Writing Prompt: I Can Hear You

This week's writing prompt from Writer's Digest:

You were involved in a terrible car accident and have been in a coma for the past three months. What your family and the doctors don’t know is that you can hear everything that they say. Write the scene.

I found this more interesting than I first imagined. I whipped up the following spiel, but it's far from refined. I really don't have any idea if any of this is medically or legally accurate, I just followed the impulses of the drama. For a prompt, I'm not bothered to refine this any more. So here it is just for the fun of it.
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Through the dense veil of darkness, Caleb heard his mother’s voice. “So irresponsible. I thought I taught you better. You always were…irresponsible…” She sniffled and sobbed.

Caleb envisioned her face, contorted with grief and soaked in tears, but he couldn’t see. He couldn’t move. The darkness enveloped all his senses, except his hearing. It was his only conduit to the world. In all the endless hours he listened, he heard constant footsteps, beeping sounds, quiet discussions. He was certain he was in a hospital.

Where else would he be after driving his car straight into an 18-wheeler truck? In the quietest moments of his stay, Caleb still saw the metal grille coming at him like the maw of a metal monster. It felt as surreal then as it did now — the only difference was his state of mind. It was a slurred, hazy experience when he saw the truck and felt the impact rumbling through his body. It was more vivid in his memory.

He didn’t know how much time passed between voices. Minutes? Hours? Years? Time no longer mattered. Caleb remembered how Dr. Manhattan described it in the Watchmen — the past, present, and future all combined into one confusing mess. The only difference was that the big blue man could control space and time. Caleb couldn’t even move his pinky if he wanted to.

After an unknown span of time, Caleb heard other voices, so stiff, commanding, and judgmental. “Your son’s blood-alcohol level was three times over the legal limit. It’s a miracle he got into the car at all.”

His mother asked, “What does this mean?”

“Since he is at fault, he will have to pay the entire cost.”

“He has insurance.”

“Insurance doesn’t cover this and they refuse to pay. We don’t expect you to cover for him at all, ma’am. As the joint owner on Caleb’s account, we’ll just need you to sign this form, allowing all funds to be withdrawn from his account.”

“Does he even have that much?”

“Barely.”

Caleb heard the scribbling of a pen. Just like that, all his money was gone. He heard footsteps as the mysterious man left the room — he must have been an insurance investigator. Once again, he heard his mother’s condemning words, “So irresponsible!”

More empty time passed. Another voice — his best friend Jacob — said, “Hey, I don’t know if you can hear me or not. I heard this sort of thing is good for patients in this condition, I dunno. Uh, how’s it going?”

There was an uncertain pause, and Caleb knew that something else was going to happen. Jacob cleared his throat and said, “Listen…I’m sorry to say this, but you need to know…your boss heard about how wasted you were…he’s going to fire you. Sorry man. I don’t even know how this sort of things works, but if you do wake up, you’re going to have to find a new job.”

Caleb had no money and no means to make money. If he could scream, he would.

More time passed. He heard the occasional mutterings of doctors and nurses. “He looks stable, but who knows how long he’ll be in this state?”

In another instant, he heard his mother complaining, “It costs too much. Can’t we just…” Caleb understood at once, and he envisioned a plug yanked from the wall and ending his life.

“Just give it time, he might come to at any moment,” the doctor assured.

Caleb was scared. His own life was in other people’s hands and there wasn’t anything he could do. He wished he could say sorry to his mother. He wished he could beg to his boss and vow never to drink again. He wanted to repay everybody for all the harm he caused. Without being able to repent, he couldn’t argue his own case to live.

He expected it to end at any minute. A long period of silence followed, before he heard whispers. Strangers in the darkness were arguing. “Are you sure about this?”

“This kid is a deadbeat, nobody will catch on,” another voice said. “Get the scalpel.”

Caleb wanted to know what this was about. Was this surgery? If so, why were they whispering? Why did they talk about him this way?

These were no surgeons — they would have used anesthesia. He felt something in his side, sliding down the skin. It parted, and there was pressure. Somebody made an incision and stuck his hands inside of him. His skin stung, and his organs ached. He wanted to shout and jump up, but couldn’t. All he could do was listen to the sickening sounds of oozing blood and moving tissue.

“His liver looks terrible,” one voice muttered. “What a waste. Kidney’s not bad though.”

“Take it. Hurry.”

The pain lasted for an eternity, before he was left with an excruciating ache in his side. He felt dozens of stings as somebody stitched his skin and closed the incision.

Pain filled all of Caleb’s world, until the voices came back.

“This kid’s still here.” One of them said. Caleb panicked. What else did they want? What more will they take from him?

“Hearts are in high demand,” the other voice said.

“Won’t that kill him?”

“It’s either that, or lungs, or sperm. Hey, you can try to collect his sperm if you want, but I’m not touching that. Besides, the heart will fetch a good price. His mother won’t mind as long as she gets her cut.”

“Let’s take his heart.”