This story will not make sense unless you read "A Matter of Time."

A Matter of Course

By: cultureandseptember

Prologue

"History takes time. History takes memory."- Gertrude Stein (1932)

They thought I was asleep. I wasn't. While they stood off to the side in that quiet hospital room, I could hear their muttered and whispered words clear as day. It wasn't hard. At that time of night, well past midnight (I assumed), this particular wing of the hospital was quiet and subdued. Quiet hours. One of the voices I recognized as my mother's alto, whispering so that she wouldn't wake me. I tried not to shift in bed, though my lower back and my tailbone were aching terribly. How long had I been unconscious? Even if I wanted to, I couldn't find the strength to move. Instead, I just listened.

"—nothing about brain injuries can be predicted, Mrs. Daniels. Each and every case is unique. In her case, the damage was grave. The swelling was enough to put significant pressure on the brain, particularly hippocampus and the occipital lobe. The length of her coma has been worrisome, but now that she is awakening, it seems that those woods have passed. Now, it's just the potential amnesia and blindness. Retrograde and anterograde—"

"Amnesia?" My mother's worried tone made me a little anxious. "Frankly, Dr. Wilder, amnesia was the only bit that I actually understood. And that much is worrying. I'm a baker, not a neurologist. Can you put it a bit more…simply?" I couldn't help but to agree with her. The man was talking circles around me. The medical terminology was completely unnecessary at this time of night. Who was he trying to impress?

"Retrograde amnesia is the loss of events that happened before the trauma. Anterograde amnesia is the loss of short-term memory." I wanted terribly to bite my lip and then try to argue with him. I wanted to tell him that my memories were still very much intact. After all, wasn't amnesia something that only happened in Hollywood? No, it happened to everyday people. That was a stupid notion on my part. I knew my name though: Michelle Daniels. My age: twenty-four. My job: professor at Highlands Community College. Easy enough. "It's possible that she may not remember what happened to cause her injuries."

My injuries?

Right, I had to be in the hospital for a reason.

My mind whirled around all the possibilities. He said that I was in a coma. Said that there was trauma. If the soreness of my body was any indication, then I had probably been in some kind of terrible car accident. Maybe on I-70? That was always a dangerous road. Speed demons on straight-lines. Still, something didn't feel quite right.

An uneasy feeling welled in my gut.

Something was not right, but I couldn't figure out what it was.

What was it?

"—concussive force that was exerted on the brain and skull was enough to bruise the brain and cause swelling. That swelling could have an adverse effect on her cognition. It was the blow to the back of the head that caused the most damage. Our theory is that the IED sent her flying backward and she struck her head on the ground, on something hard. All of her injuries, save for the previous bruising and the foot injury, appear to be from a blast. That includes the shrapnel wounds."

A blast? My heart began to beat a little faster, thundering in my ears. He said something about IEDs. Was I in some sort of attack? How could something like that happen? My body shifted without much thought and I felt a strange fullness in my throat. Something was wrong. All of this was wrong. Why couldn't I open my eyes? I had to open my eyes.

I needed to open my eyes.

I needed to remember.

Panicking, I forced myself to make a sound. It was guttural because the dryness and fullness in my throat was preventing me from saying anything. What I really wanted though was my Momma and an explanation. An explanation for why I felt like throwing up and why my head was hurting.

Why I felt like something was missing, that something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

"D-Doc!"

Was that— Corey's voice? My brother.

I could remember that.

Or was it someone else?

No, maybe it was someone else.

I could think of a lot names.

Many names mixed in my mind.

Corey. Alfred. Matt. John. Corey.

Yes, Corey.

Who—

"M-Michelle! Michelle?" Someone grabbed my hand and his fingers were ice cold. I jolted at the feel of it. I wanted to just tell them that I had been awake for a while. At least, I thought I had been awake for a while. I couldn't quite remember when I had awoken. Not too long ago, probably. Or some time ago. What did it really matter anyway? "Can you grip my hand?" Wasn't I already gripping his hand? It was icy. Cold. His hands were really cold. "Squeeze as hard as you can, Michelle."

I could do that. Simple enough, right?

My hand felt just as fatigued as the rest of my body and I felt like crying for a moment when I realized that I couldn't apply as much pressure as I wanted to. I wanted to grip his finger so hard that he would exclaim in surprise. Maybe if I did that then I could prove that I was alright, that there was really nothing wrong with me. All I managed was a weak pulse of my thumb inward. It was enough, though. Enough to get his attention.

"She's been showing signs for days, but, my God, she's waking up." The cold hand gripped my own and I felt something around my wrist. It was strange, restrictive. I couldn't move. Brows pulling together, I tried the other hand and it wouldn't budge. Something was wrapped around it as well. "You're restrained. We needed to keep you still. Those have to stay on."

I felt myself fade for a second, almost like I was about to fall asleep again. The sounds tunneled and then went silent before they surged back again. It was a strange feeling, like being submerged under water and then jerked out again. Somewhere in the darkness, I heard Momma's voice calling me. She had my other hand. I knew she did. I knew the way she held hands, as if the hand she was holding were the most important thing in the world. She was making sure I didn't break. That's my mother. Yeah, I could remember that.

"What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

My name? Shouldn't they have it on a chart? Seemed like a complete waste of time to ask me something so obvious. The voice that spoke felt higher-pitched than I was expecting. I wondered if it was even my voice. Yet I could feel the pain in my throat. No breathing tube, I noted vaguely. That meant that I was in a stable coma at the very least. It seemed strange though, really strange. What did I know? Not like I was a doctor anyway. "M-Michelle."

"Last name?"

I thought for a moment. I knew it a few moments ago. It was easy enough then.

Panic tore through me and I felt heat behind my closed eyes. No, I just had to think about it. I had to keep calm and think about it. Momma's name was Denise. Denise Cavanagh. No, that was her maiden name. Corey, my brother. The Marine. Yes, he was a Marine! I could remember that. Daniela? No, that wasn't right. Don…Donna. My sister. Alfred. My brother, right? Yes, I remembered that, too. Last name—My last name. Was it something with a D or a J? I felt my panic rising again. Why didn't know for sure? Then, it struck me. "J-Jones?"

There was a moment of silence and I knew I had gotten it wrong.

My last name wasn't Jones. It was something else.

I just needed a minute, a moment to think. I hated being wrong. I hated not knowing. I hated this. Who…What's my last name? That meant that I really did have some kind of amnesia. It meant that I couldn't remember things. Fear made me shift a little in bed and I struggled to keep my emotions under control. A whimper escaped me though and I felt Momma tighten her hold on my hand. My…My whole life was built on remembering things. Remembering facts and…knowing memories.

How could I not remember my own last name?

Frustrated, I tightened my fingers around both hands.

"It's alright, Michelle. It's alright. This is normal. You'll probably remember soon."

'Probably' wasn't good enough.

"Daniels," I said without thought.

That was my last name: Daniels. Michelle Daniels.

"Good, good." The doctor was likely smiling at me, but I couldn't seem to open my eyes yet. It was just too much, too much effort. My head was still hurting. "We'll slowly start getting you up, Michelle. For now, just rest for the rest of the night. We'll see about waking you up tomorrow." I couldn't find the energy to argue with him. What would arguing do anyway? Nothing. Best to just keep my mouth shut and do whatever the doctor ordered.

Still, I couldn't help but to feel like I was missing something.

If they asked me any more questions, I was going to scream. Every day it was a thunderous roar of inquiries and memory puzzles. They would show me headlines from various events to see if they could pinpoint when my memory ended. At first, I had lost was four years. I couldn't even remember getting my doctorate for a week. Then, I remembered it. Just out of the blue, I remembered writing my dissertation and getting hooded at the ceremony. I remembered a conversation with Corey the night before. He was deployed the next day. And I was showing remarkable progress from then on out. I would give them and myself that much credit at least.

Four weeks had passed since I awoke from my coma. Each day was a trial in and of itself. I could remember teaching. My family. Living in Missouri. All of my years in school. I could remember all of my motor skills—reading, writing, walking, speaking. I could remember flashes and snippets of memories from the two years I was missing, but nothing definitive. My short-term recall was not excellent though and they were always quick to test me. Some were keener than others.

"What's my name?"

Rolling my eyes, I set to crumbling up a sheet of paper. When I was done, I tossed it half-heartedly at his head. He batted it away, looking after it as it rolled under my bed. "William Corey Daniels. You go by Corey." How many times did I have to repeat that? "I haven't forgotten everything. Besides, that's long term."

"Humor us, Shell. You're skull was practically shattered. You're pretty freakin' lucky to be alive." I twitched at the nickname, but I couldn't quite figure out why. My brother noticed though and his brown eyes narrowed dangerously. I knew that look. Sighing, I just sat my head on the pillow and waited for the onslaught. "You don't remember any of it, huh? None of it? You were gone for two whole years, Shelly. You gotta remember some of it at least."

"Corey," I sighed. Of my family members, Corey pushed me the most. Often he would wait until he was the only one with me, so that he could ask his questions unimpeded. It had him anxious, I could tell. "I know this freaks you out, but…I don't remember." I looked over at him, staring for a few long moments at his t-shirt. It was a deep forest green and 'ARMY' was written across the front in bold black letters. A strange feeling rippled through me, but I ignored it. "Is Alfred coming by today?"

His brows rose and I knew that I had said something wrong. I just didn't know what. It seemed like a perfectly logical question. "Who's Alfred, huh?" My eyes went wide, but I couldn't answer his question. "You've mentioned him, like, ten times since you woke up. Every time, you've asked if he's comin' to see you. Who is he?" I stared at him for a few moments and tried to puzzle out the answer myself. Just when I started to open my mouth, Corey cut me off. "I don't know an Alfred, Shelly. And I know most of your friends because of Facebook."

Unease worked itself into my chest. I gave a cautionary glance toward the monitor, watching as the heart rate sped up by twenty. Why was my heart beating so fast? Why did I feel so panicked? That kind of fear and uncertainty seemed par for the course that I had been enduring though. It was just constant fear. It was constant confusion. I had lost two and a half years of my life. To know things, but not to be conscious of them. It made me so utterly terrified that I could do nothing but stare at the wall.

"I don't know, Corey." I closed my eyes and squeezed them shut, feeling distant and lonesome in that hospital bed. "I don't know and it's…it's scary. It's weird. I—I don't know what to do. There're these things in my head that I know…I just…I can't place them with anything. Names, people, places. I'm really confused. Like all of it is there, but I can't get in. I can't remember it."

He sighed and I could hear him stand from the chair because it screeched as his weight was lifted. "And that's okay, right? It's okay not to know." I opened my eyes when his hand slid into mine. I watched him carefully, knowing that it was taking a lot of self-control for him to keep calm. "You're luckier than some, Shelly. Some people don't remember their whole lives. Or they don't remember how to walk or talk or other stuff. I've had buddies who came home from war who don't remember anything. You've got all that. So you don't remember whatever bad shit happened to you over the past couple years? Maybe that's not such a bad thing."

Yet he was the one asking me questions every five minutes. Not to mention the men in suits that came by every couple of hours.

"I can't answer their questions though," I responded. "The investigators will never know what happened to me. You won't know. I won't know. No one knows. I know it's killing you not to know."

"Which may or may not be a good thing because…Once I find out what those jackasses did to you, I'm gonna track them down and—" He cut himself off when I flinched, eyes going wide—which probably seemed to be a violent reaction. He heaved a breath and ran a hand through his buzzed hair. "It's not as bad as it could be. That's the short of it."

My head shook, "No. I feel like this—is pretty bad. It feels bad. Corey, I don't feel like the same person. I feel like I'm half of what I was, who I was. Whoever that was. It's not right, but I don't know why it's not right. I'm not right."

There was no real way I could describe it. I doubted I could ever describe it. I felt like I was a foreign body, like I didn't belong even amongst even my own family. Even if I could remember them, the facts were always messed up and different from what I thought I remembered. Often, I was so certain of the answers only to find that they were wrong, and wrong, and wrong. Each time, I felt more and more disconnected and even more frightened and utterly confused.

"What branch of the military am I in?"

"Marines," I would respond without a doubt.

"I'm—I'm in the Army." Corey would give me a concerned look before moving onto the next question. "What branch of the military is Jessie in?"

Jessie. Jessie. Johnny.

Jessie, Corey's best friend.

"Jessie? But…" Confusion. More confusion. Did the confusion never stop? Shouldn't that have been past tense. "Jessie died…in combat. Iraq. Marines, just like you."

Now everyone in the room looked disturbed. Momma reached forward and took my hand, her head shaking just a bit. There was a comforting smile on her face, but I could see it there. She was terrified. I was her daughter, but her daughter would never forget something like that. I would never forget Jessie. How could I? "Honey, Jessie's in the Air Force. He's getting his Masters in psychology right now. He reenters the service next year."

That wasn't right though.

Red, white, and blue. Ready. Aim. Fire. A jolt.

It didn't feel right, but who was I to contest it? So, I merely nodded my head in acceptance.

"Do you remember—"

"Who was—"

"What kind—"

"When was—"

"Who was—"

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

I don't know.

Author's Section:

Welcome! This is the sequel to "A Matter of Time." I was so overwhelmed with the wonderful feedback and reviews on my first story. I will forever appreciate that support. I know that many have followed and favorited me over the past few weeks and I cannot thank you enough. I hope that you enjoy this story as well.

So, as I am sure you caught in the description, this will be a globe fic. That does not mean that I will be following the trope conventions. I'm actively trying to work against the ideas that are set up within that genre. I have a thing for breaking convention. It should be a blast (pardon the pun). Suffice to say, there will be a globe and it will be a part of the story. As for what part it will play, that remains to be seen. (There might be a few clues in "A Matter of Time.") I set this up so it wouldn't seem to come from left field. This has been part of the plan since I started writing my first story and I hope that this will be well-received. Give me a chance here and I hope not to disappoint.

Needless to say that there will be history in this. I can't give away anything more than that. It will all be historically accurate. The topics covered will have the potential to be dark, but at the same time history can be funny as well.

Finally, romance. I will say again that romance is not my goal with this OC, but there is the potential for it. If it happens, it will happen organically and without my specific pushing for a certain pairing. And it will certainly not be a main focus of the story. It will be interesting to see what happens.

Thank you! Please leave reviews/feedback/cookies. All the best!