This Wall of Silent Darkness

Pain, the memories of it flit along the sharp edges of my brain like wounds from a weapon wielded by an iron butterfly. I cry out in the silence, but the unending sea of darkness that I float upon swallows my voice. Sometimes this sea rocks and swirls gently, and at other times it churns with violent, silent waves that torment and spin me around, drowning me in the void.

Fragments of memory assail me. Vague recollections of awakening from a suffocating sleep, arms flailing, hands grasping, and the instinct to survive battles with the encroaching urge to surrender. But before my fingers can claw at the bandages that surround my head, or rip the plastic from my arms, unseen hands grasp me and press me down, deep into the blackness where the swirling void is waiting to consume me.

When next I surface—time is meaningless in the void—I am restrained, bound by the wrists. I cry out; the pain breaking through my cocoon of silence, but my voice is stolen from me. The scream is silent.

Overwhelming terror replaces pain. Deprived of sight, deprived of sound, there is only pain and I am alone, a nightmare built from my darkest fear. Although I cry and call and thrash at the bindings that constrain me, I am unable to break free.

I pause to assess the situation, a reflex ingrained through years of training. My heart thunders; it’s the only assurance I have that I’m alive, this painful pounding against my chest. I am bound, captive, prone on a bed, and I have been deprived of all sensory input. Slowly, this reality assembles itself within my fractured mind, like pieces of an insane jigsaw puzzle. The picture that forms fills me with dread—an icy realisation engulfs me; I am held captive behind enemy lines, and I am being tortured.

I muster every ounce of resolve to confront this terror without flinching, even as my insides twist and plummet. The fear of the unknown eclipses the pain that has been inflicted upon me. Waiting, not knowing where the next attack will come from, or what form it will take. The anxiety builds in my stomach like a lead weight dragging me down as I flounder on this sea of complete terror.

A hand touches my arm and I jolt as fear courses through me like a lightening bolt, a current of electricity that steals my breath on an unheard scream. A second hand presses me down; I hadn’t even realised I was straining upwards, fighting against the restraints that confine me.

But this touch soothes. Gentle strokes penetrate my fear soaked brain and I latch onto that one sensation, to concentrate on the singular point of human contact. I force my body to relax, one muscle at a time. I know I am good, I have trained myself to focus. Emotion has never clouded my judgement, never gets in the way of completing the job. Fear can be conquered. I tell myself this repeatedly. Fear can be controlled. Stop. Assess. Prioritize. Plan.

The hand strokes up my arm, slowly, gently, with tentative exploration, until it reaches my face. There, gentle fingers linger against my skin. I can feel the rasp and pull of stubble as the fingers slide against my cheek. The hand is joined by lips. The soft warmth of a whispered breath heats my skin, an insubstantial exhalation that ripples the air, sending shivers down my spine.

Silken strands of hair fall across my face, tendrils that I can’t dislodge as they wind their way into my mouth and nose, threatening to choke me. I thrash and gasp, struggling against this new attack until, suddenly, I am overwhelmed by a scent that floods my senses. It’s the smell of summer, of jasmine, of home. Time stops still for an eternal heartbeat. Reassess. Review. Respond.

“Lucy?” I gasp, but the sound is swallowed by blackness.

Shaking hands frame my face, gently caressing, and I turn my head toward the sensation, drawn to the the warmth like a moth drawn to a flame.

“Lucy, where am I? Why are you here?” Still no sound. Although my lips form the words and my throat painfully gives them life, I do not hear them. They are tossed into a negative void where sound does not exist.

Hands leave my face to grasp my palm, and a finger forms three lines repeatedly into it. I am puzzled by the action, but the lines repeat over and over until they coalesce into meaning—‘H’.

I form the letter on my lips, and the shape in my palm changes to a circle—‘O’. Then a waving line—‘S’.

“Hospital?” I gasp, my lips move through the syllables, yet my ears strain to hear the sound that comes with the word. Nothing.

The hands clasp mine.

“Can’t see! Can’t hear!” I am afraid to vocalize words that do not reach my ears. I can feel my throat tightening on the sounds, fear that they erupt from my mouth in hysterical screams. But without the ability to hear them, I can’t gauge the tone. The hands return, this time at my shoulders, circling my body as far as they can reach. A face presses against my neck, the sensation as familiar as my own name, one that I can’t hear, but can feel, as her lips move against my neck.

I raise my hand to hold her, but it is still restrained, and I begin to pull and tug at the bindings.

“Help me, Luce!”

My hand is set free, and I claw my way up her arm, finally reaching her shoulder, and pull my Lucy close against my racing heart as I assess the grim reality of this situation.

I am alive.

Lucy is here.

I am not alone.

Three things. Three things that matter above all else. My brain grapples with the elusive fragments of my memory, fragments that torment me just beyond my grasp. But it hurts to probe into the painful recess that is the empty blackness there, so I shy away from it and continue my assessment.

I am blind.

I am deaf.

Two things. Two life-altering, defining things that have severed me from the world, have locked me inside my own head, a wall of silent darkness between me and all humanity. My career, my aspirations, my every hope for the future, destroyed, annihilated. A crushing weight in my chest expands and pain reverberates through my entire being.

As I hold Lucy with my one unbound hand, she showers my face with kisses, her breath, choppy puffs of air, whispers against my skin. I only come to understand that she is sobbing when I feel the warm drops on my face. At that moment, I realize that I am sobbing too. I am strong; I am brave; I have faced death countless times in my career, but today I am broken and the tears won’t stop. She takes my hand and urgently scratches out letters into my palm, and I say them one at a time. I. L. O. V. E . Y. O. U.

“Oh, Lucy, I love you too.”

I more than love her. Selfishly, I need her. She is the only thing that ties me to the real world. Without her, I am lost on a wave of a broken sea that churns and threatens to drown me in its silent darkness forever. Lucy is my light.

“Don’t leave me, Lucy.” Without the ability to hear, I have no idea if I say the words aloud, but they ripple repeatedly through my body with desperation. “Don’t leave me, Lucy.”

Her fingers entwine in my own, a desperate clasp that’s meant to reassure me. On her third finger is the metal band of her wedding ring, and I rub it with my own fingers. It is a symbol of our love and she always wears it. I, on the other hand, removed mine for active duty, but I want it back now. I want my fingers to proclaim loudly that they belong to her. She is my lifeline, without her, I will drown. I bring her hand to my lips and hold it there, breathing in her soft, jasmine scent. She is my home.