He sat up in bed, the fog in his head beginning to lift. He was in a private hospital room—he thought it looked familiar. There was a window beside the bed. The blinds had been drawn, but the light creeping through seemed timid enough to be either early morning or early evening.
“Where’d you find me?” he asked.
“Mack Skozie’s front yard. You’d blacked out. Do you remember what you were doing there? Mack said you seemed pretty agitated and confused.”
“I woke up yesterday by the river. I didn’t know who I was or where I was.”
“You’d left the hospital. Do you remember leaving?”
“No. I went to the Skozie residence because he was the only Mack in the phone book.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Mack was the only name that held any meaning for me.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because Mack is the last word I read before the truck hit us.”
“Oh, right...it was a Mack truck that T-boned your car.”
“Exactly.”
“The mind is a weird thing,” the nurse said, moving around the end of the bed and walking over to the window. “It works in mysterious ways. Seeks out the strangest connections.”
“How long has it been since I was brought back here?”
She raised the blinds.
“Day and a half.”
Light streamed in.
It was actually late morning, the sun just clearing the eastern rim of cliffs.
“You had a bad concussion,” she said. “You could’ve died out there.”
“I felt like I was dying.”
The early light pouring down into the town was stunning.
“How’s your memory?” Pam asked.
“Weirdest thing. It all came back when I remembered the accident. Like someone just flipped a switch. How’s Agent Stallings?”
“Who?”
“The man who was riding in the front passenger seat of the car when the collision happened.”
“Oh.”
“He didn’t make it, did he?”
Nurse Pam walked back over to the bedside. She reached down, put her hand on his wrist. “I’m afraid not.”
He’d assumed as much. Hadn’t seen that sort of trauma since the war. Still, to have that suspicion confirmed was a sobering thing.
“Was he a close friend of yours?” the nurse asked.
“No. I’d met him for the first time earlier that day.”
“Must’ve been just awful. I’m so sorry.”
“What’s my damage?”
“Excuse me?”
“My injuries?”
“Dr. Miter will be able to fill you in better than I can, but you suffered a concussion, which is resolved now. A few cracked ribs. Some superficial cuts and bruises. All things considered, it could have been much, much worse for you.”
She turned away and headed for the door, stopping as she started to pull it open for a quick glance back over her shoulder.
“So,” she said. “We’re sure about your memory coming back?”
“Absolutely.”
He reached for the control panel attached to the railing and jammed his thumb into the NURSE CALL button.
Fifteen minutes later, the door to his room swung open and Nurse Pam breezed through.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see that you rang until ten seconds ago. I think we’re having some issues with our intercom.” She stopped at the foot of the bed and put her hands on the metal railing. “How can I help you, Ethan?”
“Where’s Dr. Miter?”
She grimaced. “He’s been tied up in an emergency surgery all afternoon. One of those five-hour nightmares.” She laughed. “But I filled him in on your vitals this morning and the fantastic progress you’re making with your memory, and he thinks you’re doing A-OK.”