The Resurrection of Andy Malone: Day 1, 3:14 PM
Today, Andy was finally preparing to get out of the hospital. His previously broken fingers were still sore and the side where he'd broken his ribs still ached, but his organ function tests came out perfectly. His mother had, of course, insisted on checking them herself. His father- who had relented in returning to the hospital and refrained from calling him a deamon- grew frustrated with her insistence. "They're saying he can go, love. Don't you want him out of here?" She'd ignored him, scrolling through every test he'd had since he was admitted, humming and nodding at every result. She'd seen most of them before, but he wasn't going to be in her watchful care for long. Eirin had relented to letting her long-thought-dead son fly halfway across the globe from her, because it was the only home he'd ever known. Because Bathurst, Australia, was unfamiliar and held nothing but a reminder that everything in his life had changed. And Bathurst, Australia, was a reminder of the beach with the same name across the country that he'd washed up on.
He didn't like thinking about the coincidence. Everything about his return had made him feel uneasy. It wasn't just the 25 year memory gap- though that would be enough for anyone to lose their shit. The injuries that mimicked every injury he remembered getting. The scruff of a beard that hadn't been growing uncontrollably for two decades. And the nightmares. Every night, the swirling darkness enveloped him, and up until the day he'd first seen his brother, they consumed his dreaming mind. It wasn't that they went away, but more that they were broken up by timidly growing flashes of light, color, and shape. They slowly evolved into pictures, and now Andy even saw scenes playing, with voices. The swirling darkness still dominated his sleep, and if he woke up directly from that all consuming, nauseating, terrifying blackness, it was because the heart monitor had started it's blaring alarm. But if his subconscious managed to drag him out of it into something else before, his heart never entered that realm of sheer panic.
Of course, in the review of his chart his mother had noted these irregularities. She'd discussed them at length with the attending physician who'd been closely monitoring his case. The doctor had assured Eirin that it wasn't anything to worry about, that it was just lingering anxiety about his situation and wasn't at all a physical concern. She'd been at least outwardly skeptical, but the fact that it had been Mike who convinced her to let it go showed she wasn't really concerned enough to make him stay. The attending had smiled with a sense of satisfaction that, for some reason, really annoyed Andy. Since he'd first spoken this woman always made him feel like a project, and if she could convince his doctor mother that he was well, it was like... she'd aced it.
It was the head shrinkers that swooped in trying to stop the discharge. They said, "It's apparent that he's still suffering major psychological trauma from his ordeal. The amnesia is most likely a result of mental- not physical- trauma." His mother had listened politely, nodding in all the right places, even shushing her antsy husband so she could hear. She'd asked questions about their recommendations for his care, and Andy new his mother well enough to see that this was where she was going to get them. Eirin could "doctor" her way out of just about anything, if she really wanted to. And she was so incredibly determined to get him out of this cold, sterile place she didn't care what she had to do- or who she had to talk down to- to get what she wanted. It was a trait she begrudgingly inherited from her judgy Irish mammy. The psychiatrist's proposed plan of care was intensive therapy, anti-anxiety medication, and functional MRIs to try and locate the exact part of his brain that was activating when he tried to remember. To Andy's untrained ear, it sounded logical. It sounded like it was almost going to work to convince his parents to allow him to stay.
Except Eirin very succinctly asked if there were not facilities to conduct those kinds of tests outside this hospital. They didn't even get a chance to answer her question before she nodded with her decision. "Thank you for your concern for my son, but we can make arrangements for his psychological care with a doctor in London. Andy hasn't been home in 25 years. He deserves that more than you deserve your case study." She was sharp in a way that made Mike smile. Hell, Andy was grinning by the time she was done.
He did desperately want to be out of the hospital. It would be about three weeks before he could actually fly back to London. His father had spent his time talking with lawyers, trying to somehow legally make his son alive again. Andy had no identification, so he had no way to even get on a plane. Mike refused to make the multi-day drive back to their home in Bathurst, so his mother had arranged a long-term rental for the three of them. The only request Andy had made was that it didn't look out onto the water. Whatever peace his brother had made with the ocean and their shared trauma from that Boxing Day, Andy was not there yet. Eirin had offered to find a place big enough for Matt to fly out his family, but he'd declined. His brother had looked and sounded absolutely exhausted when he said he just wanted to get back to his kids. "I'll fly them out to London when he gets settled. But right now it's all just... too much."
Andy still didn't understand everything about the man his brother had become. There were still secrets Matt was keeping and Andy didn't have the energy to pry. Any time he'd tried, he'd been met with an angry snap that sounded just like their father. The one time Andy had mentioned that, Matt shut down even harder. They had managed to get through their days with pleasant, at times even enjoyable normalcy. They would joke and laugh and Matt would tell stories about some ridiculous thing that had happened while his band was on tour, or while he was house-sitting with his dog, or while his kids were playing. But Andy couldn't ask about Matt's life between his return home from Sri Lanka 25 years ago and his arrival in Los Angeles. In the early days of his family reunion, their father had insinuated some things that got his brother's ire up. After the day Eirin had made Mike spend getting lectured at by their youngest son, his father had kept his mouth shut. Whatever was said during that day was also something Andy didn't try to ask about. Their mother had told him, "Don't worry, your brother will tell you things in time. He's just adjusting." When he'd asked her how she had managed to adjust so easily, his mother had just smiled and squeezed his hand.
In this new reality they all existed in, Eirin was the only one that seemed to flow through it with ease. Everyone- from the doctors, to Matt and Mike, and especially Andy- fumbled around the world bumping into the edges of things that hadn't existed in the world they new before. His mother acted like she'd expected it. She never faltered. Even when he'd said he wanted to go back to London instead of live with her and his father, she'd accepted it calmly with only the faintest of motherly disappointment. Andy wanted that peace. He wanted that assuredness. He'd told himself that once he got back to London things would be easier, but he didn't really believe it. Twenty-five years had passed for him in the literal blink of an eye, that's not a discomfort that a few familiar buildings would erase. But he put on the clothes his mother had brought for him and walked out of the hospital on his own two legs and took in the fresh air with relieved, if shaky, lungs. He couldn't ask the world to wait for him- a fact it had already very clearly demonstrated.
In one of the more sober conversations he'd had with his brother, Andy had voiced his fears about facing everything outside those hospital walls. "You just take it one day at a time. It's all any of us can do." So when he got into his father's rental, he noted the time on the digital readout. The start of Day 1, 3:14 PM.
He didn't like thinking about the coincidence. Everything about his return had made him feel uneasy. It wasn't just the 25 year memory gap- though that would be enough for anyone to lose their shit. The injuries that mimicked every injury he remembered getting. The scruff of a beard that hadn't been growing uncontrollably for two decades. And the nightmares. Every night, the swirling darkness enveloped him, and up until the day he'd first seen his brother, they consumed his dreaming mind. It wasn't that they went away, but more that they were broken up by timidly growing flashes of light, color, and shape. They slowly evolved into pictures, and now Andy even saw scenes playing, with voices. The swirling darkness still dominated his sleep, and if he woke up directly from that all consuming, nauseating, terrifying blackness, it was because the heart monitor had started it's blaring alarm. But if his subconscious managed to drag him out of it into something else before, his heart never entered that realm of sheer panic.
Of course, in the review of his chart his mother had noted these irregularities. She'd discussed them at length with the attending physician who'd been closely monitoring his case. The doctor had assured Eirin that it wasn't anything to worry about, that it was just lingering anxiety about his situation and wasn't at all a physical concern. She'd been at least outwardly skeptical, but the fact that it had been Mike who convinced her to let it go showed she wasn't really concerned enough to make him stay. The attending had smiled with a sense of satisfaction that, for some reason, really annoyed Andy. Since he'd first spoken this woman always made him feel like a project, and if she could convince his doctor mother that he was well, it was like... she'd aced it.
It was the head shrinkers that swooped in trying to stop the discharge. They said, "It's apparent that he's still suffering major psychological trauma from his ordeal. The amnesia is most likely a result of mental- not physical- trauma." His mother had listened politely, nodding in all the right places, even shushing her antsy husband so she could hear. She'd asked questions about their recommendations for his care, and Andy new his mother well enough to see that this was where she was going to get them. Eirin could "doctor" her way out of just about anything, if she really wanted to. And she was so incredibly determined to get him out of this cold, sterile place she didn't care what she had to do- or who she had to talk down to- to get what she wanted. It was a trait she begrudgingly inherited from her judgy Irish mammy. The psychiatrist's proposed plan of care was intensive therapy, anti-anxiety medication, and functional MRIs to try and locate the exact part of his brain that was activating when he tried to remember. To Andy's untrained ear, it sounded logical. It sounded like it was almost going to work to convince his parents to allow him to stay.
Except Eirin very succinctly asked if there were not facilities to conduct those kinds of tests outside this hospital. They didn't even get a chance to answer her question before she nodded with her decision. "Thank you for your concern for my son, but we can make arrangements for his psychological care with a doctor in London. Andy hasn't been home in 25 years. He deserves that more than you deserve your case study." She was sharp in a way that made Mike smile. Hell, Andy was grinning by the time she was done.
He did desperately want to be out of the hospital. It would be about three weeks before he could actually fly back to London. His father had spent his time talking with lawyers, trying to somehow legally make his son alive again. Andy had no identification, so he had no way to even get on a plane. Mike refused to make the multi-day drive back to their home in Bathurst, so his mother had arranged a long-term rental for the three of them. The only request Andy had made was that it didn't look out onto the water. Whatever peace his brother had made with the ocean and their shared trauma from that Boxing Day, Andy was not there yet. Eirin had offered to find a place big enough for Matt to fly out his family, but he'd declined. His brother had looked and sounded absolutely exhausted when he said he just wanted to get back to his kids. "I'll fly them out to London when he gets settled. But right now it's all just... too much."
Andy still didn't understand everything about the man his brother had become. There were still secrets Matt was keeping and Andy didn't have the energy to pry. Any time he'd tried, he'd been met with an angry snap that sounded just like their father. The one time Andy had mentioned that, Matt shut down even harder. They had managed to get through their days with pleasant, at times even enjoyable normalcy. They would joke and laugh and Matt would tell stories about some ridiculous thing that had happened while his band was on tour, or while he was house-sitting with his dog, or while his kids were playing. But Andy couldn't ask about Matt's life between his return home from Sri Lanka 25 years ago and his arrival in Los Angeles. In the early days of his family reunion, their father had insinuated some things that got his brother's ire up. After the day Eirin had made Mike spend getting lectured at by their youngest son, his father had kept his mouth shut. Whatever was said during that day was also something Andy didn't try to ask about. Their mother had told him, "Don't worry, your brother will tell you things in time. He's just adjusting." When he'd asked her how she had managed to adjust so easily, his mother had just smiled and squeezed his hand.
In this new reality they all existed in, Eirin was the only one that seemed to flow through it with ease. Everyone- from the doctors, to Matt and Mike, and especially Andy- fumbled around the world bumping into the edges of things that hadn't existed in the world they new before. His mother acted like she'd expected it. She never faltered. Even when he'd said he wanted to go back to London instead of live with her and his father, she'd accepted it calmly with only the faintest of motherly disappointment. Andy wanted that peace. He wanted that assuredness. He'd told himself that once he got back to London things would be easier, but he didn't really believe it. Twenty-five years had passed for him in the literal blink of an eye, that's not a discomfort that a few familiar buildings would erase. But he put on the clothes his mother had brought for him and walked out of the hospital on his own two legs and took in the fresh air with relieved, if shaky, lungs. He couldn't ask the world to wait for him- a fact it had already very clearly demonstrated.
In one of the more sober conversations he'd had with his brother, Andy had voiced his fears about facing everything outside those hospital walls. "You just take it one day at a time. It's all any of us can do." So when he got into his father's rental, he noted the time on the digital readout. The start of Day 1, 3:14 PM.