Dead and Gone

loose of the restraints, attacking … something. It was a medical risk, but, if we had not done that, you would have died.”

“What happened?” I asked her, making her the trial horse for the lie I would have to tell the cops.

“You have no recollection?”

I recollected everything that counted: who I was, and what I had to do.

“I was driving in my car,” I said softly, testing the lie. “Then I … Was it an accident?”

“We don’t know,” she said. “You were dropped off in the ER by two men. They left before anyone could question them.”

“Tired …”

“Yes. You sleep now.”

“Burke?”

“Huh?”

Two white men in cheap suits.

“I’m Detective Baird, and this is my partner, Detective Wheelwright. We need to ask you some questions.”

“Who?”

“Baird. And this is—”

“Burke. Who’s Burke? Where is—?”

“You.”

“What?”

“Burke. You. That’s your name, right?”

“I … don’t know.”

“Shit!” one of them said.

“They warned us he might not remember,” the other one responded. “Shot in the head, you got to expect some …”

“How are we supposed to—?”

“Tired …” I said, falling away.

“It’s me, baby.” A whisper. Close to my ear.

“Michelle.” I knew her velvet-and-honey voice like I knew my own heartbeat.

“You’re going to be all right,” she promised.

“How did—?”

“Ssshhh, honey. You’re in the Stepdown Unit now. But there’s cops all over the place. Be careful what you say.”

“But …”

“I always thought I’d look great in one of these nurse’s uniforms,” she said. “Too bad you can’t see. I’m dazzling. Except for these tacky shoes.”

“I can’t …”

“… remember. That’s right. Yes, baby. Stay with that one until we can figure out how to get you discharged and disappeared. Just rest, okay?”

“You had a seizure,” the guy in the white coat said. “It’s not uncommon. Given enough shock to the overall system, the body goes on ‘stun.’ It just shuts down. It’s almost like being underwater for a half-hour and still surviving.”

I was underwater, I thought. But I kept it to myself; didn’t say anything. Just let my eyes close and went back to waiting for one of my own to come for me.

“I know you must be frightened,” he said, in a voice like he was hoping for it, just a little bit. “When you’ve been in a coma, the brain short-circuits. It’s not unusual … to have a short-term-memory loss, I mean. It’ll come back. Don’t push it. Just relax and get better, okay?”

“Tired …” I mumbled, and fell away from him.

A nurse poked at me. It was dark everyplace but right by my bed. “Time for your pills,” she said.

I just looked at her. She dropped one of the pills on the floor. Knelt quickly, picked it up, rubbed it on her smock, and dropped it back into the paper cup. “Here,” she said. “Make sure you swallow them all for me, okay?”

I took the pills. Then I closed my eyes.

“My name is Rich. I’ll be caring for you.” He was all in white, like a doctor—but no doctor would have said that, so I figured him for a nurse.

I didn’t say anything.

“This is a morphine pump,” he told me, pointing at a blue box on a long stalk. Tubes ran out of it. Into me. “With this, you don’t have to ask anyone for a painkiller, you control it yourself. And it goes right into the bloodstream, so there’s no delay in absorption. Much better than needles, I promise you. Here, can you hold this …?” he asked, putting something that felt like a jumprope handle into my palm.

I nodded that I could.

“Good!” he said. “There’s a little button on the end—feel it? You push that, and the pump sends you a jolt. It’s limited to six an hour … about one every ten minutes. If it doesn’t feel like you’re getting enough, the dosage can be adjusted. Just let me know, understand?”