An Imaginary Line

Chapter Six: The Mysterious Jack

The next thing Harper heard was the dull beeping of a nearby machine. As for annoyingness, it was second only to the mind-numbingly bright light shining unapologetically into her eyes, or maybe the nauseating smell of disinfectant burning up through her nostrils. She struggled to open her eyes and, upon succeeding, instantly regretted it. The headache which threatened to split her brain in two was at once worsened, so she clamped her eyes shut and clenched her jaw in pain.

"Miss,"spoke a jarringly vulgar clang of a voice.

Actually, the voice was but the soft whisper of a wary nurse. As far as Harper was concerned, however, it might as well have been the blast and subsequent fallout of an atomic bomb. She grimaced.

"Miss, are you awake?" the voice continued, unwelcome, but kind in its manner all the same. Harper managed a reluctant grunt.She listened, incapacitated and entirely at the mercy of whoever or wherever she was. And suddenly, it clicked. She breathed in relief, only to be painfully reminded of the blunt meeting shared by her ribs and the cement structure of the train station. She attempted to open her eyes again.

"Miss, if you'll only sign this waiver, Doctor Ainsley can begin administering your non-vital treatment." The nurse paused and considered for a moment. "You've been in an accident. You fell from the elevated train platform. Some passersby saw you fall and brought you in. Actually, it seems you nearly took out their school's star receiver," she said. Her brief smile faded.

Beep. Beep. Beep. The heart monitor showed no change of heart rate.

She continued: "You're stable now, but you're still in need of a great deal of care. Once you sign this and give us your healthcare number, you won't have to worry about another thing."

The sudden quickening of the heart rate monitor's beeping was painfully obvious to Harper. Impersonating a citizen, living unregistered on the outskirts of a camp, evading arrest—even none of that mattered now that she had received medical treatment, another privilege reserved only for citizens. There were about fifty laws regulating, or rather, prohibiting, any medical assistance rendered to the working class.

What Harper would have done was feign another fall into sleep so that she wouldn't have to answer to any of that right now. Then maybe she'd have time to figure out her next move, maybe she'd be safe at least a little while longer. However, what Harper intended to do falsely actually happened truly, and she was out cold before the nurse could open her mouth in protest.

The next time her eyes opened, the environment was much more tolerable. The bright light was off. In fact, the sun itself was kind enough to have bid adieu for the day and allow the dark, comfortable night to take over. Even the beeping of the heart monitor was not so unwelcome this time around.

"Still alive," she breathed, genuinely surprised.

She ran a preliminary test of muscle function and overall balance capabilities by, quite remarkably, sitting up. Doing so tugged slightly at the tubes connected to her wrists, but soon gave way to her movements easily enough.

She then remembered her markings, the ones indicating her camp origins, and panicked as she brought her arm up before her to examine it. To her astonishment, her upper forearm was already covered in some kind of bandaging. Who had done it? The entirety of her markings were hidden underneath. Did someone consider these indications of camp life too grotesque to remain uncovered in a hospital setting? Was she simply the recipient of some stranger's risky benevolence?

She looked around. She was alone in the room, though there was an empty bed in the opposite corner. The hospital was quiet, and for the most part, dark. She took a moment to adjust to the change in circumstances—that is, from leaving work and minding her own business to sitting in a hospital,probably minutes away from receiving the death sentence.