Into the Light (The Light #1)(9)

Jacob was part of this, part of some assembly. What does that mean? And how can she threaten me but say that the decision is his?

For the first time since the room cleared the night before, Jacob gathered my hand in his. “Sara, can you hear me?”

I squeezed his hand once.

“You won’t be alone. Sister Lilith is here. I’ll contact Dr. Newton and tell him not to examine you until I return. Do you understand?”

I squeezed his hand.

“I’m also going to call Brother Luke. I believe he’ll allow Sister Elizabeth to come and sit with you. Above all, you must rest your vocal cords.” His tone turned more empathic. “No matter what anyone says, it’s important that you don’t speak. It doesn’t matter who it is. As your husband, I forbid speaking. Is that clear?”

Though his demand seemed archaic, there was something more in Jacob’s voice than a dictatorial directive. Strategically hidden between the words was a warning, one I planned to heed. He wasn’t so much restricting my speech as he was talking about whom I could trust. Could this be the reason for my accident? Were these people dangerous? My questions continued as I squeezed his hand.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, and then we’ll learn what Dr. Newton has to say.”

I had the distinct feeling that there was no love lost between Sister Lilith and my husband. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t care much for her either. Yet, for some reason, I felt differently about the Elizabeth he’d mentioned. There was something about her name that felt warm.

With a cursory squeeze of my hand, Jacob was gone.

As Sister Lilith moved across the room, the click of her shoes was different from Jacob’s or even Sister Raquel’s. After hearing her take a few more steps, I decided she was wearing high heels. Resting quietly against the pillow, I hoped again that this was just some long nightmare; however, it wasn’t. With each passing moment it became more obvious why I’d blocked my memories of this life. It was simply too bizarre.

Sister Lilith’s footsteps stopped as someone new entered the room.

“Good morning, Sister Sara.”

I recognized Raquel’s voice, and my cheeks rose. Finally I was being addressed directly.

While Sister Raquel moved the bedsheets, she spoke with Sister Lilith. The more I listened, the more I liked Raquel. She was respectful of whatever power Brother Timothy’s wife held, yet at the same time she was efficient with her job, explaining her duties and what we’d be doing for the next thirty or so minutes. According to the conversations I’d overheard, I’d been unconscious for nearly a week. With my second day of consciousness, I wanted to move—but mostly I was thrilled to learn I’d be able to shower. Politely, Sister Raquel asked Sister Lilith to step into the hall. The awkward silence that followed had me picturing some sort of standoff. I don’t know if that really happened, but thankfully, the door finally opened and closed and Raquel sighed.

Every part of my body ached from my injuries, inactivity, and lack of nutrients. Sister Raquel’s voice reassured me as she talked me through each task. Before I could leave the bed, there were tubes to be removed. I had no idea what they were giving me through the IV. Jacob said it fed me, but I suspected it was delivering medication too. Once I was unattached, Sister Raquel urged me to the edge of the bed. Even sitting on my own took effort.

“Don’t put any weight on your bad leg. Eventually you’ll have a walking cast. This isn’t it. We’ll use a wheelchair to get you around for now.”

She directed me to move from the bed to the chair and then rolled me to what I assumed was a bathroom. Without strength or sight, I was totally at her mercy. Throughout her instructions, she asked if I was all right or comfortable. Remembering Jacob’s warning, I only moved my head. The first time I did, I expected the throbbing from the day before, but it didn’t return. Maybe I was healing.

Now if only my memories would come back.

Sister Raquel removed something that felt like tape from my side, explaining that I had at least one broken rib. Then she fashioned some kind of covering for my cast that fastened tightly on my upper thigh. As she secured the material, I envisioned plastic wrap surrounding my leg. To prevent my leg from bearing weight, she directed my hand to a handle above my head. I guessed it was suspended from the ceiling. Holding tight, I was supposed to navigate on my one good leg; however, my underused muscles rebelled, cramping with each exhausting step.

I began to wonder if it was worth the effort until I sat on a plastic bench, she turned on the shower, and warm water rained upon my skin and hair. The clean scent of soap and shampoo filled my senses, washing away the musty remains of the hospital bed and tubes. Without thinking about the consequences, I opened my lips, filling my mouth with the water that continued to rain.

“Not too much, Sara; it wouldn’t be good for you,” Sister Raquel whispered, reminding me of the Commission’s decree.

After I rinsed off, she helped me out of the shower and dried my skin. She wrapped me in a soft robe as droplets of water continued to fall from my hair, and she said, “Your hair is quite pretty.”

I contemplated her comment and realized I couldn’t picture my own hair. By the way it clung to my back, I knew it was long, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t envision the color.

Would I even know my own reflection? I was lost in thoughts of other things I’d forgotten when Raquel helped me into the wheelchair, handed me a toothbrush, and directed my hand toward a cup of water. Unsure what to do with the water, I hesitated, not knowing if it was a test, or if she wanted me to drink.