Who: Oliver [Narrative] What: Waking up When: Morning
It started with the radio.
It was one of those old timey kinds from the 1950s, one he couldn't really recall ever having seen before, except that it had always been there. Hadn't it? It was one of the radios where in the old pictures it would be surrounded by a happy looking nuclear family, listening intently to what was going on. And they were there too, a man and a woman he didn't recognize, and a boy and a girl curled up on their stomachs on the floor of the oddly modern living room. He didn't know these people, but at the same time he recognized that they were somehow his family. Names drifted into his thoughts and out again, long enough to exist but not be held and remembered. The sense of familiarity seemed to be enough, and even as he stepped past them toward the bulky object along the wall they didn't seem bothered. He didn't want to listen to whatever was on. He'd heard the beginnings of a song before, one he loved, but someone had abruptly changed the channel to something darker, riddled with static. Despite the fact that everyone else in the room was smiling, all he wanted was to turn it back, to finish what he'd started, to get that feeling of calm and comfort back. It couldn't be over with, it had only just started.
He reached for the knob and turned it, but the volume only went up. Frowning, he tried to turn it down, but it only went up further. His hand moved to the other knob, twisting in an attempt to change the station to something, anything else. Despite the fact that the little red needle moved, even though no numbers were etched onto the dial, the station remained the same. He couldn't go back and no one else in the room cared.
Then the floor dissolved from under him, as if it had been nothing but a pile of sand with no bottom the whole time. No one reached to catch him, or stopped smiling as he stared down in horror at the pit of darkness his solid foundation had been in only an instant before. He opened his mouth to scream, but all he could hear was that damn radio drawling away no matter how much distance the fall put between it and himself. The darkness didn't disappear, but tiny lights began to manifest in streaks on his way down, all seeming to drift past him at different speeds. They were windows, attached to pitch colored buildings that drifted up and down like escalators, the lights shifting, rising and falling in disorienting lines. He reached his arms out, knowing deep down that if he could grasp onto one of them, stop his fall and climb in, he could find another radio, another station playing his song, and then everything could go back to how it was supposed to be.
Then the credits began to roll. For some reason, despite everything else that had happened, this was what actually stood out to him as strange. His eyes scanned the list of names and roles, of people he hadn't even seen but must have been involved in everything that had happened to that point, until he saw his own name. He couldn't read it, but he knew it was his, and that the person next to it, the man who had been playing him, wasn't actually him. How the hell did that work? If that was the case, what the hell was he even doing here? He twisted his head to ask the care bears piloting a hot air balloon beside him what was going on, but all they did was wave and sing a him. It wasn't even his song.
And that was how Oliver Greer-McGowan woke up.
For the first few seconds he didn't even feel disoriented as his eyes opened. He focused on the light as if it were something solid, finally something real, and he wanted to reach out and touch it. It felt warm, and right, and if he could just reach his hand out he might even be able to touch it. Then he wanted to turn his head and look for that damn radio so he could finally turn it back to where it belonged.
The attempt made his head throb, his vision shake, and gave him the vague sensation that if there had been anything in his stomach he might have felt it rise into his mouth. Instead, he swallowed and closed his eyes, the taste drifting over his tongue reminding him of death and burnt plastic. He cracked an eye open again, peering around and realizing he didn't recognize the room. He couldn't even remember where he'd fallen asleep last, and that was more than a little alarming. He hadn't slept anywhere but home in almost a year, with the exception of the night they'd held Jason's memorial.
He closed his eyes, and only realized he'd drifted off again when he startled awake once more, his entire body jerking as if a large sound had erupted in his head. The movement caused a strange tug at his arm, and when he looked he saw that he was attached to an antique look IV. He wasn't immediately alarmed, just....confused. Caroline had mentioned that there was some sort of IV cleanse that helped you get over being hung over, something that pumped hydration and nutrients directly into your blood stream, and that someday she wanted to try it, but there was no way that was what this was.
Hello, was what he wanted to call out, but the first attempt resulted in nothing more than the first syllable, followed by a choke and a cough as the dryness in his throat seized all the way to his lungs. He swallowed, cleared his throat, inhaled and tried again.
"Hello?" He waited, focusing on on the silence, but all he could hear were the birds outside. He tried to sit up, but the attempt only caused his head to swim and drop back down onto the pillow. He'd seen that he was wearing a hospital gown, and after recovering he craned his neck to see if there was more equipment around to give him some idea of what had happened to him. Nothing. Just the IV. It also wasn't a hospital room, that much was obvious. So where the fuck was he?
When he finally managed to sit up, he winced at a jolt of pain shooting through his neck. Almost as if he'd slept on it wrong, but....strange. Rubbing lightly at it, he eyed the IV warily. He felt okay, groggy, and like his stomach was both too full and too empty at the same time, and as if he'd emptied an entire bottle of tequila (again), but other than that he didn't feel broken or wounded in any way. Maybe he'd had another bout of exhaustion, maybe he'd gotten sick and just didn't remember. Maybe this was some kind of new age rest home for the not-entirely-old, or a some sort of care house that one of the McGowans had given him to while he was out. How could he have been that out of it? Another look told him that there was no nurses button, no intercom to call anyone. There were doors, and it stood to reason that anyone with answers would be on the other side. He also wouldn't be able to get to them without removing the needle. Removing it wasn't that difficult, having had experience with both applying and taking them out in the past. He set it on the windowsill carefully, not wanting to trip on it, or have whoever it was who'd put it in him in the first place go looking only to stab themselves.
Standing was another issue, but he managed after a moment and used the wall to brace himself up as he looked around. The room was nice, but it wasn't home.
He saw the camera just before he saw the box, frowning in confusion at the former, but stepping toward the latter even as his eyes remained upward. That was weird. Video surveillance but no nurses. They'd see that he was up. They'd send someone, no doubt. For some reason, this thought unsettled him a little. He peeled open the box to find a set of his own clothing inside, and the rings. The rings. He looked down to his left hand, seeing the pale ring around his finger where the metal should have been. On some level he understood why whatever circumstances he'd been in might have made it mandatory to remove his jewelry, but he was angry at that. No one fucking touched that ring. Ever. It was the first item he put on, followed by the chain with Jason's.
An open door ahead of him showed the first glimpses of a bathroom, and with the camera so blatantly pointing at him he grabbed for his clothing and headed inside. He noted the presence of bottles on the counter, his favorite body wash and shampoo, and relaxed a little. Must have been Caroline. Wherever he was, someone who knew him had been involved. He used the toilet, showered quickly, and then dressed before returning to the main room. Another door led to a large, walk-in closet that sat empty, but he tried the light if only to familiarize himself with it, then moved for the last door in the room.
Locked.
That was strange. He leaned his head against the surface and listened before he knocked twice on it, calling out. "Hello?" No answer. Unease rolled in his stomach, and he stepped back to glance around the room, looking for a key. He had to have one. He made a beeline for the desk, searching around the desktop computer before he noticed the strange flashing light. Turning the device on, he read, and read, and read. And then he read it again, because the first time he didn't quite understand, or comprehend. It had to be a joke, right? Shit like this didn't happen. Not like this. Questions rolled through his mind faster than he could catch them, more than he could really comprehend before he forced himself to slow down and stick with the most basic. How the hell did he get out of this room? At least that one he had an answer to.