Mirror Image

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sp; * * *

He was there when she woke up again. Minutes, hours, days could have elapsed for all she knew. Since time had no relevance in an intensive care unit, her disorientation was augmented further.

The moment she opened her eye, he leaned over her and said, “Hi.”

It was nerve-racking, not being able to see him clearly. Only one of her eyes would open. She realized now that her head was swathed in bandages and that’s why she couldn’t move it. As the doctor had warned her, she couldn’t speak. The lower portion of her face seemed to have solidified.

“Can you understand me, Carole? Do you know where you are? Blink if you can understand me.”

She blinked.

He made a motion with his hand. She thought he raked it through his hair, but she couldn’t be certain. “Good,” he said with a sigh. “They said you shouldn’t be upset by anything, but knowing you, you’ll want all the facts. Am I right?”

She blinked.

“Do you remember boarding the airplane? It was the day before yesterday. You and Mandy were going to shop in Dallas for a few days. Do you remember the crash?”

She tried desperately to convey to him that she wasn’t Carole and didn’t know who Mandy was, but she blinked in response to his question about the crash.

“Only fourteen of you survived.”

She didn’t realize that her eye was shedding tears until he used a tissue to blot them away. His touch was gentle for a man with such strong-looking hands.

“Somehow—God knows how—you were able to get out of the burning wreckage with Mandy. Do you remember that?”

She didn’t blink.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. However you managed it, you saved her life. She’s upset and frightened, naturally. I’m afraid her injuries are more emotional than physical, and therefore harder to deal with. Her broken arm has been set. No permanent damage was done. She won’t even need skin grafts for the burns. You,” and here he gave her a penetrating stare, “you protected her with your own body.”

She didn’t comprehend his stare, but it was almost as though he doubted the facts as he knew them. He was the first to break the stare and continue with his explanation.

“The NTSB’s investigating. They found the black recorder box. Everything seemed normal, then one of the engines just blew up. That ignited the fuel. The plane became a fireball. But before the fuselage was completely engulfed in flames, you managed to get out through an emergency exit onto the wing, carrying Mandy with you.

“One of the other survivors said he saw you struggling to unlatch her seat belt. He said the three of you found your way to the door through the smoke. Your face was already covered with blood, he said, so the injuries to it must have happened on impact.”

She remembered none of these details. All she recalled was the terror of thinking she was going to die the suffocating death of smoke inhalation, if she didn’t burn to death first. He was giving her credit for operating courageously during a disaster. All she had done was react to every living creature’s survival instinct.

Perhaps the memories of the tragedy would unfold gradually. Perhaps they never would. She wasn’t certain she wanted to remember. Reliving those terrifying minutes following the crash would be like experiencing hell again.

If only fourteen passengers had survived, then scores had died. That she had survived perplexed her. By a twist of fate, she had been selected to live, and she would never know why.

Her vision grew blurry and she realized that she was crying again. Wordlessly, he applied the tissue to her exposed eye. “They tested your blood for gases and decided to put you on a respirator. You’ve got a concussion, but there was no serious head injury. You broke your right tibia when you jumped from the wing.

“Your hands are bandaged and in splints because of burns. Thank God, though, that all your injuries, except for the smoke inhalation, were external.

“I know you’re concerned about your face,” he said uneasily. “I won’t bullshit you, Carole. I know you don’t want me to.”

She blinked. He paused, gazing down at her with uncertainty. “Your face sustained serious damage. I’ve retained the best plastic surgeon in the state. He specializes in reconstructive surgery on accident and trauma victims just like you.”

Her eye was blinking furiously now, not with understanding, but with anxiety. Feminine vanity had asserted itself, even though she was lying flat on her back in a hospital ICU, lucky to be alive. She wanted to know just how badly her face had been damaged. Reconstructive surgery sounded ominous.

“Your nose was broken. So was one cheekbone. The other cheekbone was pulverized. That’s why your eye is bandaged. There’s nothing there to support it.”

She made a small sound of pure terror. “No, you didn’t lose your eye. That’s a blessing. Your upper jawbone was also broken. But this surgeon can repair it—all of it. Your hair will grow back. You’ll have dental implants that will look exactly like your front teeth.”

She had no teeth and no hair.