What Happened To You

“Ah, you’re awake. Shhhh. No, don’t panic. Don’t panic.”

All you hear is “panic.” All you feel is pain. You try to scream but you can’t open your mouth.

“Yes, I gagged you, but only because you were calling out incoherently and it’s urgent that we both stay quiet. I’m whispering too, okay?”

You can hear the man’s voice, but you can’t see his face.

“If I peel the tape from your mouth, will you not scream or call out?”

You nod.

“Promise? Okay, here we go. Sorry, I know that hurt a bit.”

- Who are you? you ask. You are laying on a tile floor, in the dark. - Where am I? What’s going on?

“Keep your voice down! We can’t let them hear us.”

- What’s going on? you whisper.

“This … is going to take some explaining. What’s the last thing you remember?”

You think until something with hard edges emerges from the throbbing, swirling storm in your brain. - I was out watching a movie, you say quietly. - No, I was heading home after the movie. I got off the subway and started heading to the stairs.

“Okay. Anything else you remember?”

It hurts to think, but you probe again. – I got hit on my head from behind. Twice. … And then there was this bright light. ... And then ...

"You blacked out."

- And then ... I woke up here. Where is here? Why can't I see anything?

Now the panic in your voice is rising again.

“It’s okay, hush, it’s okay. You’re safe now. But we can't turn on the light.”

You wish you could see his face. You try turning your head toward the sound of his voice, then gasp from the punishing, throbbing stab to the back of your head.

“No, don’t try to move. You must have a severe concussion.”

- I need to know what happened to me.

“You were one of the lucky ones, friend.”

That seems ominous, and doubtful--and not an answer. You lick your parched lips and taste blood.

- Where are we?

“Shhh. We are still underground, in a small room, probably a supply closet—"

Your brain catches up. - What do you mean, still underground?

“We never left the station.”

You puzzle over this. Throb, throb, throb.

“I was also a passenger in your railcar. Just after we got off … there was a big explosion. The bright light you saw.”

You start to exclaim, then clamp your teeth shut to stay quiet.

“Apparently the explosion was in the first railcar—if we weren’t both at the back of the train we wouldn’t have made it. I think a lot of people didn’t.”

A moment of silence. A light is struggling to make it into your thoughts.

“It felt like the whole station might collapse. The platform was shaking, debris was flying around, chunks of plaster were falling. That must be what hit you.”

You take this in, then have the impulse to check yourself for more wounds. But you can’t. Your hand won’t move. Your hands, in fact, are bound, apparently with a necktie. – What the hell?

“Oh... I’m sorry about that. Let me explain. You were flat out on the platform, and I almost tripped over you after I exited the train. I couldn't just leave you lying there, bleeding, so I lifted you to your feet to help you get to safety. Suddenly you came to and started panicking, hitting me and scratching my face, trying to run back into the train. So I had to tie your hands and pick you up, or you wouldn’t have gotten away.”

- I don’t remember any of this.

“I’m not surprised. You passed out again after that.”

You consider this. You open your mouth to form a question, then close it again.

“I carried you toward the stairs – thank goodness you’re on the small side! – dodging debris, trying not to crash into anyone. People were running around, wounded, confused. It was crazy.”

Something is not quite right. Something. You reach into the mud and drag out a memory. – But the train was almost empty. It was late. I remember.

“Our railcar was almost empty. The front cars were packed. Something about a game just getting out, I think. In fact, that’s why I headed to the end of the train.”

His low voice, smooth and steady, takes on a slightly injured tone.

- Oh, you say. Then, softly, - Thank you for getting me to safety.

“My paramedic training kicked in. I felt responsible to do what I could, for one person at least.”

You move to wipe the sweat (blood?) from your forehead and realize that your hands are still bound. You moan.

“I’m so sorry. I lost track of — here, let me untie you.”

You feel him bending over where you lay on the floor. He is bigger than you imagined from his voice. You feel the warmth of his breath as he tugs at the necktie. It seems to be taking a long time, but that’s probably because it’s hard to see the knot in the dark.

 “There.”

 - Thanks. There is a long silence. Then you find yourself saying, - I’m thirsty.

 “I don’t think there’s anything to drink in here except cleaning solution.”

 - I’ll pass.

For the first time you are attuned to the smell in the room, a mix of bleach, dust and sweat. It is a smell that says you are in a space where people are welcome to enter, but not to remain. You are supposed to be on the other side of the door.

You stop breathing through your nose and try to ignore the Sahara in your mouth.

- So then you carried me to this—this room?

“Well, not right away. I started feeling dizzy, so I stopped to rest in a little alcove. But when I saw the guns—”

- Guns!

“Please, please, don’t make noise! They might hear us. I—I’ve been so scared.”

You take a deep breath, then another one. – Okay, you can tell me about the guns now.

“Anyone who could move was running up the platform toward the exit. But then about a dozen men with military gear and masks came down the platform, and they started shooting at anyone they could see.”

- Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t even imagine. You weren’t hit?

“No, I was crouched down low, and you were lying on the floor, so I guess they thought we were already dead. They ran right past us. But I was terrified one of them would shoot us anyway.”

You force yourself to take another deep breath, though it rattles in your lungs like broken glass. – So how did we get here?

“I noticed that there was a gap in the wall near me. Looked like a better hiding place—but getting there was a risk. I scooted on my stomach an inch at a time, dragging you along, until we could duck into the gap. My heart was beating so loud –“

- You could have just left me there. It would have been easier for you.

“I guess lucky for you I’m so stubborn. When I decide to go for something, I don't let anything stop me.”

- Lucky. Right.

“Anyway, it was a narrow passageway, leading to a door. The door to the room we’re in now. “

You look toward the door. - It's locked, right?”

“Yes, of course."

-- So we just need to wait here to be rescued?

"Yes. And hope that the terrorists don't find us first."

You can imagine it -- you can't stop imagining it -- the door crashing open, men in masks pointing guns, nowhere to hide. An electric buzz jolts through your system. You recognize it as fear.

Now you understand the imperative of staying quiet.

You start talking—very sotto voce—because talking pushes back the buzzing. -So, let me see if I understand what happened. We survived an explosion, but I got hit in the head and knocked out.

You interrupt yourself with a cough. --Then some terrorists attacked, and you dragged me off the platform just in time to not get shot. Then you got us down a corridor into a supply closet. We don't know if the bad guys know we're here. We don't know if or when someone will come to rescue us.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?"

You wonder if he feels afraid. He doesn't sound like he's afraid. Maybe he is trying to stay strong for the both of you.

Your eyes are getting more accustomed to the semi-dark, and now you can see his hands, running the necktie through his fingers over and over again.

- Most paramedics I know don’t wear a tie.

“What? Oh, I was on my way to a job interview.”

- At night?

“It was for a night job.”

- My head hurts, you say. Everything hurts. Every part of you is zinging with fear and confusion.

- Why were the bad guys shooting at the people on the platform?

“Because they're bad guys. Terrorists. When they want something, they don't let anything get in their way. Fear is their friend.”

- But--why would they run toward their own explosion?

“Who knows? Why does anyone blow up a subway train?”

- It doesn’t make sense.

“No ... but I believe everything happens for a reason.”

There is a long silence. Talking hurts, but silence is excruciating. - How long have we been in here, anyway?

“Not long. Hard to tell.”

-How will we know when it’s safe to come out?

He doesn't answer. Your head is a swelling balloon with nails inside. Your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to your teeth. - I think we should--

“Do you hear that?”

All your senses are muffled by pain. All you can hear is your own heartbeat. - What?

“Stay calm, but I think I heard a voice. Coming from the corridor.”

Suddenly you too hear a voice, his soft voice, right next to your ear.

“No matter what happens, I'll take care of you.”

Groaning, you try to inch yourself closer to the wall of the small room, setting off explosions along your spine. You can make out a spray bottle on a shelf. You stretch up your hand.

“Good idea! I'll take that bottle for defense. Smells like bleach.”

- Can I … you start to ask, but he motions you to be silent and approaches the door. You feel too weak to make another attempt.

“I can hear them out there. They're getting close.”

You finally catch a glimpse of his face. He looks terrified. And – angry?

- But what if it’s rescuers?

“It’s not.”

- How—

“We can't let them know we’re in here.”

-I need to get out of this room!

Now he is glaring down at you. The necktie is still in his hand. “Don’t make me gag you again.”

You remember the feel of the duct tape ripping from your lips. The storm in your head spits out a thought. Where had he gotten the tape?

You no longer are trying to think. You need to act. You grab an object from the bottom shelf nearest you—it feels like an aerosol can—and hurl it at the door. It misses the door. But it clanks against another metal shelf.

- Help, you croak, not whispering. - Help.

You feel the necktie around your neck. You feel a pressure on your abdomen and realize it is his knee, pinning you down.

A flashlight clicks on, blinding you. It feels familiar.

You hear the door crash open.