The 8th Confession

Which was good.

Sometimes when the press fired questions at her, she wanted to answer and often couldn’t prevent her thoughts from stampeding out of her mouth unchecked. So when Yuki saw Candy Stimpson, a feisty reporter from the Examiner, she walked quickly down the steps, making a straight line for the corner.

The reporter called after her, “Yuki! Is the Glenn trial going into the crapper? How are you feeling right now? I just want a quote. One stinking quote.”

“Outta my face, Candy,” Yuki snapped, turning her head toward the reporter, maintaining her forward motion as she stepped off the sidewalk. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

Candy Stimpson screamed, “Yuki, no!”

But Yuki didn’t get it.

Chapter 21

THE LIGHT SHINING in Yuki’s eyes was blinding.

“Mom!” she yelled. “Mommy!”

“It’s okay,” said a man’s reassuring voice. “You’re okay.”

The light went off, and she saw gray eyes rimmed with blue, then the rest of his face. She didn’t know him, had never seen him before in her life.

“Who are you?”

“Dr. Chesney,” he said. “John. And your name is…?”

“Ms. Castellano. Yuki.”

“Good.” He smiled. “That checks with your ID. I have a few questions -”

“What the hell? What’s going on?”

“You’re in the emergency room,” Dr. Chesney told her. He appeared to be in his early thirties. Looked like he worked out. “You walked into an oncoming car,” he said.

“I did not.”

“It was stopping for the light, lucky for you,” Chesney continued. “Your CAT scan was negative. Just a minor concussion. You’ve got a couple of scrapes, a few stitches, an impressive bruise on your left hip, but no broken bones. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two.”

“And now?”

“Three.”

“Okay. Do this. Close your eyes. Touch your nose with your left forefinger. Now, same thing with the right. Excellent. And what’s the last thing you remember?”

“I have an impressive bruise on my hip.”

Chesney laughed. “I meant, what do you remember from before the accident?”

“A reporter was hounding me…”

“You remember her name?”

“Candy Bigmouth Stimpson.”

“Okay. Very good. She’s waiting outside. I want to keep you here overnight, just for observation -”

But Yuki was staring around, starting to recognize the emergency room, her guts turning to Jell-O. She gripped the sides of the bed. “What hospital is this?”

“San Francisco Municipal.”

Mommy died here.

“I’ll want to check you over again in the morning -”

“Hell with that,” Yuki said. “I’m fine.”

“Or you can leave,” said Chesney. He produced a form on a clipboard, said, “This is a release that says you’re checking out against medical advice. Sign here.”

“Got a pen?”

Chesney clicked his Bic, and Yuki signed where he indicated. He said, “I recommend acetaminophen. It’s not too late to change your mind about staying overnight, Yuki.”

“No. No, no, no.”

“Your decision,” Chesney said. “Don’t wash your hair for at least three days -”

“Are you crazy? Don’t wash? I have to work -”

“Listen. Look at me, Yuki, and pay attention. You’ll want your doctor to take those stitches out in ten days. If you can wait thirty or forty seconds, a nurse will bring your clothes. I suggest you go home and get some sleep.”

“Sorry?”

“Get some sleep. And I’m not joking. Watch where you’re walking.”

Chapter 22

YUKI THOUGHT, I have to get out of here. Have to!

She finished dressing, stepped into her shoes, threw open the curtains around the stall, and fled. After taking a wrong turn into obstetrics and a detour through the cafeteria, she found the door leading to the waiting room.

Candy Stimpson stood up when she saw Yuki.

“Oh God, Yuki, I’m so sorry.”

Candy had big curly hair and enormous breasts. She embraced Yuki, who withstood the hug briefly, then struggled free and headed toward the exit, saying, “What time is it? How long have I been here?”

Candy kept pace with Yuki, talking all the way.

“It’s after five. I’ve got your briefcase and your handbag and all your instructions and paperwork. In the interest of full disclosure, I opened your wallet. Had to get your insurance card and… oh! I also have the name and number of the driver who hit you. She wants to make sure you’re okay. Probably worried because she hit a lawyer with her Beemer, for God’s sake… ha! Oh, and give me that prescription, Yuki. We’ll stop at a pharmacy. Do you have food in your apartment? Does your head hurt?”

“My head?”

Candy looked at her, nodded dumbly.

Yuki lifted her hand to the left side of her scalp, felt stubble, a prickly line of stitches.

“Oh nooooo. A mirror. I need a mirror.”

Candy dug into her purse, located a two-by-two plastic clamshell case, and handed it to Yuki. Yuki opened the mirror and angled it, staring at herself wide-eyed and disbelieving, finally getting the complete picture.

Her head had been shaved in a three-inch-wide swath starting at her left temple, then swooping in a long, graceful curve all the way behind her left ear. Black stitches, like a prickly caterpillar, marched along the center of that neatly sheared road.

“Look at me! I’m a freak!” Yuki shouted to the reporter.

“On you, freaky looks cool. Lean on me, honey. I’m driving you home.”

Chapter 23

IT WAS ANOTHER freaking brilliant night at Aria. The Wurlitzer was pounding out mob hits and opera classics, tourists were giddy on killer martinis, and the regulars were high on gin and tonics,