Chapter 6 – Strangers Washed Ashore
The waves crashed gently against the shore, the ocean no longer raging but breathing. Jack trudged through the shallows, Theophilus slung over his shoulder like a lifeless bundle, his body limp and barely conscious. Salt and blood stained both of them, and the horizon glowed faint orange as the sun gave its final sigh.
Jack dropped to his knees, laying Theophilus down on the coarse sand with care. Theophilus wheezed, his chest rising and falling erratically, his lips barely parting as he tried to breathe. His twisted knee was unnaturally bent, and his right arm hung at an angle that spoke only of pain. Each throb shook him like a current under his skin.
Jack, chest heaving, looked down at his only companion. "Hold on, man," he muttered, ripping his soaked shirt with trembling hands. "I'm gonna fix this, but you're gonna have to be strong."
Theophilus nodded faintly, then bit down on a strip of cloth as Jack carefully took his arm.
What followed was agony.
Theophilus screamed into the fabric as Jack twisted the arm, pushing the dislocated joint back into place. The sound was sickening. But it was done. Jack wrapped it swiftly, using broken driftwood to support the splint.
Then came the leg.
"This one's gonna be worse," Jack warned, eyes grim. "Bite harder."
Theophilus shut his eyes and braced. Jack gripped the kneecap with both hands and gave a sharp, brutal push. A muffled howl burst from Theophilus's throat. He gasped like a man drowning anew, tears at the corners of his eyes, face pale.
Jack wasted no time wrapping the knee, keeping the leg as straight as he could manage. There was little else he could do, no tools, no medicine—just resolve.
The stars had begun to pepper the sky. The ocean shimmered with moonlight. Jack sat close, letting Theophilus sleep. He kept his back to the sea, one eye open, listening to the winds. He didn't sleep.
---
The next morning
The sun was just peeking over the water when Jack rose. Theophilus was still asleep, feverish but breathing. Jack took a last look at the stretch of beach and jogged off barefoot, his legs aching, clothes stiff with salt.
He ran.
Across the sand, through broken fencing, until finally—civilization.
A coast patrol officer saw him stumbling and came running.
Jack explained what happened, fragmented but urgent. A rescue was dispatched, and by 11 a.m., Jack returned with a medic and an officer in tow.
Theophilus was semi-conscious. They loaded him onto a stretcher and carried him carefully up the dune. He groaned but didn't wake fully.
---
Jamaica Hospital Medical Center, Queens
The ER bustled with quiet tension, the kind unique to city hospitals. Theophilus was admitted immediately due to his condition—unresponsive, injured, and suffering blood loss. Jack stayed close, refusing to leave the waiting room even after hours passed.
When a nurse finally approached him, her voice was calm but firm. "You came in with him?"
Jack nodded.
"Is he a U.S. citizen?"
Jack hesitated. "No. Neither of us are."
She nodded, not surprised. "Don't worry. He's being treated under Emergency Medicaid. New York doesn't turn people away. He'll be okay, but... we'll need to talk about identification, any contacts, embassies..."
Jack didn't have much, but he gave his name, where he had flown from, and whatever else he could offer. The nurse took notes. "You may be eligible for something called NYC Care. It's a program for people who don't qualify for insurance. No cost up front. He'll be seen."
Later, a social worker visited. She spoke kindly but asked detailed questions. Jack explained everything he could.
Theophilus, bandaged and stable, slept on.
---
The walls were the color of stale porcelain, the hallway still and humming with distant motion. Jack sat on a firm bench, elbows on his knees, still soaked from the sea, his damp hair pressed down by the sweat of fatigue. A woman in a navy blazer approached—clipboard in hand, her tone professional but not unkind.
"Mr. Jack…?"
He rose halfway before sitting again. "Just Jack's fine."
"I'm Lydia Kaye, hospital social services. We're just following up on your emergency intake. Mind if I sit?"
Jack gave a weak nod.
She flipped a few pages and clicked her pen. "You were found with the injured party, brought him in yourself, and gave your name as…?"
"Jack Drenner," he said.
"Citizenship?"
"British. But I've been in the States about a day and a half. Just travel."
"Do you know the name of the man you brought in?"
Jack shook his head slowly. "No clue. He was on the same flight… I saw him stuck. Couldn't leave him. That's all I know."
Lydia nodded, unbothered. "Alright. We'll handle it from here. Because you're both non-citizens, there are protocols. He's being treated under Emergency Medicaid. We'll notify the consulates if necessary and try to establish some identification when he wakes. We may need more from you later."
Jack nodded. "Got it."
---
Meanwhile, Theophilus lay unconscious in a quiet room, the IV soft and steady, his arm and leg both wrapped neatly in clean bandages. A nurse adjusted his blankets and whispered to another, "Vitals steady. Might be a day or two. Poor guy."
She administered a light sedative for muscle relief and stepped out. Theophilus's breaths eased. Jack remained in the hallway the entire time, watching the doors, waiting.
---
The Next Morning
Theophilus blinked awake under fluorescent light, vision blurry. A dull ache radiated through his body, but his arm and leg were still—braced and resting.
The door opened.
A man stepped in, middle-aged, with a badge clipped to his shirt. "Mr... uh—well, I'm Doctor Hadley. Glad to see you're awake."
Theophilus gave a groggy nod.
"I'm just going to run a brief cognitive check. Nothing too deep. Can you tell me your name?"
"Theophilus."
"Do you know where you are?"
"A hospital. Somewhere near the coast."
"Do you remember what happened?"
"Plane crash. Or something like it. I survived it, somehow."
Hadley nodded, made a note, then smiled kindly. "That's enough for now. You're stable. I'll have someone come speak with you about the next steps. Rest—but don't sleep just yet. I'll send them in."
A few minutes later, the social worker from before—Lydia—stepped in.
"Mr. Theophilus, is it?"
He gave a mild smile. "Yeah."
"I'm here to help you with records, identification, anything to get you back on your feet." She sat beside him. "You're not a citizen, correct?"
"No."
"Can you tell me where you came from?"
"Flight 209. From OR.Tambo. Destination was JFK. Something went wrong."
She scribbled. "Do you remember the crash?"
He inhaled slowly. "Bits of it. The pressure dropped, alarms... then we were in the water. I barely made it out alive."
"Was anyone with you?"
He shook his head. "Not really. I was alone. Until that man found me."
"Understood. We'll coordinate with airport records. You're eligible for continued care under New York state emergency provisions. We'll help you figure out what comes next."
She left with a nod.
Moments later, Jack entered the room, finally dry, wearing hospital-lent clothes. His smile was soft and easy.
Theophilus looked up. "Thanks, man."
Jack gave a faint shrug. "No problem... How are you holding up?"
Theophilus shifted, winced. "Well, it wasn't anything critical. Not vital. So I'm holding on better."
Jack made a small wave as if about to turn and leave.
Theophilus sat up slightly, eyes hesitant. "I'd like to know the name of someone who saved me."
Jack stopped at the door, turned, and grinned.
"The name's Jack."
Jack gave a half-smile, scratching the back of his neck. "I should let you rest. They'll probably run some more checks later."
Theophilus nodded faintly. "Yeah… I guess they will." He glanced toward the window, sunlight trickling through the blinds like threads of gold across the wall. Then back at Jack. "You… heading anywhere?"
Jack shrugged with a quiet exhale. "Not sure. Still waiting to hear from my embassy. Apparently my passport's drying under a lamp somewhere." He chuckled.
Theophilus offered a faint laugh too, though it stirred the soreness in his chest. "Well… if there's anything I can do, once I'm up and walking again—"
"You don't owe me anything," Jack interrupted, his voice calm but resolute. "We just survived something together. That's enough."
Before more could be said, a gentle knock at the door brought in the nurse from earlier, a clipboard tucked under her arm.
"Mr. Theophilus," she said with a polite nod, "just letting you know the doctor will be back in a few minutes for final vitals. After that, we'll move you to a shared room for the rest of your stay."
Jack gave a respectful nod to her, then turned back to Theophilus. "Take care of yourself, alright?"
"Yeah. You too," Theophilus replied, watching him disappear down the hallway.
The room fell still again, filled only by the soft hum of the wall monitor and the distant footfalls of hospital staff.
A few minutes later, the door opened gently. The doctor returned, the same one from earlier—a tall, composed man with dark-rimmed glasses and a voice that had the steadiness of someone who'd seen a thousand faces and remembered every case.
"Good afternoon again, Mr Theophilus," he greeted. "Just a final check before we move you."
Theophilus gave a small nod. "Still alive, I think."
The doctor smiled briefly. "That's a good start." He performed a quick, professional check—blood pressure, pulse, knee response, arm movement. When Theophilus flinched at the shoulder, he paused.
"We'll run imaging again in the morning. No sign of fractures, but we're keeping you for observation. You're lucky—any deeper, and your arm wouldn't be usable for weeks."
"Feels like weeks already," Theophilus muttered, leaning back with a tired breath.
The doctor gave a brief nod, scribbled something down, then gestured to the nurse in the hallway. "We'll transfer you now. Try to sleep once you're settled. You've had a hell of a trauma."
As the gurney rolled gently into the corridor, Theophilus stared at the ceiling tiles sliding by. Every motion reminded him of the pain still dormant in his limbs, but his mind was quieting. He was warm. Clean. Safe.
They placed him near the window in a new room, a modest space shared with one other patient, who was asleep behind a thin curtain.
Theophilus shifted slightly beneath the fresh blanket. His knee ached, and his shoulder pulsed with soreness, but the tension that had once gripped his chest began to loosen.
He stared out the window. The sun was low now—nearly evening—casting the bay in colors he hadn't seen since the crash. Golds, blues, and hints of lavender washed across the skyline, rippling gently across the glass.
His breath deepened.
His eyes closed.
And, at last, for the first time in what felt like days, Theophilus slept.