~ A Matter Of Blood ~

by

Jeannine Van Eperen

Several days went by and the patient in room four fifteen slept on. His vital signs improved and wounds were healing, but thus far, he remained unnamed. Lydia Murley checked in each day.

“I think you’ve got a crush on the guy,” Eugene Harlow said as he stopped in the hospital and saw her standing beside the bed looking down at the John Doe.

Lydia smiled a greeting. “Maybe. I’m beginning to think he’ll never wake up.”

“Don’t think that,” Gene said quickly. “So far, no one at the hotel knows who he is or why he was there, and there’s been no missing persons for anyone of his description.” Gene stuffed his hands into his suit coat pockets. He felt the urge to touch the woman, wanted to feel her skin against his hands, so he retreated, kept his hands out-of-sight, and forced his concentration onto the unnamed lad. “The boy couldn’t have just fallen to earth from another planet.”

“Maybe he did.” Lydia’s green eyes flashed flirtatiously and her lips curved in a way that tugged at Gene’s heart. More seriously, she said, “Thanks for suggesting the police department. They hired me.”

“Well, that’s great.” Gene’s heart gave an unfamiliar lurch. No woman had affected him like she did in a long time. He walked over to the window, looked out then turned back. Yes, he sure liked her looks, and guts. It took guts to do what she did, step in and save a stranger’s life. He hoped she would be assigned in his building. “Do you know where you’ll be assigned?”

“Not sure. I have to check with them later.” She took a seat in the chair next to the young man’s bed. “I’ll start in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“Yeah, I need that time to get back to Joliet and then bring my belongings back to Chicago. I’ve found a small apartment, too. Rents reasonable, too high, but reasonable.” Lydia gave a small, resigned shrug. “Near Northside. I’m told is what the location is. Bus connections, the el, all about a half a block. Real convenient, I guess, for wherever they send me.”

“Good. Now if I could just get that kid to gain consciousness,” Eugene said. “Hey, wake up,” Gene ordered in a booming voice.

The young man in the bed stirred, and murmured something.

“Maybe that’s what we’ve got to do, tell him to wake up,” Lydia said, brightening.

“Rise and shine. Time to get up,” Gene said again in a voice that would make a drill sergeant proud.

“Wha-what?”

“I said it’s time you woke up.”

A loud sigh emitted from the young nameless man. “It’s mornin’?” he slurred.

“It’s a lovely morning,” Lydia said, rising from the chair and going to stand beside the bed. She grinned as the young man blinked his eyes and yawned. She turned toward Eugene. “Go tell the nurse.”

The youth was silent for a while then said, “I feel like hell.”

Lydia laughed. “I don’t doubt it.”

“What happened?”

“That’s what I’d like you to tell me,” Eugene said, as he returned. “I’m Detective Eugene Harlow.”

“Police? Was I in an accident?”

“I don’t think so.”

 Dr. Simon soon entered the room followed by a nurse.

“So you decided to join the land of the living. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“More general, if you can. Head ache?”

The patient ignored the question. “I’m thirsty.” His voice sounded dry and raspy as he mumbled his need.

The middle-aged nurse glanced at the doctor as she filled a glass with water. At his nod she placed a straw in the glass and brought it to the young man’s mouth. He took a sip.

“Oh, good,” he whispered then drank some more.

“So what’s your name, young fella?” the doctor asked.

“My name,” he stopped. He frowned. He blinked his blue eyes, then shook his head. “I know I’ve got one.” He sipped more water and appeared more alert.

“Do you know what city you’re in?”

He brought his hand up to his forehead, and seemed to notice the tube entering his hand for the first time, concentrating on his hand. Gene had thought the boy had forgotten the doctor’s question, when the lad murmured, “The Warsaw Concerto.” He glanced up at the physician. “Warsaw?”

“No. Not even close.” Dr. Simon grinned and glanced at Eugene and Lydia. “You play music, an instrument?” the doctor asked, recognizing the title, “The Warsaw Concerto.”

The lad nodded. “I dunno. I think I do.” He looked at his hands. “The piano, maybe?” He looked up at the physician, his brows drawn into a frown of concern. “Who am I?”

The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know. We were hoping you could tell us. Maybe later you will.”

The young man nodded. He blinked his eyes and looked like he was about to pass out or go back to sleep.

“You just rest.” The physician put his hand on the lad’s shoulder comfortingly. “Nurse Wheatly will bring in some food. You’ll probably be up and around in a day or two.”

“But-- But where will I go?”

“We’ll find out,” Lydia and Eugene said in unison.

“I must o’ been in an accident, if cops are here. Wasn’t anyone with me? Did ya look in my wallet?”

“You have a wallet?” Eugene asked.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Well, someone took it.”

“Oh.” He digested that information for a moment. “I was mugged.”