A soft whistle pierced Steve's unconsciousness, slowly drawing him back to reality. His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open, blinking against the harsh light. The smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and he suddenly realized he was lying on a hospital bed, surrounded by the cold machinery of modern medicine.
His gaze swept across the room, taking in the IV drip, the heart rate monitor, and the various tubes and wires tangled beneath his blankets. Memories of the accident began to flood back: the screech of tires, the blaring horn, the searing pain shooting through the air. He raised a hand to his face, wincing at the bandages covering his wounds.
A soft knock on the door caught his attention. A nurse entered, her shoes clacking softly on the polished floor. She smiled warmly at him.
"Ah, you're awake," she said gently, approaching his bed.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Steve?"
He stared at the nurse, his mind still foggy from the sedative.
"I... I'm fine,"
"What... what happened?"
The nurse nodded sympathetically. She explained cautiously,
"The driver fled after the accident, but witnesses managed to get the truck's license plate number. The police are investigating."
She paused, her gaze shifting to the various monitors beeping softly beeping beside him.
"You suffered multiple injuries: a broken leg, fractured ribs, and a severe concussion. But the doctors say you're lucky. With rest and treatment, you should be fine ."
The nurse hesitated, her expression becoming serious. She took a deep breath.
"Mr. Steve,"
she began slowly,
"There's one more thing you need to know... You've been in a coma... for... the past six months."
She watched his face carefully, gauging his reaction.
Steve stared at her, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Six... six months?" He repeated it weakly, his voice trembling slightly.
The nurse nodded earnestly.
"Yes," she confirmed gently. "The doctors weren't sure if you'd wake up... but you are now, and that's what matters."
She reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly.
He felt a wave of panic rise in his chest, realizing that six months of his life had been lost without his knowledge. Sensing his distress, the nurse squeezed his hand gently again before withdrawing.
"I'll leave you to rest now,"
she said quietly.
"The doctor will come later to discuss your recovery and rehabilitation. If you need anything, just press the call button."
She pointed to a small device on the bedside table before turning to leave.
When the door closed behind her, Steve was left alone with his thoughts.
A soft knock on the door roused Steve from his reverie. He turned his head slowly, opened the door, and revealed a woman in a smart business suit. She entered the room with heavy footsteps, the heels of her shoes clicking on the tiled floor.
"Mr. Steve," she said,
in a sharp, professional voice.
"I'm Detective Harris, one of the officers investigating your case."
She approached his bed, her gaze sharp and scrutinizing.
"I understand you've just woken from a coma. How are you feeling?"
"Confused, tired. I don't understand how six months have passed."
The detective nodded sympathetically.
"I can only imagine how exhausting this must have been for you, but I'm here to help clarify what happened that night."
She took a small notebook from her jacket pocket and opened it.
"The truck driver who hit you fled, but we were able to track him down using surveillance footage and witness statements. His name is Marcus Johnson, and he has a history of drunk driving and hit-and-run accidents."
"Do you have any questions for me, Mr. Steve?"
Detective Harris asked, her pen perched atop her notebook.
"I understand this is a lot to take in, but any information you can provide might help us catch him."
Steve stared at the detective, his mind racing with questions, but his tongue felt heavy and useless.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint beep of the heart rate monitor and the distant hum of hospital equipment. His gaze drifted to the window, watching the sun dip below the horizon, casting long shadows over the parking lot.
As Detective Harris continued, outlining the legal procedures and possible outcomes, Steve's thoughts drifted.
Steve tightened his grip on the edges of the blankets, a surge of anger rising within him.
His anger flared, and without a word, he turned away from Detective Harris, pulling the blankets up to his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if to block out the detective's voice.
She paused mid-sentence, surprised by Steve's sudden action. She watched him for a moment, her brow furrowing with concern.
"Sir?"
She urged him gently, reaching out as if to touch his shoulder before he'd even thought about it.
But he remained unresponsive, his body stiff beneath the covers. The detective hesitated.
Her gaze lingered on his back for a longer moment before she sighed softly, her voice filled with sympathy.
"Take some time to rest. I'll leave my card on the table. If you think of anything that might help the case, or if you just need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to call me."
She placed a business card on the table beside his bed, and with one last worried glance at Steve's hunched body, Harris quietly left the room.
She closed the door behind her, and he lay there, motionless, as tears began to trickle silently down his cheeks. They soaked his pillow, unnoticed by anyone.