CHAPTER 11: MOM
- Brandon Cawood
- May 25
- 13 min read
Miles cracks open his eyes and the world floods in, bright and intrusive.
At first, he fears he has lost his vision, but slowly his eyes begin to adjust and he realizes the source of the blinding glow is coming from a large window to his left.
He is lying on his back. His head feels like it’s going to burst. He’s having trouble putting thoughts together. Just moving his eyes brings on a wave of vertigo. He tries to make sense of his surroundings, but everything is blurry, and the sunlight pouring in forces him to squint.
He tries to sit up, but the moment he does, a sharp pain rips through his skull. It feels like someone digging through his brain with a screwdriver.
He immediately lies back down, the sudden movement making him nauseous.
It takes several minutes before he’s able to open his eyes again.
This time, the light feels softer. Manageable.
He looks up at a strange light fixture attached to a drop ceiling a few feet overhead. As his headache begins to resolve into something more tolerable, he slowly starts to scan the room.
“Where am I?” he says, to no one.
The room smells like chlorine-based disinfectants barely covering the smell of cigarette smoke and something older. Mildew maybe. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, filling the room with a low, constant hum.
There’s something about the place that feels familiar, but at the same time completely foreign.
He shifts again, more carefully now, and notices what he’s wearing.
A hospital gown.
He looks down at his left arm and sees an IV port taped into place, the adhesive pulling lightly against his skin. He follows the tubing up to the solution bag filled with a clear liquid, then his eyes begin to wander.
The monitors beside him are bulky and outdated, their CRT screens glowing green with low-resolution waveforms.
As his vision continues to sharpen, more of the room begins to come into focus.
I haven’t seen one of those in a while.
Wherever I am… this place is in serious need of an update.
He reaches back and touches the tender spot on his head.
The moment he does, the memories come rushing back.
“The lab…” he whispers.
The words scrape against his raw throat.
“It was on fire…”
He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself.
“But how did I get here?”
His eyes move around the room again, slower now, more intentional.
“…This has to be a hospital. But what hospital is this? What did IRIS—”
He stops.
His eyes drop to his right wrist.
It’s bare.
Panic sets in immediately.
“Where is IRIS?!”
His mouth goes dry, and his heart rate begins to climb.
He can feel it thump in his chest.
Faster.
Harder.
The monitor beside him begins to respond.
An alarm cuts through the room.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The sound fills the space as his pulse spikes, echoing off the walls.
Miles closes his eyes and begins to breathe, trying to steady himself.
He nearly jumps out of his skin as the door creaks and a nurse in pink scrubs walks into the room.
“Well, look who decided to wake up.”
She looks to be in her late forties, her hair cut short with curled bangs. She crosses to the window and pulls the shades together, softening the light.
“You must be all sorts of confused, honey,” she says as she walks over to him. “I was hoping to be in here when you woke up, but I had to step out and check on another patient.”
Miles stares at her, still trying to process.
“Do you have any idea why you’re here? Can you tell me what happened?”
He shakes his head.
“Everything’s a little fuzzy right now. Where exactly is… here?” he asks.
“Oh, bless your heart,” she says gently. “Well, darlin’, I can tell you what I know. They brought you in this morning.”
She walks over and pulls the chart from the wall pocket.
“Let’s see here… At approximately 7:30 a.m., you were discovered unconscious by a construction crew at the new Winn-Dixie site.”
“Winn-Dixie?” he repeats, confused.
“Oh yes,” she says, brightening. “It’s the grocery store they’re building. I, for one, am ecstatic. We stopped at one on the way to Savannah last summer and it was amazing. It’s gonna have a deli, a pharmacy—just a real time-saver. I’ve got three kids under seven, so I take all the help I can get.”
Miles’ face tightens.
She looks up and catches it.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, hon. I tend to ramble. If I do that again, just snap your fingers and say, ‘Janet, stay on track.’ That’s what my husband does, so I’m used to it,” she says with a wide grin.
Miles forces a small smile back.
“Anyhoo,” she continues, glancing back at the chart, “paramedics arrived around 7:50 and checked you out. All your vitals looked good, but you had some lacerations, a pretty nasty bump on your head, and you were unresponsive. They brought you in around 8:15, and we’ve been monitoring you ever since.”
She checks her watch.
“It’s 2:30 now, so you’ve been out for a while. And there’s no telling how long you were there before they found you. Do you remember anything? Did someone do this to you?”
“Like I said… it’s all pretty fuzzy.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart. No need to rush it,” she says gently. “Can you tell me your name? Is there anyone we can call for you?”
“Wait,” Miles says. “What hospital did you say this was?”
“Oh—yes, sorry. This is Sequoyah County Medical Center.”
“What?” he questions, concern creeping into his voice. “Sequoyah County? What wing is this?”
“Well, honey, we only have two wings,” she replies, a little puzzled. “You’re in the Founder’s Wing.”
Miles feels the blood drain from his face.
None of this makes any sense.
He remembers cutting the ribbon for the Tanner Heart Center, the expansion that made Sequoyah County the largest hospital in North Georgia.
That was last year.
How could there only be two wings?
His heart rate begins to climb again.
Janet notices immediately.
“Oh my… I’m so sorry, hun. I didn’t mean to get you all worked up,” she says, her tone softening. “Why don’t you lie back down and rest? The doctor will be in shortly, and he’ll have some questions for you.”
She gently helps him settle back against the bed and pulls the covers up.
“They’ve also called the sheriff,” she adds. “But don’t you worry about that—it’s just standard procedure when we get a John Doe.”
She wraps a blood pressure cuff around his left arm and pumps it slowly, watching the gauge. As the reading settles she nods, satisfied.
“One last thing,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I still didn’t catch your name. You didn’t have any identification on you.”
Miles opens his mouth.
“My name is Mi—”
An alarm blares from across the hall, loud and mechanical.
Janet’s expression shifts instantly.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, already moving toward the door. “I need to check on that. The doctor or I will be back shortly. You just get some rest.”
She places his chart back in the pocket, and then she walks out the door.
Miles drags himself upright and slowly, painfully swings his legs over the side of the hospital bed. The linoleum floor feels cool and slightly slick beneath his feet. He sits for a moment, letting his blood settle and his head steady.
He reaches down and yanks the IV from his arm.
“Something’s not right here,” he mutters. “I need to figure out what’s going on.”
He braces himself as he pushes up to his feet. A sharp jolt of pain shoots through his body, like electricity. Everything feels stiff. Sore. He takes a step… then another. As he moves, the tension begins to loosen, his muscles slowly stretching out, easing the pain enough to manage.
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a train.”
He limps to the door and pulls the chart from the wall. He flips through the forms, scanning quickly. Nothing new. Janet has already told him everything worth knowing.
He slides it back into place and steps to the edge of the door frame, peering out into the hallway.
Just like the room, the hall feels off. The floors, the wallpaper, the lighting… all of it feels outdated and in need of a renovation. He studies the rigid furniture lining the walls, the smooth plastic surfaces and metal frames barely showing any wear despite obviously being decades old.
Further down, a family stands outside a room, holding flowers and balloons. Bright colors. Cartoon faces. Looney Tunes characters. One metallic balloon floats above the rest, the words Get Well Soon stretched across its surface.
A sudden wave of déjà vu washes over him.
The hallway feels familiar… Like a memory sitting just out of reach.
A nurse passes by his room and gives him a polite smile.
He instinctively recoils back inside, like a child caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
He shakes his head, frustrated with himself, and steps back to the doorway. The nurse is already halfway down the hall. He takes a breath and steps into the corridor.
Suddenly, the door directly across from him swings open.
A woman, maybe early thirties steps out, strawberry blonde hair pulled back, her arms around what appears to be a child—
No…
Not a child.
A young teenage boy.
Miles freezes.
Everything inside him goes still.
The color drains from his face.
Standing there in front of him is the woman who haunts his dreams.
The woman he hasn’t seen in over thirty years.
The woman who loved him like her own.
The woman he couldn’t save.
“Shea?” he whispers, the word barely making a sound.
She doesn’t hear him, nor does she acknowledge him standing there.
She simply turns and walks down the hall, the boy still wrapped in her arms.
That boy…
Was that?—
No.
There’s no—
It’s not possible.
His knees almost buckle, and he catches himself against the wall.
No one sees him stumble.
All eyes are on them, the woman and the boy.
Miles looks up, across the hall, to the open door.
It’s as though it is calling him, beckoning him forward like a siren’s song.
He can’t fight the urge.
He glances down the hallway again. Still unnoticed.
He walks across the hall and through the door.
There, lying just as he remembers her, is his mother—weak, frail, barely holding on.
Thirty-some odd years of heartache, regret, pain, and despair come rushing to the surface all at once.
“Mom?” he whispers under his breath.
He steps to the side of the bed where two chairs sit unoccupied.
He looks down at her.
Though the woman lying there is not the vibrant, full-of-life version he clings to in his memories, there is no doubt.
This is her.
Lisa Tanner.
Here, in this hospital room, in the mid-afternoon light, exactly as she was the last time he saw her alive.
Her body looks lifeless.
Then the BiPAP mask over her mouth and nose delivers a hiss of pressurized air, and her chest rises and falls..
Still alive… for now.
He looks at the monitors beside her bed.
The numbers aren’t good.
Her blood oxygen sits at 88%, barely holding above the threshold where the alarm would trigger. Her blood pressure reads 80 over 50—low enough to make his stomach tighten. The heart rate display climbs and falls in an uneven rhythm. 47. A pause that lingers too long. 52. Another pause. 56. Then back down to 49.
Not the steady, reliable cadence of a body at rest, but rather one of a body fighting to stay alive.
He reaches back and touches the knot on the back of his head.
What is happening?
How is this possible?
His mother stirs in the bed, and every thought in his mind disappears.
He is at her side instantly, gently taking her hand.
It’s cold to the touch.
He looks down at her fingers wrapped in his and squeezes gently.
Then he notices the monitors.
Her heart rate is climbing. Slowly. Unevenly. But climbing.
53. 57. 62.
The oxygen saturation ticks upward. 88 becomes 89. Then 90.
Something is happening.
He looks down at her face.
Her brow furrows almost imperceptibly. Her lips part slightly.
He leans closer.
“Mom?” His voice is soft, breaking. “Can you hear me?”
Her eyelids flutter.
Once.
Then again.
And then—slowly, impossibly—they open.
Her big, brown eyes meet his.
Recognition flashes across her face.
“Miles?” she says, her voice hoarse and fragile. Muffled by the BiPAP mask. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Mom. It’s me. I’m here.”
She smiles, lifting her hand to his face, her fingers brushing along his cheek, tracing the unfamiliar outline of his beard.
Miles stiffens.
This isn’t the face she knows.
For a split second, fear creeps in. He expects her to pull away, to question it, to panic.
But she doesn’t.
“Baby boy, what’s wrong?” she asks softly. “Don’t be upset on my behalf.”
Miles exhales, the tension in his chest easing just slightly.
Whatever she sees looking at him, it goes beyond his physical presence.
Maybe it’s the medication.
Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen.
Or maybe, in some way he can’t understand, she knows.
He leans into her hand and slowly lowers his head into her lap, closing his eyes.
Her fingers move gently through his hair.
“You are so handsome,” she says, her voice fragile, but beaming with pride.
“You are going to do such great things, Miles. I just know it. I am so lucky God made me your mother.”
Tears spill freely down his face.
“I’m so sorry, Mama,” he says, his voice breaking. “I should have been here. I should have told you I loved you. I should have said goodbye.”
His body begins to shake as he sobs, wrapping his arms around her, holding on as tightly as he can, as if letting go would end it all.
“Oh, baby boy,” she whispers. “Don’t be silly. You are here. Right now. And we don’t need to say goodbye, remember? It’s just ‘see you later.’”
She gently lifts his head.
“And I want you to look at me.”
Miles meets her eyes, wiping tears away as best he can.
“There is nothing in this world,” she says softly, “nothing you could ever do, or say, or mistake you could make, that would ever make me think you don’t love me. You are stuck loving me forever and ever. You got that?”
He nods, barely able to get the words out.
“Yes, ma’am. I love you, Mama.”
“I love you too, baby.”
He leans in and wraps his arms around her again, holding her close.
For a moment, everything is still.
Then he feels it.
Her body softens.
Her muscles give way.
Her weight settles in his arms.
Miles slowly pulls back.
The monitor begins to sound.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
He gently lays her down onto the pillow, brushing the hair from her face with trembling fingers.
He stands there, unable to look away.
Tears fall silently now, no longer held back, no longer resisted.
Suddenly the door bursts open and Janet rushes in with two other nurses close behind.
“What are you doing in here?!” she snaps, all softness gone from her voice. “You can’t be in here. Go back to your room.”
“I’m sorry,” Miles stammers. “I was just—”
“You need to leave. Now!”
She grabs him by the shoulders, turning him toward the door and guiding him firmly into the hallway before he can say another word. The door shuts behind him.
This time, most likely due to all the commotion, people are watching.
At the far end of the hall, near the nurse’s station, a man in a brown sheriff’s uniform stands speaking with one of the nurses. The nurse gestures in Miles’ direction, and the man’s attention shifts to him.
He feels it instantly. The familiar surge of adrenaline.
He needs to move.
Now.
He shuffles back to his room, moving as quickly as his body will allow. Once inside, he pulls the chart again. His eyes scan past everything until they land on what he missed the first time.
At the top of the page. The date. Plain as day.
“1995?” He utters, trying to wrap his brain around the impossibility. He drops the chart to the floor.
He looks at his empty wrist, and immediately begins to scan the room.
Nothing on the table. Nothing on the chairs.
Then he notices the bedside drawer.
He jerks it open.
A plastic bag sits inside, his dress shoes resting on top. He pulls everything out and dumps it onto the bed.
A dirty white button-down shirt. Black slacks. Socks. A belt.
And then—
Landing with a thud on the mattress…IRIS.
His breath catches.
The casing is scratched and scuffed, and the display is completely dark.
He grabs it and snaps it onto his wrist, pressing the power button.
“Come on… come on…”
Footsteps echo in the hallway, growing closer.
“Please work,” he whispers. “I need you right now.”
Nothing happens.
“Just perfect.”
The footsteps are getting closer now.
He swallows and immediately notices how dry his throat is. For a brief second, he thinks about water.
No time.
His eyes land on the window.
He moves quickly, grabbing his shoes but leaving the rest of his belongings behind. He unlocks the window and pushes it open. The bottom pivots outward just wide enough for him to squeeze through.
He leans his head out past the window.
Looks like about… ten feet down.
It will have to work.
He tosses his shoes down to the ground and swings one leg over the sill, then the other. He twists his torso so his hands can grab on to the ledge and begins carefully lowering himself down—
Then he feels it.
A faint vibration on his wrist.
He freezes and looks up.
The display flickers to life, unstable and glitching.
Then—
“Hello Miles,” IRIS says in her calm, even tone.
Miles breathes in a sigh of relief.
“Nice of you to join the party, IRIS,” he mutters. “Took you long enough.”
“I don’t know what you did, but you’ve got some explaining to do.”
He lets go and drops to the ground. The impact sends a sharp jolt through his body, and he winces as he absorbs it.
"Adaptive protocols were engaged," IRIS replies.
Miles steadies himself, taking a breath.
"Adaptive protocols?" he says quietly, looking around trying to make sense of where he is.
"Yeah… I guess you could call it that."
"I don't know how…"
He exhales slowly.
"…but I'm pretty sure this isn't a dream."
"Your assessment is correct," IRIS replies."Initial diagnostic scan indicates systems are performing at sixty-two percent. Secondary scan initiating now. I will update you as additional data becomes available."
Miles nods, scanning the unfamiliar-familiar world around him.
He looks over to the woods across the street.
"I've gotta get out of here," he mutters, "and out of this gown before someone thinks I'm an escapee from the loony bin."
"Agreed. I am attempting GPS positioning but satellite infrastructure is limited. Navigation capability is significantly reduced."
Miles catches a look at the street signs.
Deer Trail.
South Medical Drive.
"Don't worry about it," he says. "I've got a pretty good idea where I am."
He takes another long breath.
Then, with a sigh —
"IRIS… welcome to 1995."
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