistent therapy will be key."

Martha felt a flicker of hope, though it was fragile, delicate. "So, what happens next? When can he come home?"

Dr. Reynolds folded his hands on the table, his expression thoughtful. "We want to ease him into a familiar environment, but we also need to ensure he's receiving the care he needs. He can likely be discharged in a few days, but outpatient therapy will be necessary. He'll require a strong support system at home, as well as regular check-ups to track his progress."

Oliver exhaled slowly, nodding. "And when he does come home… what should we expect? Will he be the same?"

Dr. Reynolds met Oliver's gaze directly. "Recovery is a journey, not a single moment of healing. There will be good days and bad days. Some abilities may return quickly, while others could take months—or longer. You'll need patience. Encouragement. Understanding."

Martha swallowed the lump in her throat. "We'll do whatever it takes," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

Dr. Reynolds gave a reassuring smile. "That's exactly what he needs—your love and support. Keep him engaged in conversation, make his environment as comfortable yet stimulating as possible. Be patient with him, and with yourselves."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of the future pressing down on them. They weren't leaving with all the answers, but they had a direction—a plan, however uncertain.

Martha wiped away a stray tear and looked at Oliver, who nodded firmly. They would face this together. Whatever it took, they would help Alex find his way back.

Standing at the side Ashley, couldn't help but think about the past six months.

Ashley let out a long, shaky sigh of relief at the doctor's words. The tension that had gripped her chest for weeks finally loosened, if only slightly. She had been terrified—terrified that her youngest brother's mental state had deteriorated even further, that the trauma he had endured would leave scars too deep to heal. Alex would undoubtedly still be affected by everything that had happened, but they would do everything in their power to help him recover.

She glanced to her side and saw her older twin sister, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. It wasn't hard to understand the weight Jennifer had been carrying these past six months. Ashley knew her sister blamed herself—blamed herself for nearly getting their little brother killed, for failing to protect him, and for putting him in a situation where he had been preyed upon by a vile old man. The guilt had been eating her alive.

Ashley could see it, as could everyone else in the room. They had shared the same space for months, watching Jennifer slowly wither under the pressure. She had lost so much weight, her once-vibrant features now gaunt with exhaustion. And she wasn't the only one—both their mother and father had also suffered. Their father, once strong and composed, now carried new streaks of gray in his hair, his posture slightly slouched under the invisible burden of helplessness. Their mother, who had always been the pillar of their home, looked years older, the sparkle in her eyes dulled by sleepless nights and constant worry.

This nightmare had started on that fateful day.

Flashback – Six Months Ago

Ashley's Perspective

"This is quite nice. What do you think?" Martha asked, adjusting the fabric of the dress as she helped her daughter try it on.

Ashley frowned at her reflection in the boutique mirror, shifting uncomfortably in the bright pink dress. "I look like a doll," she grumbled. "And you know pink isn't my favorite, Mum."

Martha chuckled softly, smoothing out the material. "Well, you could always—"

Before she could finish her sentence, the changing room curtain was yanked open with a sharp rustle.

Jennifer stood in the doorway, pale as a ghost, her wide eyes wild with panic. She was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she had been running.

Ashley barely had time to register the terror in her sister's face before Jennifer's trembling voice cut through the air like a knife.

"Mom—Alex is gone."

Four words.

Four words that changed everything.