Chapter Text
Have you ever thought about your greatest fear? If not, then take your time to think about it because it’s not exactly pleasant to have this question answered while you’re living through it. At least he assumes that he’s alive…somewhat?
The awakening had been sudden.
The bright light stung in his eyes and if it wasn’t for the burning pain in his chest, he would have figured that he was on his way to heaven. Closing his eyes again, he decided to focus on his breathing for now. Beyond that, he failed to register anything of significance. A multitude of voices echoed through his mind, but he couldn’t bundle up the energy to focus on them. There were smells, he knew he smelled something. What that something was, was beyond his understanding.
It was there, somewhere deep in his mind and he knew he was familiar with the smell but at the same time his brain didn’t connect the dots. How could he forget that? Was that normal?
His heart raced and a high-pitched noise suddenly dominated the voices in his head.
No, that was clearly not normal because HE was supposed to know everything. To prove that to himself, he decided to create a checklist of things he did know. Small things about himself.
It started to come back easily.
His name was Henry Sinclair, he was 15 and he had a literature essay due on Monday. So far so good. Basics. Small steps. He was doing amazing. What else did he know? He felt his lips curling up in a smile, the feeling of dread slowly fading.
If the essay was due on Monday, Henry had two more days to write it. Today and tomorrow. Today was Saturday, tomorrow Sunday.
The high pitch from before rose in volume, making it harder for him to think clearly. He continued, doing his best to fade out the noise.
Today was Saturday. Sixth day of the week. Right after Friday but before Sunday. Trivial information, but remembering it felt like he was getting ground beneath his feet.
Think Henry, think. Thinking became a lot easier when the high-pitched noise began to fade, leaving him alone with his thoughts again. What else was important?
Was it the essay? It was the essay. He should be doing the essay but somewhere in the back of his head he recalled having other plans for the weekend. Someone else was supposed to write the essay. His brother. Noah.
“Henry?”, someone gasped. Who was that and why were they saying his name? The noises all around him started getting louder. Footsteps. Static. A rhythm. “I think we’re having a sign of consciousness!”, yelled the voice, hope floating in every syllable. The awful stench of disinfectant filled the room- no! Wait. It had been there before. It was the word he forgot.
“Henry are you there?”, it sounded desperate. Now he had to take a look. Opening his eyes much slower this time, he was delighted to notice that he was seeing colors again. Colors shifting, reshaping, and forming into a clearer picture piece by piece. “He opened his eyes!” If it wasn’t for the bitter taste in his mouth and his inability to communicate yet, he would have corrected the facts of the color arrangement and told it that he had opened his eyes before already.
The arrangement of colors shifted into something that vaguely resembled a human shape.
“Can you move?”, inquired said human shape right after blinding him for a short moment. They asked about his ability to move. Easy. Or so he thought.
He was able to feel his body and his body burned. The pain started at his limbs, uncomfortable but not unbearable. It increased drastically near his upper body and his chest seemed to be the center for the pain. Henry felt suddenly very aware of his oxygen intake. He needed to move but the use of his muscles resulted in another pang of pain that jolted trough his body like a lightning bolt. Breathing was becoming gradually more painful, but he knew he could move something. Maybe starting small was the better idea? Small like his toes or fingers?
Trying to focus on his hands, he noticed that they were touching something soft. Cold and soft. The remedy to his burning skin. He wanted to touch it more. Slowly, very slowly, he curled his finger into the garment. The human shape seemed overjoyed by Henry’s pathetic performance. At least that’s what he believed because the shapes were not all in place yet and sorting human facial expressions required better observation. Human shape distanced itself from him, adding more colors to the mix and taking the time to make something that looked like a phone call.
“Darcy, please call the Sinclairs immediately, they should come to the hospital as soon as possible! Tell them that he’s awake.”, ordered the more distant voice of human shape. At least he assumes. He felt like was hearing trough the radio. Henry blinked slowly, processing the information he was just given. So, this was a hospital. Looking around as good as he could with his unmoving body, seeing mostly white and smelling the disinfectant only made sense now. The Sinclairs were his parents and his brother, and they were asked to come and see him. In the hospital. People go and visit other people in the hospital. Reasonable. Everything made sense so far…except for the fact that Henry was in the hospital in the first place. Why was he here? What did he do?
“Easy there, boy! Everything’s going to be okay.”, hushed the human shape gently. Henry wanted to nod and acknowledge that he registered the words. No luck though. Instead, he just blinked.
If someone had asked him last week what he feared most, he would have laughed and replied that he had no fear. But you live and learn your whole life, right? Now he knew better. An unmoving body, sweat rolling off his temples and no capacity to speak. This right there was his greatest fear. Losing himself in his own mind as he tried to puzzle together pieces of his memories. The fact that he managed to remain levelheaded about his situation was close to a miracle.
But what did his dad always say? Nothing good comes from overreacting. Astonishingly good advice from someone who bawls his eyes out every single time his favorite Bachelor candidate gets eliminated. But hey, his father was a very sensitive guy and there was nothing wrong with that. Henry actually feared that his father might get upset seeing him like that. The furrowed brows and concerned gaze would be too much to handle for him right now. Opening his mouth to word his concern succeeded. Part One of this task succeeded. He opened his mouth; the words didn’t come out yet. Instead, he just laid there, looking like an imbecile. More attempts followed, all in vain but it became easier to move the muscles around his mouth. Hopefully, he’ll learn how to talk in no time.
He almost didn’t register how clear his vision became if it wasn’t for the human shape to appear in front of him again. In front of him stood an older lady. Short greyish hair and a warm welcoming smile on her lips. Her nametag read Dr. Bower and her calming Aura and soft brown eyes reminded Henry of his grandmother. Just seeing the reassuring expression on Dr. Bowers face, felt like a weight had been lifted of Henry’s chest.
“I know you must be very scared but don’t worry. You’re going to get better.”, her voice was a lot cleared in his head too. It sounded just as kind as she looked. He let out a deep breath as Dr. Bower helped him to a sitting position. Finally, Henry could take a better look around the room. Just as expected, he found a perfectly normal hospital room. The only difference between this room and his other hospital experiences, was the perspective. He had never been the patient, instead it had always been Noah who was just not a lucky kid in general. He would break his arms and legs frequently, not to mention his monthly concussion, because yes, Noah would have one almost every other month. Being the great brother he is, Henry visited him every single time. Sometimes to cheer him up, sometimes to lecture him about playground safety.
He briefly wondered if Noah had visited him as well but that brought hundreds of follow up questions to his attention. Ranging from the most important ones like “What happened to him?” and “How long has he been here?” to less important but still thought-provoking pieces as “Did someone write the essay?” The door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud thud that made Dr. Bower jump up slightly. Rushing in came Henry’s mother, still in the blue blazer she wore to work every day. Her red hair was all over the place and her irregular breathing seemed to stop completely the moment she laid eyes on him. When she found him awake?
Henry found himself in his mother’s warm embrace before he even blinked, the sweet scent of Gardenia and Jasmine filled his lungs and if he could, he would have buried himself deeper into her arms. She seemed to be calculating, avoiding certain parts of his body when she swung her arms around him.
But she still held him tight and to the observing eye it looked like she was afraid he would get taken from her if she dared to loosen her grip on him. After a few quiet moments, Henry could feel his mother shaking and tiny sobs escaping her throat.
“He is not able to move yet, but we hope he’ll get there.” commented Dr. Bower softly as she put the gloved hand on his mother’s shoulder.
His mother let go of him slowly, putting her soft hand on his cheek as she swiped away the hair from his face. That motion made Henry frown. At least on the inside. It was due to the fact that he shouldn’t have hair that was long enough to be swept from his face. Because in his mind, he only got a haircut a few days ago.
The thought of having been in the hospital long enough that his hair grew out was hard to stomach and Henry felt his initial excitement being replaced by worry. What did he do to end up in the hospital for months? Why wouldn’t he remember a thing? It had something to do with the pain that rushed through his body and seemed to center itself in his chest. Was there something wrong with his lungs? Breathing hurt but the pain was burning somewhere deep in his skin and spread outwards instead of just being fixated around his lungs where it was the most painful. He was at a complete loss, never having experienced this kind of sensation before and Henry couldn’t wait for someone to explain what caused this pain and more importantly, how to make it go away.
He had trouble keeping track of time. Things seemed to happen either in highspeed or dragging themselves painfully slow. After a while, he began to feel tired again. His eyes barely keeping up with the motion of different people inside his hospital room. There were several other doctors coming in, all of them looking at him and performing the same tests as Dr. Bower. They didn’t talk to him anymore, only focusing on his mother as Henry laid there helpless and confused, hoping for someone to inform him about what was happening to him in the first place. His shirt was lifted quite a lot, doctors looking and mending his injuries and Henry felt supported in his assumption that it had something to do with his chest. Meanwhile his mother only nodded franticly at whatever the medical experts were saying to her. Henry tried his hardest to concentrate on one voice in the room. The voice of the man that spoke to his mother.
“…not expected him to…. medical miracle…”, he spoke in a deep voice. Henry blinked in surprise. That didn’t sound like anyone was really believing that he was awake again. What happened to him? The more this went one, the more terrified he got. The man continued explaining things, but he spoke fast, and Henry couldn’t follow. The reactions of his mother were the only indicator of whether something was good or not.
In the end he was only able to make out three things about his situation, all snippets he heard from different people talking about him. First, the doctors didn’t expect him to wake up. Neither did his family, judging by the surprise on his mother’s face when she walked in and saw him with open eyes. Second, they were referring to something as “the attack”, they didn’t specify if it was something like a heart attack or rather the old-fashioned way of attack. You know? Involving physical violence and same cool street fighting moves. Henry was none the wiser, as he had no memory of experiencing either. And third, that he would still have to stay in the hospital for an undefined amount of time. The latter making the most sense, given that he was having to learn how to move again first. All in all, things could have been better. But for that moment, Henry was only happy to be alive.
The next few days happened fast, timed seemed to fly just as fast as Henry was regaining his abilities. After a few days, he was able to sit up by himself slowly and after a few more, he began moving his arms and saying short sentences. Surprising everyone with his fast recovery, Henry felt really proud of himself but much more relieved than he would really admit.
His mother and father came by every day and the hospital staff had to fight them off at the end of each day as the Sinclair’s overstayed the usual visiting hours.
The only person he did not see was Noah. His little brother usually wouldn’t miss up any opportunity to lecture him about things like street safety or hospital etiquette. Getting attacked by something or someone and Noah not being there to tell him that he should have been more cautious and aware of his surroundings?
“Noah?”, he wondered after his dad summarized the latest episode of his favorite show. It was good to be with them again, he even managed to make Henry laugh despite the pain.
“Oh Henry, your brother scored a place in the exchange student program! The one he kept talking about for months, you remember?” He didn’t. Good that his dad reminded him. Noah had a habit of going on and on about things and sometimes Henry just didn’t want to deal with the waterfall that came out of his mouth. He must have ignored Noah when he told him about it. Shaking his head with almost no effort at this point, his mother saw that and decided to ease up his worry a bit.
“Noah said he didn’t want to bother you with things you don’t care about, but he said he will be home as soon as the program is over. Said he missed you a lot and can’t wait to see you.” The feeling of regret sat deep in his stomach once he realized that this must have been one of the last conversations he had with his brother. If he had died, he wouldn’t even have listened to Noah properly for the last time. Was he really that much of a douche? Henry knew he wasn’t always the best brother, but now he began to see that he was worse than previously assumed. Making a mental note to get his act together and change for the better, Henry gave his parents a small smile and nodded. Noah would be back home soon and then Henry would listen to every little detail about this program. He would show Noah that he cares.
A sudden knock on his door interrupted the peaceful family talk. Henry held his breath, a small part of him hoping that it was Noah who wanted to surprise him by coming back earlier. But instead of Noah, two policemen came in, greeting his parents and grabbing some chairs to join his family. He raised an eyebrow at his father, hoping he was going to explain that. Matthew Sinclair adjusted his glasses and opened his mouth but one of the men took the initiative and spoke up.
“Good to see you awake, kid. We didn’t think you’d make it.”, he stated plainly. Voice deep and raspy. Henry wondered if he had ever heard the voice before, but he didn’t think so. That was his first time meeting this officer. While being conscious that is.
“Did you tell him what happened?”, asked the other one, he was younger, and his voice was less steady and calming than his colleagues. Both smelled like gunpowder and sweat. The first things that made Henry want to gag ever since waking up. Henry’s parents looked at each other again. Norah shrugged and nudged Matthew to keep talking.
“Oh uhm, we didn’t really know how to start…I mean he just woke up? What if it shocks him somehow? He didn’t even recover fully yet.” His father looked nervous. Incredibly nervous. Like a child that failed to do a task it was given. Now it was the officers turn to raise the eyebrow in suspicion. He sighed, turning to Henry again.
“Kid, I know it must be a shock to you, but try to bear with me here, okay?” The black-haired boy was hoping for someone to tell him what happened for days now but seeing the pained look on the officer’s face made him second guess his desire. Despite everything, he nodded. His heartbeat increased, showing everyone in the room how nervous he was becoming on the monitor. His mom hesitated to say something, and the officer continued.
“Around six months ago you were attacked in your own home with a chemical substance that left devastating wounds on your body and internal organs.” The officer spoke slowly and calming, trying to give Henry enough time to process what was being said to him. It settled in slowly, but it did line up with what he expected. He was attacked. In the old-fashioned way, it seemed. The part about the chemical substance however, freaked him out. How damaged was his upper body exactly? He was feeling pain even with medication, but he has not been able to see the extent under all the bandages that covered his body. Panic inside him rose.
“You were found by your brother who called the emergencies immediately. The security footage in your home also showed that there was only one attacker, but they had their face covered, making it impossible for us to recognize them. They attacked you by splashing the chemical at you when you launched forward to fight them. Once you were down, they seemed to accidentally destroy the bottle with the chemical, getting it all over their arms. They left in a hurry after it. Investigations didn’t find anything unusual at the crime scene and so far, we haven’t even been able to discover the type of chemical that was used. Our team checked every single parameter to no luck. We assume it was acid based but our investigations lead nowhere.”
Henry didn’t know what to say, all he could do was look at his parents in horror. That couldn’t be true? This sounded like a scene from a horror movie, not his life. Somebody tried to kill him. Why? What did Henry ever do? And not only that. It happened in his own home. They had a security system and cameras, so how on earth did the person get in? And what did it mean that they didn’t know the chemical substance? It could be God knows what. What if it killed him slowly as time went on? And what did it do to him?
He had trouble breathing, right? It hurt. Did it hurt bad? Was it becoming worse? He tried to breath faster just to check again. It was painful. The thing probably damaged his lungs. The man said it has been six months, in six months things should have healed. So, there was no way help him anymore?
He looked around everywhere in the room, franticly trying to remember the last days. He wouldn’t be given solid food, was that because there was something wrong with his stomach? Did it burn too? He felt tears coming down his face as he desperately attempted to tell himself that it was okay. He could feel his whole body trembling and his throat seemed to get tighter. Before he could fully loose it, his mom took him in her arms, soothing him and brushing his hair out of his face again. For several minutes he quietly sobbed into her arms, only focused on the smell of her perfume. Since waking up he was more sensitive to smell. It usually annoyed him but burying himself in his mother’s lavender perfume felt like heaven. For a short moment, he could shut everyone out. He heard his father, and the policemen hush some words to each other, but he didn’t listen, preferring to listen to his mother’s heartbeat instead.
“Does he often have panic attacks, Mrs. Sinclair?” The policeman came closer and disrupted Henry with the stench of his sweat again. Henry resisted the foreign urge to hiss at him. His mother didn’t break the embrace as she answered. “No, this is the first time.”
He didn’t know how much time passed as he was held by his mother, but after a while, he let go. She gave him a reassuring smile as she sat down next to her husband again. His father gave him a worried glance.
“Maybe it’s better if we wait until he is better before you gather information about your investigation, Officers.”
Henry felt limb. His whole body hurt after the episode he just had. Panic attacks are not something he was used to. He knew some people had them, but he always considered himself lucky to be spared from that. Did everyone feel like their body was brutally kicked and smeared on the floor? He didn’t even know what would have happened if he didn’t have is mother’s perfume to focus on. His eyes pained from the tears, and he could barely hold them open at this point. He just wanted to sleep. Preferably for a few more weeks. He took a deep breath. It still hurt. Maybe even a few more months. Would that be another coma?
“Well, that’s the thing we wanted to talk to you about. Our investigation led to nowhere, the guys from above are making us drop the case if you can’t give us anything to work with. There is no more evidence we could use to further the case, so the management wants us to focus on other matters in this hellhole of a city. Do you remember anything? Was there anyone who could have wanted to harm you?” Henry didn’t remember anything at all. He shook his head at the officer, who nodded and stood up.
“We’re sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair and we’re really sorry we can’t do anything to help you, kid.” Henry could see how much it pained the man to say that, look on his face full of regret. So, they were just giving up? That was it? The person who attacked him will not be found. What if they come back to finish the job? Killing him next time for sure? He closed his eyes again. Focusing on his breathing. He was still breathing. Henry should not have survived that, right? He heard his parents argue with the policemen, probably being as skeptical about their decision as Henry was at the moment.
“Ma’am we are deeply sorry, but the case in unsolvable. The only similar case was over ten years ago, and those traces also lead to nowhere after the kid was released from hospital.” Henry’s eyes shot up instantly and despite the pain, he lifted himself back into a sitting position, getting everyone’s attention as he spoke.
“Who else?”, he pressed out despite the pain it gave him. If there was someone else who had been in his situation, he wanted to speak to them. He needed to see how they were doing and how they were living with the pain. The thought of someone else being out there who knew how to live with this pain filled him with hope.
“We can’t give out the information. I’m sorry.” The officer looked torn, and Henry didn’t really want to make the man risk his job, but he didn’t know what else to do. Feeling desperation for the first time in his life.
“Please.”, he felt sick to his stomach, looking at the man with watery eyes. Four different pairs of eyes stared at him before the officer messaged his temple as he sat back down. His colleague rolled his eyes but followed.
“Don’t go around telling this. But ten years ago, there was a child admitted to this hospital with similar burns to yours. It seems that the attacker had used the same untraceable substance on the boy, Randall Evans. The boy didn’t seem to have any memory of the incident after he woke up from his coma. His case had been more severe with burns all over his body and face.” Henry’s blood went cold at the thought. He already felt thought he was dying from pain but the thought of having this burning pain all over his body was enough to send a shiver down his spine. He suddenly felt his stomach revolting despite nothing being in there. He swallowed hard. Forcing himself to continue.
“Where’s he now?”, Henry decided not to waste his breath too much, only bringing across the more necessary things. He needed to know where Randall was now. Maybe he had an idea about the attacker or the substance? And hell, even if not, he would just like to see how he lives with the burns and get some advice. Henry had so many questions, maybe Randall could answer at least some of them. But his excitement was short lived after noticing the officer shaking his head again.
“Sorry, kid. Randall Evans was admitted into foster care but according to our research he ran away and got lost in the system. We don’t know if he’s still in this town or if he’s even alive at this point. So there’s that. With a sigh, he plumped down in his hospital bed, eying the white ceiling again. Wonder if he will ever leave this place? Randall did, so maybe Henry would get as lucky. The officers said their goodbyes after reminding him and his parents to keep quiet about the information they got, and his parents were quickly hushed out of the room soon after. Visiting hours were over and none of them had the energy to fight the nurses anymore.
Despite the extreme tiredness he felt, Henry couldn’t fall sleep. His mind raced back and forth between the attack. Desperately trying to remember anything that could lead to the continuation of the investigation. There was nothing. The very last thing he remembered was bullying Noah into writing his literature essay so he could go out that day. That was somewhere in the evening. Henry might have gotten attacked after that. But what if his memories come back? And more importantly, what if Randall’s memories came back and he knew who the attacker was?
Henry couldn’t just give up. He needed to know. He needed this case to be solved, otherwise he would never stop thinking about the person that could come back any second and end his life for good. No. Giving up was not an option, but there was also nothing he could do until his memories come back. What was he supposed to do? His fingernails dug into his arms as he tried to hold himself together and prevent another panic attack. His hands began to tremble. It didn’t work until he purposely clenched his chest, causing the pain to flare up. The burning sensation made him want to curl himself into a fetal position, but it took his mind off his fear. He was no longer panicking, being able to think clearly again.
First, that was no way to deal with this new panic and second, he would have to take matters in his own hands if he ever wanted to feel at ease in his life again.
He didn’t know how yet, but he will make himself remember.