Rosemary and Time
Yet another procrastination plot bunny.
QaF is the property of RTD and the companies that paid for it.
Originally posted: 21 Oct 09
Rosemary and Time: Awakening
The title alludes to Hamlet, act IV scene v, as well as the traditional English ballad 'Scarborough Fair' (lyrics below).
Love imposes impossible tasks
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Though not more than any heart asks
And I must know she's a true love of mine
If she tells me she can't, I'll reply
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Let me know that at least she will try
And then she'll be a true love of mine
Dear, when thou has finished thy task
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Come to me, my hand for to ask
For thou then art a true love of mine
The first time Justin tried to open his eyes, he was met with a blast of light that set of a massive explosion of pain in his head. He quickly closed his eyes again and succumbed to the siren call of the dark.
The second time was easier, and harder. There was less light, but he was alone in a room where he didn't recognize anything. Scared, he tensed, and the ensuing pain sent him back under.
"Time to wake up."
No, thought Justin, sleep is better.
"Come on, son, open your eyes."
Something about that was wrong, Justin knew, and it was enough to tempt him to struggle through the cloud surrounding his brain to try to identify what it was.
"That's it. Come on."
He opened his eyes, slowly, and was relieved to find that the room was not so bright that it was unbearable. The man in the white coat leaning over him was a doctor, he realized, which meant he was in the hospital.
"How are you feeling?"
"Sore. Groggy. What happened?"
"We'll get to that in a second. I'd like to ask you a few simple questions first, if that's okay."
While the doctor checked his vitals, Justin replied to questions about what hurt - "Everything." - and gave his name and date of birth, while a friendly-looking nurse with a clipboard recorded his answers.
"And your address?"
Justin smiled. The doctor probably didn't think that one would be hard. "That's... complicated."
"When you were admitted you didn't have any identification, but there are still forms to fill out."
"My permanent address is still my mom's. Fourteen- No, wait, she sold the house after the divorce. It's number four, 38 Leila Crescent, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania... I don't remember the zip code. Can I see her soon? She must be freaking."
"We'll contact her."
"Why isn't she...." Here sounded so pathetic that he didn't want to say it out loud.
"Without ID, we had no way of contacting anyone. Now that we have her information, we'll call right away."
Justin shook his head in puzzlement and regretted it deeply. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he bit out his next question. "What. Happened?"
"You were attacked. You were in the parking-"
An overwhelming avalanche of images flooded through his mind, and he lost any sense of what the doctor was saying. He held up his hand in a silent plea to stop until Justin was ready. Once he processed what he was seeing, however, he had more pressing questions that needed answers.
"Wait. What about Brian? Why didn't he tell you everything you need to know? Is he okay?" As Justin was starting to panic, his body reacted very unfavorably to both his tensing muscles and his attempts to move, but the pain was insignificant in the face of his fear. The doctor reached out to stop him, and Justin would have told him off for that, if the man's expression had been anywhere near placating. It wasn't. There was worry and concern, and they looked real enough that Justin settled. For the moment.
"I wasn't aware that anyone had been admitted with you...." He looked at the nurse, but she shook her head, almost imperceptibly.
"He was with me. I'd walked him back to the car and was heading back inside when I heard him call my name. I turned, and that's when I was hit."
"What's Brian's last name? We'll see if he was admitted somewhere else. If not, if he was asking for you by name, he may have been told you weren't here." The doctor laid a reassuring hand on Justin's arm. "We'll find him."
"It's Brian Kinney."
"And your mother's name and phone number?"
"Jennifer Taylor, 555-5265."
"Try to get some rest, and we'll see what we can find out."
Dr. Jacob Strathern looked at the message from his nurse, again, to see that the information had not changed.
The number Justin had supplied for his mother was not in service. None of the hospitals in the city had a record of Brian Kinney being admitted. No one by that name or any other had been looking for a Justin Taylor.
It happened often, antagonistic runaways were unconscious - or so far under the influence that it made little difference - when they were admitted, and without insurance, they tried to bluff until they were well enough to sneak out. This kid didn't read like that, however. Injuries aside, he'd been in good health; his clothing was ruined now, but it had been good quality and not excessively worn; and his panic, his concern about his friend, that was real.
An Internet search of "Justin Taylor" called up nearly 200000 hits. There was a hockey player, a couple of artists, a seemingly infinite number of bloggers, but none of the pages except the hockey player's gave him enough information to know whether or not it referred to the Justin Taylor in his hospital.
Searching "Jennifer Taylor" was worse, even when he added "Pittsburgh."
He had much better luck with "Brian Kinney": most of the hits seemed to point to the same person, the President and CEO of Kinnetic, an advertising agency based in Pittsburgh.
It took some effort, but he managed to convince the receptionist to transfer him to Mr. Kinney's personal assistant.
"Brian Kinney's office, this is Cynthia."
"Hello. My name is Dr. Jacob Strathern. I'm an Emergency Attending Physician at St. Andrew's Hospital in New York."
Just that, and Cynthia knew.