Amnesia

1

The room was bright. He was alone. The sharp smell of medicinal alcohol hung in the air, and somewhere a machine pinged in quiet rhythm. Professor Ryan Hanson tried to move his left arm, but a sharp pain restrained him. He looked down and saw an IV tugging at his skin. His pulse quickened, and the machine kept pace, pinging more rapidly.
'Where am I? What happened?'
The back of Ryan's head throbbed. Gingerly, he reached up with his free arm and touched his scalp, trying to locate the source of his headache. Beneath his matted hair, he found the hard surface of nearly a dozen or so stitches caked with dried blood.
He closed his eyes, trying to remember an accident.
Nothing.
A man in scrubs hurried in, alerted by Ryan's racing heart monitor. He had a shaggy beard, bushy moustache, and gentle eyes that emitted a calmness beneath his overgrown eyebrows.
"What ... happened?" Ryan managed. "Did I have an accident?"
The bearded man put a finger to his lips and then rushed out, calling for someone down the hall.
Ryan turned his head, but the movement sent a jolt of pain into his skull. He took deep breaths and let the pain pass. Then, very gently, he surveyed his surroundings.
The hospital room had a single bed. No flowers or cards. Ryan saw his clothes on a nearby table, folded inside a clear plastic bag. They were covered with blood.
Now Ryan turned his head very slowly toward the window beside his bed. It was dark outside. All he could see in the glass was his own reflection-an ashen stranger, pale and weary, attached to tubes and wires, surrounded by medical equipment.                                                                                        Voices approached in the hall, and Ryan turned his gaze back toward the room. The doctor returned, now accompanied by a woman.
She appeared to be in her early twenties. She wore blue scrubs and had tied her dark hair back in a thick ponytail that swung behind her as she walked.
"I'm Dr. Izzy Cooper," she said, giving Ryan a smile as she entered. "I'll be working with Dr. Taylor tonight."
Tall and slim, Dr. Cooper moved with the grace of an athlete. Even in shapeless scrubs, she had a willowy elegance about her. Despite the absence of any makeup that Langdon could see, her complexion appeared unusually smooth, other than the freckles on her face. Her eyes, a gentle brown.
"Okay," she began. "What is your name?"
It took him a moment, "Ryan Hanson."
She shone a penlight in Ryan's eyes. "Occupation?"
"Uh" Ryan muttered, frowning. "Professor at Cambridge university."
"Any pain?" She asked
"My head," Ryan replied, his throbbing skull only made worse by the penlight. Thankfully, she now pocketed it, taking Ryan's wrist and checking his pulse.
Dr. Cooper made a note. "And is there someone we should call for you? Wife? Children?"
"Nobody," Ryan replied instinctively. He had always enjoyed the solitude and independence provided to him by his chosen life of bachelorhood, although he had to admit, in his current situation, he'd prefer to have a familiar face at his side. "There are some colleagues I could call, but I'm fine."
Dr. Cooper finished writing.                                                                                                                                 Ryan was overcome by a sudden, instinctive sense of danger ... not just for himself ... but for everyone. The pinging of his heart monitor accelerated rapidly. His muscles tightened, and he tried to sit up.
Dr. Cooper quickly placed a firm hand on Ryan's chest, forcing him back down. She shot a glance at the bearded doctor, who walked over to a nearby counter and began preparing something.
Dr. Cooper hovered over Ryan, whispering now. "Mr. Hanson, anxiety is common with brain injuries, but you need to keep your pulse rate down. No movement. Just lie still and rest."
Dr. Taylor returned, holding a syringe. After a nod from Dr. Cooper, he injected it into Ryan's IV.
"Just a mild sedative to calm you down and help with the pain." She stood up. "You'll be fine, Mr. Hanson. Just sleep. If you need anything, press the button on your bedside."
In the darkness, Ryan felt the drugs washing through him almost instantly, dragging his body back down into that deep hole from which he had emerged. He fought the feeling, forcing his eyes open in the darkness of his room. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like cement. The light went out.
Outside his window, hidden in the shadows, a powerfully built woman effortlessly unstraddled her BMW motorcycle and advanced like a panther stalking its prey. Her gaze was sharp. Her long blonde hair stood out against the upturned collar of her black leather riding suit. She checked her silenced weapon, and stared up at the window where Ryan Hanson's light had just gone out.
Earlier that day, her mission had gone horribly wrong. But now she had come to make it right.