Chapter Text
Chapter 1 : Ryland Grace, Cognition Assessment
The abyss, somewhere between cosmic and individual, felt like a tidal flow of energy. Steady, rocking, consistent, non-changing but unique with each pulse. It was clouded, peaceful, undisturbed- non-threatening but opaque in its clarity. The fuzziness of gentle breath, fluttering tickles of gentle hair or feathers, or the soft shifting of cotton cloth against the skin could not compare to the serenity of this abyssal rest. Drifting in and out of consciousness, it wasn’t much of a choice but a relinquishment of responsibility. A separation of thought from self and a with it, the accompanying peace of being unburdened.
It was the peacefulness of the abyss that was so divine, the cozy freedom of a life done well. A life over but content. No more stress, no more hunger, no more dread…
It was when Ryland threatened to accept this bobbing and rocking when it finally started crashing down around him. It came as a bright light. No longer warm and soft, but now cold and hard- unrelenting and persistent in assaulting his senses.
The floating abyss was replaced next as more of his surroundings came to him, replaced by a more physical wake and unsteady shifting of pressure. Light, from above, was no longer negotiating, and with a physical groan, Ryland managed to clumsily lump his arm over his arm.
Bad move.
The tranquil peace left him and everything came back to him, no longer in waves, but in a brutal assault to his senses. If he wasn’t already laying down (on an uncomfortably hard surface might he add), Ryland was sure that his muscles would’ve buckled. That didn’t stop his stomach from curling and the flaring rise of hot stomach bile building within his core. His mouth watered, hot saliva anticipating the flood of stomach contents started to pool against his tongue. Great, not helping. A splitting headache came next, which combined with the general lack of bodily control only helped seize the moment of abandonment. It came like a gag first, rising to the back of his throat. Ryland, with as much energy and self-perseverance he could muster, tried to clamp his mouth shut and swallow the hot saliva- a desperate last ditch attempt to keep his vomit at bay.
Unfortunately, it was too little too late. The vomit was hot and fast- with self-respect gone, next came the immediate need to purge and hurl everything from inside to out. With the need to not immediately choke on his own stomach contents, his body impulsively turned to the side. Hey, that seemed to help with the strong and unrelenting bright light a little bit…
Grace didn’t process that fact quickly however, he was a little bit more preoccupied with the puke that was now gushing from his lips. Bile, vomit, puke- smooth and liquidy. It burned the back of his throat, his tongue, threatening to choke and strangle him. With the little remaining strength Grace could muster, he found himself propping himself against the hard and uncomfortable ground on his forearms. Pushing himself onto all fours, his thighs shook with the sudden weight and his forearms trembled as his barely functioning body locked- bracing himself as another swell of bile surged through his throat. Now, a little bit came out of his nose… it stung.
This awful attempt at collecting himself and attempting to become aware of his surroundings continued for… honestly, a long time. Each time he thought the contractions of his stomach had stopped- another would come. After an indeterminate, but surely long, amount of time- the feeling of puking waned. Towards the end, as the feeling spiked and the stomach contractions came- the best Grace could manage was a heavy gag; indicating that his stomach had been completely emptied.
Grace’s eyes were completely watery as he opened them, blurred and hazy. The sun’s bright light rays were too much, as he had experienced earlier, but he wasn’t expecting to open his eyes to a mostly gray sky. Grace, with the skill and prowess not dissimilar to a toddler, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand- then his eyes… Amazing… Now there was a little bit of lingering puke on his eyes.
Okay, maybe give the guy a break, he has clearly been through something…
The next and immediate realization, upon waking up and puking and then rubbing some of that puke into his eyes, was that he had absolutely no clue where he was… There were other immediate questions that began to pop up too, but the need to get the drying bile juice off his eyelids became pressing, and those questions didn’t need immediate answers. His eyes were starting to burn in irritation, which reflexively caused his eyelids to squeeze themselves shut… which only seemed to worsen the situation. Grace let out a little bit of a groan, both from the pain of his sore stomach muscles making themselves known, and also the stinging in his throat, mouth, nose, and eyes that were just as perilous.
The next few moments came with the all of the grace of a newborn kitten taking their first steps. First, came the strong will to escape the small puddle of vomit underneath him. Next, the testing of unused muscles, which ached upon first use- and a stumbling attempt to stand. To Dr. Ryland Grace’s credit, his leg muscles and his body did generally comply with this command to operate this time. Unfortunately, to Dr. Ryland Grace’s fault, he was blinded by his own vomit and a relentless headache- which stunted his ability to immediately process his environment. So when the ground underneath him shifted, so too did his body- unprepared for the sudden wobble and shift in weight beneath his feet. This caused the sideway tumble, which pushed the ground beneath him in the opposite direction, which it willingly did, and then Dr. Ryland Grace found himself in water.
If he was having a hard time adjusting to his environment before, then this was the electrifying shock to snap him into clarity. The cold and saline water surrounded him, and in him as well. The unexpected circumstances did not brace Grace into not immediately breathing in salt water, which burned his nose… great another nasal pain… and his lungs. Luckily, snapping his eyes open, his eyes got a similar blast of salty water- which helped clear them of his bile… but didn’t help with the stinging pain though. He found his grounding, the rocky sandy shore was quick to aid him to stand.
Lifting himself from, as he could now notice, was only about a foot or so of water, he stood up. His body now fully cooperating with his will, muscles firing with the flood of adrenaline, he could finally understand where he was… then he choked and coughed up the water. There was a loud ringing in his ears as his stomach muscles tensed, sore from overuse, as his body shook hard to expunge the water from his throat and lungs. To say Grace was over liquids in his body coming out of him violently, would be an understatement.
Luckily, the relief of fresh air was exhilarating and helped sooth him slightly. Although, he still had to let out several residual coughs, in which he noticed that his mouth was dry and salt persisted on his tongue… strong and uncomfortable amount of salt. He stood there for a few moments, collecting himself, processing the last few insanely uncomfortable minutes, coming to his full sense of self… let’s not think about that last one right now.
The first thing Ryland noticed was the cold waves that brushed against his legs. Then, the same cool sensation across his front- from his shirt down to his pants- which now noticed, he realized was entirely drenched. He let out a long sigh at this, great just his luck… where was he again?
The next thing he noticed was the ground he awoke upon, a very small wooden boat. It floated gracefully next to him, almost taunting him. It was tied to the beach… odd. He doesn’t remember getting onto the wooden boat. And he definitely doesn’t remember tying the boat to a… a large boulder. Assessing more of his surroundings, the beach was rather rocky. He seemed to be nestled between tidal pools of harp rock. That would explain why he didn’t drown immediately… and why he wasn’t subsequently swept out in the tide. He was in one of these shallow pools now, the rising tide crashing against his knees. To say that he didn’t recognize this beach would be an understatement. It was nice, don’t get him wrong, but… it was all foreign to him. Even as he glanced up to the sky, he didn’t recognize the clouds, which weren’t necessarily angry, but were dark gray and hanging.
“Where… am I…”
It was more spoken to the world, asking without the expectation of an answer. If only it was that easy.
The cold crept up on him and the desire to no longer be wet led to Grace’s first actionable plan that hadn’t resulted in complete and total failure. Pushing against the cold ocean water, he clambered back onto the boat, assuming the side where his puke puddle was not. Looking around the boat, he noted a few things: there was a backpack. Helpful! Yay. Amazing…
Next, beside the backpack and puke puddle, was a folded sheet of paper. As he reached towards it, he couldn’t help but notice that a corner of the paper had absorbed the bilious liquid. Not helpful! Boo. Amazing…
He picked up the folded sheet of paper, immediately rubbing it with the pad of his thumb and took in the fine quality, hefty and thick. Upon unfolding the spoiled thing did Grace’s mood really take a tumble. A map. A physical, printed, map. Helpful! Yay. Amazing that it is partially sullied by vomit.
Upon unfolding the nice thick map, it didn’t take too long for his brain to start firing. It was immediately painful, due to the aforementioned headache, but he had more pressing concerns than a headache. A stab shot through the front of Grace’s forehead so abruptly and so painfully, that he balked and groaned- leaning down to hold his head in his hands. Okay… maybe not. After a few minutes of intense breath exercises, he folded the map back up and leaned over to the backpack. Maybe, just maybe, this would be less painful.
It was a hefty backpack, well-stuffed, clearly meant for intensive backpacking adventures. It had straps and hooks and pockets all over the darn thing, but Grace was more concerned with the primary objective. The large pocket, which he carefully unzipped, nearly spilled open. It appears that whoever packed this had done their best to shove everything they could into it. But peaking into it, he was immediately met with a sheet of paper. Clearly far worse quality then the map, just scratch paper if he had to guess. The type of paper for scribbling quick notes and then discarding.
Ryland snatched the piece of paper, scanning the back before flipping it over. He read it once, then again. It was easier to process than the map apparently, because his headache had no troubles reading this time. In black ink, probably a cheap ball-point pen, was scrawled:
‘I hope you know this was the best I could do for you. Best of luck.
-S. ‘
How ominous… Who writes a note like this?
Ryland read it again, for the third time now. Nope. Still didn’t make sense.
Who was “S”? Was this person the reason why he was here? How did he know this “S”? Why did he know this was the best they could do? Were they the one who packed the backpack?
Ouch! Another stabbing pain split through Grace’s forehead. Okay, no more thinking for Dr. Ryland Grace. He placed the note next to the map, another thing to think about at another time. He returned his focus to the overpacked hiking gear.
The next thing he noticed was divine. A sense of immediate need shot through Grace like a bullet and he was reaching into the pack faster than he thought he was currently capable of. Water. Specifically, a water bottle, clear, plastic.
Grace pulled it out of the backpack and uncapped it, likely beating the world record for drinking a whole bottle of water. He removed the water bottle from his parched lips and sighed.
Second bad move.
The regret couldn’t have come more instantly. His stomach churned, there was very little to stop the assault of the water hitting his barren stomach lining and the painful reaction that such thing caused. His stomach muscles contracted again, tense and aching this time, as a wave of nausea wrapped around his skull. The old feeling again returned, the hot saliva filling his mouth, the need to vomit. Grace put up more of an effort to keep his violent stomach from turning over this time.
Deep breaths and dry heaving, and approximately ten minutes later, he was able to return to searching through the bag of hidden goodies.
He found a mixture of things, both dry solid foods and a few canned liquid foods- although neither in great qualities. While his empty stomach was painful, he knew better now then to try and test fate. He knew now to take food and liquid slowly. An old portable AM radio, alongside a small plastic baggie of batteries. Deeper inside the pack, more useful ingredients. Cloth bandages, band-aids, medical adhesive tape, package sealed gauze pads, a small tube of cream that seemed to be a kind of weak antibiotic, and a small bottle (which upon shaking, sounded only a quarter full) of painkillers. First aid… convenient. Finally, extra clothes. A thick coat, then a rain coat, underneath were an assortment of thermal shirts. The texture wasn’t pleasant against Grace’s thumb, but he knew they were more for practicality than pleasure or fashion.
That word stuck to him. Practicality. Everything within the backpack held a weight to them. A weight of necessity. Nothing in here, aside from maybe the AM radio and batteries, seemed to carry the air of immediate value to his survival. Usefulness was optimized and prioritized to a tee. Nothing that Grace would’ve packed for a vacation to the beach. In fact, Grace was certain none of these ideas belonged to him. Grace had the tendency to prefer personality to practicality. Even the clothes he was currently wearing, which were wet, cold, and uncomfortably scratching his skin, didn’t feel like his. They lacked the color, texture, and cozy “hipster fashion” that he tended to prefer.
No, this certainly wasn’t his. It was probably meant for him, as he recognised the unfamiliar note, but definitely not his doing.
That was about when his heart started to pick up pace.
The panic was slow to start, but quickly found pace. It was if his heart was ready to jump out of his ribcage, tear through layers of muscle, and flop out of his chest. The deep breaths that he had so excellently been practicing only moments before, became shallow. As if he couldn’t suck down air fast enough. Quickly, through shaky and hyperventilating breaths, his vision started to turn cloudy. It was almost like he was choking on air.
His muscles twitched, like he needed to jump out of his skin and bolt. While at the same time, the small boat closed in around him, preventing him from moving. A bird caught in a cage, fluttering and slamming against the metal bars, flying and dying. Flying and dying. The air was no little. It was too much. He gagged and the water in his stomach churned, clearly hoping to make a reappearance.
The water rocking the boat turned stronger, more intense. The tide clearly rising, causing the boat to clash against the rocky tidal pools. Grace, heart and soul on fire, twitched- trying to reach out and grab the backpack and shove everything back into it. His hand found it hard to grab onto the metal cans of beans. Doom. He had to move. He had to leave the boat. A wave sloshed against the side, finally pouring over the lip and a liter of ocean became trapped within the hull of the tiny boat.
This seemed to be the tipping point. Throwing everything he could grab into the bag, he struggled to zip it closed. It was difficult, as while the bag was already pretty stuffed when everything inside was properly sorted, now as he tried to zip it close- his trembling hands found it impossible with the messed up packing job of a man drowning in air. His hands felt alien as he desperately pulled with all of his might to zip the backpack closed, before he swung it around his shoulder. With another wobbly standing attempt, this time more aware of his surroundings, Grace jumped from the wooden boat as another wave rolled in. He had to wade through a few feet of freezing water, but it wasn’t long before he was on dry land. Sand and small pebbles beneath his hiking boots were solid. Stable. Grounding.
He fell onto the grainy beach sand, his knees and palms sinking into the soft ground. Slowly, the walls opened. The fresh scent of the salty ocean air filled his nostrils, which burned at the sensation, before filling his lungs- which similarly stung. But it was enough, not too much or not enough. Oxygen. The cloudiness around his eyes slowly faded as he focused intensely on the shiny pebbles beneath him and the sound of gentle crashing waves behind him. Touch- soft, Smell- salty yet fresh, Sight- shiny rocks, Sound- the crashing of waves. He recited them like a mantra. Slowly like a prayer.
I hope you know this was the best I could do for you.
It almost made Ryland laugh, if he weren't so deeply rocked by agony. As he came back to his senses, he couldn’t help but notice just how awful of a situation he found himself in. Finally putting all of the puzzle pieces together to form a… rather dire picture.
He didn’t remember where he came from. He barely remembered who he was, aside from his name… Dr. was a nice touch… but was it accurate? He hoped so. He didn’t know how he got here. He honestly didn’t even know where here was. Let alone what day it was or how long he had been out for. He didn’t know who “S” was, or why they left him, or why they left him the backpack and note.
Best of luck.
It almost felt cruel. No. It was cruel.
Someone, by the name of “S” probably, or someones put him into a coma. Then put him on a boat. Then they had to move him to a beach in the boat. Then leave him a backpack with a note… and a… a map!
A map!
Probably the best move Ryland had was to read the map. Surely that would give him some answers.
After a minute of rummaging through the hastily packed backpack, Ryland fished out the high-quality map. Unfolding the beast, he laid it out on the sandy beach. His headache, while certainly still present, wasn’t as angry at him thinking as it was earlier. Something must have changed. He wasn’t sure what, but he was certain.
Oregon.
To be fair, it was a high definition map of Oregon. Why Oregon? Was he from Oregon? Where in Oregon? Oh. Wait. There was a small red circle on the southern end of the Oregon coast. Okay. Probably there.
Aside from the drawn red circle, the map wasn’t as helpful in revealing more secrets. So he folded the map but up carefully, shoving it into his pocket and turned to the backpack to properly assess his organizing skills.
He reassessed the pack a few minutes later, now that he found some semblance of order before zipping the thing closed and throwing it over his shoulders. Okay… what now?
Autopilot. That was what he was running on. From the moment he opened his eyes to the blinding sun until this exact moment, everything that Dr. Ryland Grace had accomplished up until this point had been on more or less autopilot. Survival. That word pops back into his mind again: practicality. But now, taking a moment of pause from the otherwise very chaotic past few hours, the reality of the situation before him began to sink in, and the ability to adapt to meet the situation was critical. It was a quiet acknowledgement, a gathering of information. Logically determining his next steps and evaluating how best to continue forward. Rejecting the belief that he could solely act on autopilot and accepting that he could no longer act on base survival instincts and hope that everything would magically work for him.
No more falling out of boats. It was time for him to think. Actually think.
Scanning the shoreline, Grace could not identify anything particularly useful of note. The beach was made of sandy gravel, and hard stone tidepools lined most of the beach’s flank. It occurred to him that he was nestled into an alcove, instead of an extensive scenic breach strip, and looking up past the shoreline- it became obvious that he was placed in this location for a specific reason. He was being hidden. Another question, which Grace didn’t know he needed answered, was revealed.
“Why this beach?”
This wasn’t a beach that one just stumbled into, it was wild- it was a secret. Pondering back to the map, it must have been intentionally picked to be as far away from any coastal towns as possible. It wasn’t a beach meant for vacationers to stumble into or locals to frequently visit, no, it was meant to be for people who wanted to hide and not be found. A hideaway from the rest of the world.
In fact, looking around the beach, it became obvious that this wasn’t a frequently visited beach. There were no visible footprints in the sand, no trash or discarded waste that is frequently left behind in ignorance, no signs of humanity at all. Not… helpful… not amazing…
Thick coniferous trees stands bordered where the beach meets the earth, the scent of resinous sap stuck in the air has Grace slowly trudged through the gravelly beach and towards the next obvious step of survival. Getting off this weird beach. There were typically roads neighboring the coastline, so finding one was Grace’s next priority.
The weight on his shoulders shifted as his boots struck solid ground, the weight was heavier. It meant something new.
There was no trail through the forest, just plants and no plants. Bundles of ferns, bunches of grasses, and, of course, towering conifers that blocked out the sky. It was eerie as he moved further into the unknown and away from the crashing waves, into the quiet. Perhaps Grace was expecting to hear more signs of the wild, more birds chirping or something. Instead, the only noise was ominous creaking from strong wooden fibers bending as the tall trees bent in line of the coastal breeze.
Thankfully, Ryland didn’t need to walk for long before the first signs of civilization came into view. It was only about an hour of hiking through coniferous stands before he eventually stumbled into a road. Probably a highway, recalling the map’s red circle from earlier. Highway 101. The iconic scenic corridor stretching from southern California all the way to northern Washington. In better times, Ryland had considered taking a roadtrip on the highway. He loved the beach… and fog. Likely why he wasn’t too upset at being abandoned and alone in the Pacific northwest.
Wait… how did he know that?
The concrete beneath his feet was hard, it was different then the solid ground of a forest floor. It didn’t bend under his weight. He peered as far as he could up and down the highway… no cars coming. Guess hitchhiking is off the table for a bit.
But where to go next?
Should he just stay here? Or wait for a car to come along?
The gray skies above him taunted him. A poor decision could easily escalate into either wasting all of his energy for no reason in pursuit of a town several miles away or becoming drenched and possibly freezing to death. Well, surely someone will be passing through here at some point. Just gotta hope that they aren’t a crazy serial killer.
The words from the letter came back to him at that moment.
Best of luck.
Right. Thanks.