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She finds him in a hospital.
The sun had just begun to break over the horizon when she'd received the call. "Is this Michelle Williams? I'm calling on behalf of the Northwestern Medicine Woodstock Hospital. You're listed as the primary emergency contact for one Bryan Hodukavich."
Her heart had stopped in her chest. It wasn't the first time she'd recived a call from a hospital like this. Last time, it was to tell her that her father had been in fatal car accident. They hadn't been particularly close, but he'd still been her dad. It was one of the worst nights of her life.
That was before she met Bryan. For a brief, breathless second, she thought she'd lost him too.
But she hadn't. The lady on the phone told her Bryan was alive and well, only suffering from a few lacerations and bruises, with a busted ankle to boot. At the end of her spiel, the lady supplied her with a list of local psychologists and ended the call without further explanation.
Michelle had gotten into her car, a busted old toyota, and driven to the hospital with television static in her head. What happened? Why was Bryan hurt? Was he actually okay? Did he get into a car accident?
The questions circled her thoughts like vultures, building and scrambling until she couldn't seperate one from the other. She'd entered the building with a speed just on the cusp of full out running, and the receptionist had someone lead her to a small examination room a hallway over from the front desk.
And there he sat. Covered in blood and dirt and wearing what looked like a clean sweater pulled from the lost and found, was her boyfriend.
Bryan had bandages wrapped around his arm where the sleeve was pushed up, another applied just under his right eye which is swollen shut and more wrapped around the bottoms of his feet. His beloved jays and socks were nowhere to be found, replaced by a pair of disposable flip flops, and a green medical courier bag as dirtied as he was sat on the examination table beside him. His face was flat and expressionless as he stared at the wall across from him with empty eyes.
A doctor came by, giving her the same spiel as the lady on the phone as well as an information packet on after-care. It was thicker than she thought it should be, for someone with just a few bumps and bruises. She didn't miss the way the doctor eyed her boyfriend warily before leaving. Bryan still hadn't looked at her.
She took a deep breath in the quiet room. The sounds of the hospital staff going about their business were muffled by the heavy door, and her boyfriend still had yet to make a peep.
"Bryan?" She tries to catch his attention. It fails, that strange emptiness obscuring whatever might be going on in that head of his. She steps closer. "Bryan? Are you alright? What's going on?"
He doesn't respond. She places a hand on his shoulder.
He flinches back violently, one hand going to the bag and the other going to a jacket sleeve that isn't there, as if looking for something. His eyes are focused now, but wild and bloodshot. They dart around the room as if seeing it for the first time before landing on her. For a terrible, heartbreaking second, it's like he doesn't recognize her.
And then the moment breaks and Bryan is throwing himself forward, arms wrapped tight around her shoulders and face burying itself in her neck. She hugs him back automatically, mind reeling.
He's trying to say something, but his voice is muffled. She thinks she catches her name, and a repeated apology of all things. He's shaking, and where his skin touches hers it feels like ice, as if he'd spent the better part of a few hours trudging through the snow. God is that what happened? Did he get into an accident and walk his way back?
Something wet touches her neck and she blinks. He's crying, she realizes, and something cold sinks to the pit of her stomach. Bryan isn't a crier. He cringes and swears and screams, but he doesn't cry.
He's shaking and crying and in the back of Michelle's mind she's beginning to think this is something worse than just a scary car accident.
He pulls away the slightest bit, nonsense blubbering from his mouth and fat, wet tears falling from red, puffy eyes. She shushes him and presses a kiss to his forehead.
"It's alright, you're okay." Michelle reassures him. She pulls off her own jacket and puts it over his shoulders. The walk to the car isn't far, but she doesn't want him getting any colder than he already is. "Let's go home, okay? We can talk later."
She leads him out of the room, eyeing the green courier bag he's clutching to his chest. She wonders why the doctors hadn't taken it.
On the way out of the hospital, they pass another examination room. The is door slightly ajar, and inside is a nurse getting a bruised eye treated. It looks fresh.
The car ride home is quiet. Wet gravel crunches under the tires, the low sun having warmed the road just enough to turn the snow to slush. There are a few joggers out for an early morning run, wearing puffer jackets and warm pants. A couple with suitcases are sitting behind the window of a cafe, eyes heavy with jetlag and steaming mugs cradled in their hands.
A man in a thick red sweater walks down the sidewalk with his dog. It's a german shepherd, she thinks. Bryan inches away from the window.
Michelle locks the door behind them, sighing as the warmth of a fully functioning heater hits her. She kicks off her boots and watches as Bryan gingerly toes off his sandals. He winces as his feet touch the hardwood floor, and she bites her lip in regret as she leads him to the couch. She wishes the lady on the phone had warned her to bring shoes or offered a wheelchair.
She makes Bryan sit and takes her jacket back, replacing it with the fluffy throw thats been warming by the heater. He sinks into the couch with a heavy sigh, burying his face in the blanket.
She hangs up the jacket and turns the heat up a smidge.
The coffee in her hands is black and piping hot. She cradles it with her knees drawn up to her chest. The couch beneath her is old and worn, a thrift find. Bryan is slumped beside her, half buried in the blanket with his head resting on her shoulder. His breath is slow and steady with sleep. It had only taken her 5 minutes to make a fresh brew, but when she'd returned he'd already been conked out. He must have been exhausted.
She'd flicked the TV on for the background noise, but now she couldn't draw her eyes from it.
A news channel was on, showing footage of a destroyed city. Raccoon City, it read, Destroyed in Government Sanctioned Missile Strike.
She could barely hear the reporter. Something about a dangerous outbreak. The static in her head was back, louder than ever. How close had she gotten to losing him? How many hours —how many minutes— did the bomb miss him by? What happened?
She sets the coffee aside and turns off the TV. Michelle stares at their reflection for a few moments, tracing the lines of her boyfriend's face. She sends a quick email to her boss to let him know she'll be out sick.
Then she lays her head on Bryan's and closes her eyes.