A Funny Thing Happened During The Battle of New York

xvii.

The fresh blank pages of this notebook wait patiently for me to fill them, and frankly I don't even know where to start. It's funny to think back to the first time I opened a journal to "process my trauma", and how different this time is.

Last time I didn't think I HAD trauma to process—this time....

This time I guess I have trauma to process—but I.......I CAN'T remember it.

I'll start with what I can remember, maybe that will be easier.

I was in my apartment, writing in my journal. Moose had been acting strange, which I now realize should have been a big red flag. A loud sound came from my room, Moose ran across the apartment and then—nothing.

The next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital in Jersey. The nurse who was here when I woke up said someone found me in an alley unresponsive. They thought I was a dead body, called the cops.

Surprise! I wasn't dead—yay me.

Paramedics came, took me to the closest ER. They had me down as a Jane Doe, since I didn't have my I.D. on me. When I came to, they called the doctor in and started with the basic questions.

What's your name? Wren.

Do you know where you are? A hospital.

You're at Jersey City Medical Center. News to me.

Do you know what day it is? Tuesday the 5th??

It's Saturday the 9th. Well shit.

I lost almost a week of time somehow. I started to panic then and the nurses and doctors assured me it's most likely amnesia cause by head trauma. They explained I had some bruising that indicates damage and burn marks they associate with electricity.

Apparently I was also extremely dehydrated and I have some lovely scrapes and marks from struggling against my "assailants".

Assailants.

What the fuck? I mean, I really got the short end of the stick didn't I? I feel like I should be starring in a Liam Neeson movie.

The sent out blood tests, but those results were still being waited on. They were concerned about anything that might have been put in my system. But that's the least of my worries, the way I see it I was fucking kidnapped and electrocuted like some kind of early 1900's mental patient. That's fucked up right?

The worst part is. I don't know why.

After catching me up on my mystery condition, the doctors asked if there was anyone I wanted them to call for me.

I wish I could describe their I faces when I asked if anyone knew the number for Stark Tower. They must have thought I really was a wack job. Given that my cellphone was not found on my person, I didn't have a clue how to contact Steve. I made it a point to memorize his number ASAP.

At that point I wasn't even sure anyone knew I was missing? Steve was off to a mission when I left D.C. so it was possible he wouldn't even know— if he had to go incommunicado.

Surprisingly I didn't have to even make an outgoing call because—yes—Steve did know I had been missing, and he and the Team had all been losing their minds trying to find me.