“You don’t remember your name?” Sadie asks, shocked that someone could forget their identity. It’d be easier if I had complete amnesia, the kind you see in movies or read about, where the character forgets everything about themselves, including being the bad guy.
It’s a shame that I can remember the countless horrific acts I’ve done in my life, but I can’t recall what happened when I was shot.
“Can’t say I do.”
“You came in with no identification, no phone, not even a set of house or car keys.” Sadie quietly sits beside me, her hands folded together in her lap. “What are you going to do when they release you from this place?”
“Hold up a convenience store and sleep in the back room?”
She doesn’t smile or laugh.
“It’s a joke,” I say. Doesn’t she get that? Not that she knows me. “Relax, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to stay and babysit me unless you’re a cop?” Is that why she’s still here, trying to pry information out of me?
Is she working on the investigation and wants to know who shot me? Well, I don’t intend on pressing charges. That isn’t how us bratva type work.
“I’m not a police officer. But an officer was looking to speak with you while you were in a coma. He left his card.” She points at the business card on the nearby table. No flowers, get-well cards, or other gifts were sent to the hospital for me.
I chalk it up to the hospital, not having identified me, but what about the bratva? Did they leave me to die and not bother to recover the body? That’s unusual and suspect. Something is amiss.
“What did you tell them?” I ask.
“That you were in a coma and needed rest.”
“Good,” I say, and sit up, pulling the IV line out of my arm. My head pounds from the sudden movement, but I can’t sit around and wait for the cops to interrogate me. Will the hospital inform them that I’m awake?
“What are you doing?” Sadie’s voice raises an octave.
I can’t help but worry that she’ll alert the authorities. “Getting the hell out of here.”
The television is on. It’s mostly been background noise, the news. I haven’t paid much attention until I stand and sway in my less-than-stellar hospital gown. My feet are rubber, and my legs jelly. It takes all my effort to stand and not fall over. I’m weak, not that I’d ever admit it to anyone.
“Where are my clothes?” I can’t leave the hospital with my ass hanging out in a gown.
“The doctors put your dirty clothes in a bag,” Sadie says, and opens the wardrobe closet.
I stumble into the bathroom and slam the door. It takes no time to strip down. I’m practically naked already. I grimace as I rip the electrode stickers attached to my chest and pull on my black suit pants and white shirt. The collar is covered in crimson. There’s a splatter of blood down the front of the shirt that dripped from the injury. My suit coat is wrinkled, but it’ll cover most of the blood for the time being. I’ll need new clothes, something less conspicuous.
Too bad Sadie didn’t think to bring me a spare change of clothes.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Sadie’s head is down, glancing at her phone. She tucks her cell phone into her purse and folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re not leaving. You can’t.”
I stop myself from telling her that she can’t make me stay. My footing is wobbly, and perhaps Sadie senses my discomfort and imbalance. I grip the nearby wardrobe attached to the wall, letting it hold me up.
There’s a heavy sigh that spills past her lips. She glances me over and tucks the book tight in one hand, and with her other hand, she escorts me toward the chair that she had been in earlier. “You’ll stay with me,” Sadie says.
“That’s a terrible idea.”
She scoffs under her breath. “When someone makes you a polite offer, there are nicer ways to decline. But with that said, I wasn’t inviting you to stay in my home. I don’t know you. But I work at the Luxenberg. I can get you a room.”
“A hotel?” I slip on my shoes and socks. I’m not capable of standing and putting them on. The room sways as I sit, but I ignore the dizzying sensation.
When my shoes are on, I jump up and head out into the hallway. I sway from side to side like I’m on rough seas and trying to keep my balance. The nurses are busy, not paying the slightest bit of attention to a man walking out in a suit. Perhaps they’d have glanced up from their computer screens and charting if I had donned a hospital gown.
Sadie grabs my arm, accompanying me, steadying me from falling on my ass. With each step, my footing becomes more solid and less nauseating. I’ve always had an iron-clad stomach, but the room spinning around haphazardly doesn’t help.
“You’re improving,” she says as we step into the elevator together.
“Fake it till you make it,” I joke, and can’t help but glance down at the book in her hand. She’s covering the title, but it’s a romance book with a half-naked man on the front cover. Was she reading me mommy porn? I think I like her already.