A Question of Identity

Madeline watched the sleeping figure, the rhythmic breathing and the deep sleep of the injured. This sleeping beauty was oblivious to everything and Madeline wondered several thing all at once. Who was this person? What was she thinking? What was she doing with Rog? And why did they think she was Penny?

It was the latter question that was voiced into the room of silence and beeping sounds.

The nurse looked at her in astonishment, "I beg your pardon?"

"This is not my daughter. This is not Penny. Why would you think she was? Did she say she was?"

The nurse flipped through meaningless paper on her clipboard, scribbled a few words, and adjusted her sterile gaze at Madeline, "No, she has not been conscious at all. The man who called the ambulance said she was."

Madeline had not even thought about this person. As soon as the mention was spoken, the artist mind began depicting a sinister rendition of the person. She knew it was the truck driver who had caused this mess; the truck driver who had robbed her of her peace.

"And the truck driver, was he the one who called in the accident?" she asked the nurse, beginning to feel the ill stomach affects of sudden negativity into her system. The nurse nodded. "And he, is he alright?" She knew the answer to this. He had probably walked away from the accident with little more than a few bruises.

"He seems to be. They are still looking him over downstairs in the ER." Madeline nodded and tried to refocus her mind on the girl before her. She needed time to process everything that had happened. The negativity and anxiety were causing her distress. Soon she wondered if it would turn into a panic attack. She had never really had one, but now it seemed to be a possibility.

The nurse followed her eyes to the sleeping girl, "Do you know her?"

Madeline looked at the bone structure, those high cheek bones, fair skin, black Irish maybe. There was no glimmer of even the slightest inkling of the stranger's identity.

"No," was all that she could answer. Then she thought about Rog.

"Did you ask my son?"

The nurse rolled her eyes just a bit, "He has not been very talkative. The police have not been able to get any information out of him?"

"The police? Why would the police want to talk to him?"

"Standard procedure in an accident." Madeline thought it odd that Rog would not talk to them. That did not sound like her son. he would try to be helpful.

"Perhaps you could be there with him when they talk with him?" the nurse asked.

"Of course," said Madeline.