"Lucas?"

I blinked. The light was agony, the face above me was blurry and whatever I was lying on was really hard. If this was heaven it really sucked.

"Oh praise God, you're awake!"

I blinked again, wincing. The blurry face wavered and became clear. My mother's gray shot brown curls were greasy, her glasses had slid down the end of her nose and there was a smudge on the left lens. The frown lines around her mouth seemed like giant crevasses, and her eyes were puffy. Dad was there too, his salt and pepper hair standing on end, like he'd been running his hands through it. He still had his name tagged pinned to his immaculately pressed suit. He'd obviously come straight off the car lot. It was really strange to see them standing together, since I'm pretty sure they hadn't talked since the divorce.

"My body hurts." My voice was a harsh croak, it hurt my throat.

"Oh Lucas." Mom leaned forward and grabbed my hand tightly. "Thank the Lord he spared you, I don't think I could have stood another..." She trailed off, squeezing my hand so hard I could almost feel the bones creak.

What, Mom? Couldn't stand another dead child? Couldn't stand another horrible accident?

She would never say it out loud. That would mean admitting it had actually happened, that Sara was truly gone. I ignored her slip up and glanced around the starchy looking room. The hospital had a thing for white, I guess. White sheets, white furniture, white curtains. Would a floral pattern kill them? A curtain cut the room in half, but it was drawn back and the other bed was empty. Something pinched my arms when I moved. Tubes taped to both arms, needles vanishing into my skin. 

I clamped my eyes shut. Yuck.

"I'm so glad you're okay." Dad reached out and squeezed my arm gently, he gave me a wide grin. "My son, the hulk. You came out of that with hardly a scratch."

Mom shot him a cross look. "I would hardly call a concussion a scratch, Steven. We're blessed that he wasn't killed on the spot."

"You're always so negative," Dad said, "he's fine. He just needs some rest and recovery, right Lucas?"

"Sure," I mumbled, fairly certain it didn't make a difference what I said. It was obvious they were headed for another argument. I'm surprised they'd saved it till I was awake. I wished they hadn't.

"I'm negative," Mom was saying, "no, I'm realistic. That's the difference between you and I. Your head is always in the clouds. No, more like it's in the dealership still. I can tell by the look on your face. You're thinking about the next car you're going to sell."

"That's not true." Dad's protest was weak, probably because she was right.

"I can't believe you." She glowered at him. "You're so selfish."

"Now is not the time to sling names around," Dad said angrily. "Our son was just hit by a bus. Why can't you just get over yourself and think about him?"

"Are you kidding me? I was about to say the exact same thing to you."

I shut my eyes and tried to block out the fighting. It should have been easy, I spent enough time doing that before the divorce. But my head was pounding, and I could feel my stress levels reaching spectacular heights. I wondered if the heart monitor would start going faster soon. To my immense relief the door clicked open, stopping my parents mid argument. A man in a white coat smiled down at me. He had light blue eyes, a disarming smile and a clip board tucked under one arm. "Hi Lucas, I'm doctor Cameron. How are we feeling?"

Why did they always say that? Like there was two of me.

"Like I got hit by a bus, Doc."

Dr. Cameron actually chuckled, and Mom said in disapproval, "Lucas, really."

"Well," he said, "it's really a miracle you're safe. You've got a mild concussion though, your mother will have to keep an eye on you tonight, but you should be okay. Thank God you were behind the bus stop. The structure took most of the impact, if you'd been inside it we wouldn't be having this conversation."

I stared at him. "I was inside the bus stop." They all blinked at me, and I frowned. "It's true. I was sitting on the bench."

Dr. Cameron hesitated. "It's not uncommon to remember things wrong after an accident, in fact, most people don't remember the seconds leading up to it, or the accident itself. It's the brain's way of protecting itself from those memories."

"I remember," I insisted. "I remember everything except the actual accident. I remember the song I was listening to, hell, I even remember the bus driver's face right before he ran me over!"

"Language." Mom's face had gone pale, she glanced anxiously at Dr. Cameron, who said soothingly, "The mind does amazing things, you may have made up something totally different to reality, or dreamed it just now. The fact is, you were found several feet behind the bus stop in some bushes that cushioned your fall. The bus stop is a mass of crushed metal. Anyone inside it couldn't possibly have survived."

A memory surfaced, making me sit upright in horror, which was a bad idea because it made me dizzy. There had been someone there. I remembered flashes now. Curly brown hair, a red sweater, the hint of vanilla. She'd smelled like vanilla.

"There was a girl...she..." I stopped, suddenly sure I didn't want to know. She'd been there with me. By some freak chance I'd survived. What were the chances she had too?

"There was no one with you." Dr. Cameron's voice had taken on the sappy quality you use on old people, babies and invalids. He turned to my parents. "He may need time to recover, sleep it off."

I dropped back onto the pillow with a groan. Every muscle ached, and they obviously both thought I was nuts. Was my mind just inventing stuff? I remembered the bus stop so clearly though, and the girl...maybe it was better if the girl was just a product of my scrambled brain. If she was real, she was dead.

"Was anyone else hurt?" I asked.

The doctor hesitated. "Only the bus driver. He's...he didn't make it."

I frowned, remembering the man's doughy face and staring eyes. "Did he lose control? What happened?"

Mom spoke, disapproval evident in her voice. "Apparently the man was drinking. The police found beer cans rolling around the back of his bus, and he wasn't even meant to be working. It's all so strange." She grabbed my hand, "Praise God you're alright."

"Drunken asshole could have killed you," Dad said angrily, ignoring the stern look Mom gave him.

"So there was no one else on the bus then?" I said, "no one else was hurt?"

"No one else." Dr. Cameron gave me another smile that was meant to be warm and reassuring, but came off cheesy. "Now," he turned to Mom. "Mr. and Mrs. Rolston..."

"Ms," Mom interrupted hastily, her left hand fluttered up as she gave him a watery smile of apology, "Ms. Rolston." 

Dad lips compressed into a thin line, but he didn't say anything.

"Sorry, Ms. Rolston, Lucas will be fine. A nurse will give you instructions on the way out, but there should be nothing to worry about once the concussion wears off."

"Thank you so much," Mom gushed. "You truly are a Godsend..."

I shut my eyes so I wouldn't have to see my mother flirt with the nice doctor. Yech.

The memories came drifting back, insistent. The rumble of the passing bus, the throb of bass in my ears, the hint of vanilla drifting as she walked past and sat beside me. T

here, she'd sat beside me! Why couldn't I remember what she'd looked like? It was totally not like me to miss the opportunity to check out a girl. Even if she wasn't my type, I would've looked at her once, to assess the situation. So why the hell couldn't I remember this girl at all? Was the red-sweater-girl some type of post traumatic dream? A nasty little voice made a suggestion...

Maybe she is real. Maybe they just didn't find her body.

No, that didn't make sense. They would have combed through the wreckage a dozen times by now.

Photo credit: photo credit: <a>Can You Hear Me Screaming?</a> via <a>photopin</a> <a>(license)</a>