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“How long have I been here?” I questioned, glancing around the small room, trying to sit up and gazing over to the restraints on my arms and legs. I didn’t remember this. I wouldn’t be in a room this small because of who I was. But who was I?
I was dizzy besides all the other stuff I was feeling. My vision was fuzzy and my head hurt. I felt hungry and then I saw what was being done to me. I was being fed through my veins, intravenously.
I couldn’t remember what happened to me. All I could think about is how cold I felt, because I couldn’t get comfortable with all the water surrounding me as I drifted aimlessly. Nothing felt familiar to me now except the dizzy headaches and the hunger. The lights were too bright, and I couldn’t move my hands to cover my eyes.
Then I closed my eyes and bit down on my chapped lips. I opened them when I felt someone standing near and over me, and he spoke, “You need to calm down, or we’ll have to give you another sedative. You were talking out of your head when one of the men spotted you in the water, and we plucked you up wearing a survival suit.”
My eyes felt heavy, and I searched around for clues as to who was talking, because the man standing over me taking my pulse wasn’t familiar. The only thing familiar was his white coat and I made the connection. I shook my head because that was all I could get to move. I must have been controlled by the meds and my speech didn’t appear to come naturally. I wanted to talk but nothing would come. I wanted to ask him questions.
Who was he, and why was I being restrained?
The other thing familiar was the small office and porthole. He must be a doctor of some kind, I thought. Why was I wearing a survival suit? My mind hadn’t connected yet. I searched my memory, and then I remembered a few things. Not much. I remembered feeling the bruise of the ocean water when I jumped from a balcony. But why did I jump? Was someone chasing me? That didn’t make sense, because I wouldn’t have time to get into a suit before I went into the water.
But why was I strapped to this bed? The answer came from the man taking my pulse. He had adjusted all kinds of tubes into my arms and nose. I recognized oxygen because it was helping me breathe. When my eyes followed the tube he’d adjusted, I knew it was a feeding tube.
“You’re strapped down because we couldn’t risk you pulling those things out and falling out of bed. You were delirious and mumbling something when the crew brought you into my cabin. You were calling out for Max and Jonas, and you appeared to be screaming and terrified of Christian,” the doctor said, who wore a name tag with Lucas Wilcox on it. “I’m the doctor and if you let me take care of you without any problems you will be fit to get off at the next port.”
“I can’t do that—” Lucas narrowed his glance when I interrupted.
“Why? You’re healthy and the time you were in the water only gave you a beautiful tan.” He smiled and chuckled. “I’d like to get a tan but as you see, I can’t without burning.” Although he thought that was funny, there wasn’t anything I could smile about.
I knew a Lucas once, but I couldn’t recall his face, nor was he a doctor and what was I doing here? “Dr. Wilcox, where am I?”
“You’re on a yacht, and no, I’m not the owner. I work for the owner. You’ll meet him if he shows up early to go fishing, or if I deem it necessary for you to stay a few days more, which means you have to be well before you even attempt to go anywhere. Do you have any family members you’d like us to call?”
“No. I mean, where am I?”
“You’re off the coast of Mexico. To be precise, you’re near the Texas Mexico border.” “What am I doing there?”
“I have no idea why you’re even alive except the sheer will not to die.” Lucas stopped what he was doing and stood and looked down at me. “A beautiful young woman like yourself has no one to contact? Were you trying to kill yourself?”
Definitely not. I just wished I could remember what happened. “I don’t think I was trying to kill myself—”
“I asked that question because anyone who was in the Gulf waters, and even wearing a survival suit would be dead by now. You’re very lucky, or you have a great constitution for endurance under the circumstances you found yourself.”
Doctor Wilcox, a handsome blond, tall and with a warm smile placed his palm on my forehead. His hands were soothing to the touch when he took my pulse, and when he untethered the restraints on my ankles.
“If I take these restraints off,” he said, placing his hands on my wrists, and locking eyes with me, “...will you promise me you won’t get out of this bed until I say it’s okay?”
“I promise you I won’t because I’m too weak,” I said eagerly, consenting to his wishes. “Can I get some whole food to eat? And can I watch television.”
“The reception for the television isn’t that great, but you can use my phone if you don’t mind a small screen?”
Lucas stood back and smiled. “I’m going to tell the steward you need whole food and to bring you something light. Then I’ll inform the Captain that you should be ready to answer questions.”
I didn’t know what it was that gave me chills. Was it answering questions, or when he mentioned the word captain. Nevertheless, I needed to know what was happening in the real world without asking anyone. When Lucas left, I turned on his iPhone and streamed the news. First I tuned into the news that was a week old. How long had I been in the water? I thought. It had to be less than a week, or I wouldn’t be here to notice that I was hungry and thirsty.
When I clicked to a station there was a picture of a man I recognized. I narrowed my glance and searched my memories, then something clicked, and I remembered that face. It was the face of the man I’d married. It was the face of the man I’d feared. It was the face of my tormentor, and then with a jolt everything came back in a flurry. I had married that monster and he’d done unspeakable things to me. Then my picture scrolled across the screen, and someone knocked, and then entered the room. It was my doctor, my nurse—Lucas.
He entered the room carrying a large tray with two covered plates. When he sat it down on a table, he said, “This is the Chef’s surprise, and I thought I’d keep my patient company.”
“It’s boiled chicken,” I said, losing my appetite when the cover came off the plate.
“You need to eat something if you expect to get out of this bed before we get to Texas. The captain is going to take me to my home, and then he’ll pick up the owner of this vessel. I’m here for one voyage, and it’s a good thing, because you needed a doctor, and I was just about to go on vacation.”
I did as Lucas had suggested and managed to swallow the boiled chicken and mashed potatoes.