Chapter 83 Amnesia?
"Give me Emma. I'll carry her for you," the person beckoned to George, their voice irresistibly alluring, drawing George closer step by step.
In his hazy consciousness, George carried Emma towards the voice.
"Follow me, quickly!" the person whispered urgently, his voice like a hurried breeze. George seemed to catch a glimmer of hope, and he immediately followed.
He quickened his pace, following the figure through the slippery mud. The surroundings became blurry in his vision, as if everything was spinning. Only that figure remained clear, guiding him towards an unknown direction.
However, as they moved forward, Emma's body seemed to grow heavier, making George more unease. Just as he was about to spoke up, Emma suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood that splattered onto George's face.
"Emma!" he cried out in terror, the warmth of the blood jolting him awake. He realized he was at the edge of a cliff, with an abyss of darkness below.
With one more step, both he and Emma would fall to their deaths.
'What am I doing?' he thought, snapping back to reality. The surroundings became clear again, and the guiding figure vanished instantly as if it had never existed. George felt a wave of fear.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and quickly oriented himself.
The sky was darkening, and the wind was growing stronger, making it hard to keep his eyes open. The cold was biting, and his muscles trembled. But he was determined to move forward.
Finally, they reached the car. George gently placed Emma in the passenger seat. He quickly headed towards the hospital. The scenery outside the window sped by in the night.
"Quick, quick..." he muttered to himself, gripping the steering wheel, eyes fixed ahead. Every sharp turn made his heart race, fearing that one mistake could cost Emma's life.
The car skidded on the muddy path, making George's heart race. He quickly adjusted the direction, stabilizing the car. Emma's life was in his hands.
"We're almost at the hospital. Emma, don't give up!" he shouted, his voice filled with determination and anxiety. The car sped up, the wind howling past his ears.
Finally, the hospital lights flickered ahead. George quickly parked at the hospital entrance, opened the passenger door, and carried Emma towards the emergency room.
"Doctor! Hurry!" he shouted.
Emma's life was slipping away with every passing moment, but George couldn't grasp time.
"Please, you have to save her!" he pleaded. At that moment, he had only one thought--he couldn't let Emma leave him like this! Then, he fell unconscious.
Emma slowly opened her eyes, the surroundings blurry. She tried to focus and found herself lying in a hospital bed.
This wasn't the CyberMed Hospital she usually went to, but an old suburban hospital.
The peeling white paint on the walls looked dim in the sunlight, and the windows were foggy, showing signs of age. The walls were covered with various medical posters, which were simple and clear, but the writing was blurry, having been there for years.
The bed was an iron frame with occasionally stained sheets, and the bedside table held some basic medical equipment and supplies.
It was a ward for eight people. Besides her, there were several other patients. In a distant corner, there was a small rest area with a few plastic chairs arranged in a circle, and an old TV on the wall occasionally played some news.
This was the waiting area for patients' families. Though the space was limited, there were always a few whispers and occasional laughter. The sounds were faint, but Emma, with her frail nerves, had always struggled to rest well.
Emma tried to recall what happened before she fainted. She must have been saved by some kind person.
But what about George? He wouldn't be in trouble, would he?
Emma mocked herself for being naive. Of course, George wouldn't be in trouble; he must have left her long ago. He might feel a bit regretful since she didn't die by his hand.
Emma looked around the ward again. Though it was old, without George, she could breathe more easily. Her gaze fell on the bed next to her, which had its curtain drawn, obsecuring the person inside from the view.
But Emma felt a familiar sense.
Just then, the door to the ward was gently pushed open, and nurse Freya Stewart walked in. Seeing Emma awake, she smiled with relief, "You're finally awake! You were covered in blood when you were brought in."
"Thank you. Where am I?" Emma asked hoarsely, trying to sit up.
"Are you amnesia?" Freya teased, "What's your name?"
"Emma."
Freya sighed in relief, "Good. Your husband brought you here by car. Didn't you know? Well, you were unconscious then. This is just a clinic in Lakeside Haven."
Freya skillfully measured Emma's temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen levels. With normal data, she said, "Since you're awake, contact your family to settle the medical bills."
"Okay."
Emma instinctively reached for her phone at the bedside, but it wasn't there. She patted her pockets, realizing her clothes had been changed into a hospital gown.
Her phone was gone.
"My clothes..."
"Your clothes were too damaged for treatment, so we changed you into a hospital gown and sent it to be clean. When you settle the bill, don't forget to pay the cleaning fee."
"Did you see my phone?"
"No, it was probably lost when you were in danger. Can you settle the bill? You can use our phone to contact your family."
"Thank you."
Emma felt a sinking feeling and wondered who to contact, but then it struck her that Freya kept saying "your husband"—how could George have driven her here? And if he did, where was he now?
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