“Oh, appendix?”
“Yes, yes, appendix. Anyway, it made her very sick and she almost died. I was very upset, because we are not married, and in Japan you cannot see people that are almost dying in the hospital unless you are married.”
Isn’t it the same in America? Although, someone as rich and important as Junri should have been able to weasel her way in, anyway. We do it all the time back home. Oh, not allowed to see a patient because we’re not related? Didn’t they know we / my father / I was responsible for so much of the funding in this establishment? Exactly.
“Mr. Mathers is probably okay, but we will find him.”
“If he is okay and had the power to contact me, you’ll have to call the police on me.” I joke, but God fucking hell!
My companion nods. “I know that feeling well.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence. A silence that rips me apart because it means my phone never rings or buzzes with good news. Or bad, for that matter. No news at all. At this point I’d even take the bad.
Chapter 7
IAN
I wake up again a couple hours later. I wish I hadn’t, because my headache is insane and my stomach feels like someone punched it a hundred times over.
I’m alone. What scares me more is that my senses return strong enough for me to recognize a hospital room. A private one, with some Japanese movie playing on a TV in the corner. A single vase of daisies is on my bedside, but other than that, the only personal touch to my current predicament is my bag of clothing on the bottom shelf of the closet.
Fuck me. What the hell happened?
I don’t have the strength to panic, but I have enough to push the call button for the nurse.
One shows up almost immediately. Petite, no makeup, her only interest in the world is apparently the fact that I’m awake. Naturally, she does not speak English, and even if I could speak Japanese, it’s not coming out of my muted mouth right now.
Since I’m not freaking the fuck out (externally, anyway,) she checks my vitals. She then says something in Japanese. I don’t care how soft-spoken and reassuring she sounds when I don’t know what she’s saying. When she leaves, she says, “Doctor.”
Five minutes later I’m greeted by a genial doctor who does the same round as the nurse accompanying him. The only difference, besides his gender, is the fact he can speak some English. “Good evening, Mr. Mathers,” he says. “Good to see you awake. I’m Dr. Iwamoto. I’m not your primary doctor who’s been treating you, but he isn’t here, nor does he speak English. So, you have to talk to me.”
“What…” That’s the only thing I can utter. My voice must sound like dust rolling across Death Valley, for the nurse brings over a cup of water and helps get the straw in my mouth. Sucking shouldn’t be this hard.
“Fish allergy.” The doctor goes through my chart while he speaks. “Says here you had a particularly nasty reaction to something you ate last night. Not food poisoning. If you had that on top of the allergic reaction, you’d probably be dead.”
Thanks, Doc. “I don’t…” The water is taking a long time to make things work in my mouth. “I don’t have fish allergies.” I’m allergic to very few foods, and the ones I am allergic to only cause mild intestinal distress. Nothing like this.
“You may have never had this fish before. Very rare. Very expensive. The man who brought you in said you went to one of the few places in the city you can get this fish.”
Still calling bullshit, because I’ve been rich enough my whole life to have the rarest shit wherever I go. Don’t even have to ask for it, like last night, but I guess it’s possible coincidence kept me away from this deadly stink. I did have sushi, didn’t I? Fuck.
“You’re going to be all right, Mr. Mathers. We want to keep you for a couple more days until you get your strength back and so we can observe you and make sure you don’t have a secondary reaction. We’ve already cleared your insurance and can inform anyone you want.”
Kathryn! Oh my God, where’s my girlfriend?
“My girlfriend,” I say. “Where is she? Has she been here?”
It doesn’t even cross my mind that she doesn’t know. She’s probably been worried sick out in the waiting room. Can I see her now?
“Who?” the doctor asks. He turns to the nurse and asks her something in Japanese. She shakes her head. “She says nobody has come to visit you.”
What? Kathryn should be living here, whether I like it or not.
“Kathryn. Where is she?”
“Who is Kyasarin?”
Talking is using up a lot of energy I don’t have. Odds are I haven’t consumed any sustenance in a while so they could totally flush my system. I can already smell the soup coming my direction. A part of me is ready to devour it, while the other part wants to throw up and go back to sleep.