Jane looks down at the pills. Then the water. Then she fists her messy bed sheets and brings terrified eyes back my way. “I got hit by a car?”
“Abigcar. And it’s one of those old, heavy steel kinds with a massive grille. Not like the plastic cars in showrooms these days. Barbara insisted she keep her Pontiac all these years, ‘cos she was afraid of hitting a deer someday. Which, by the way, has literally never happened.”
Jane looks me up and down, trembling all over. Her chest and shoulders rise and fall with every shaky inhalation, the movement highlighting just how much her collarbones stick out.
When was the last time she ate a full meal?
Gulping, she brings her eyes back up to mine. “B-Barbara?”
“That’s who hit you. And though it’s not really my place to comment, you should know it was probably an accident. She’s old and fussy and the queen of gossip. She’s held grudges for eighty years and not run any of those people down, so I doubt this one was intentional.”
“I-I don’t remember you…” Her brows furrow, heavily shadowing her eyes. “I don’t…” She shakes her head.
“It’s okay that you don’t.” I wander forward and perch on the edge of her bed, carefully—slowly, so I don’t scare her—setting my hands in my lap. “I got you to open your eyes for a second just before we went in for CT last night, but then you were out again. This is the first time you’ve woken since then.” I twist and snag her file, flipping it open to reveal her scans. “You have what’s called a traumatic brain injury. Yours is reasonably mild, which is probably why you have a massive headache, your eyes hurt because of the light, and you’re feeling a little confused. You have a contusion about—” I reach up and touch the back of my skull, right where she was touching hers, “—here. Contusion is a fancy word for a bruise. And you have a subdural hematoma—” I move my hand two inches lower, “—here. That means you’re bleeding internally.”
Even a confused, scared, tired woman would react to ‘internal bleeding.’ Predictably, her pulse skitters, and the beep-beep-beep of the monitor just four feet away fills the room.
“It’s not so bad, though. You don’t need surgery, and so long as youdon’tfall out of bed or fight my nurses, it should stay that way.” I set the file in my lap and place my hands over top, and though I see the spray of blood across the front of her gown—and the blankets, and the floor, and Janine, too—I know it’s not real. Not in the traditionalsomeone-is-dyingsense. “You’ve had quite the adventure, ma’am. But I’m hopeful the rest of your week will be better from here on out.”
Glancing toward Janine, I extend my hand. And like the well-oiled machine we are, she sets the cup of water in my palm and waits with the pills.
“We should discuss allergies soon. Because I’d hate to dose you up with something you can’t have. But these…” I take the pill cup and hold it halfway between us. “These are fine. You already had some in your IV. You’re gonna be in pain for the next few days; there’s no reason to be a martyr about it when we have pain relief to help you get through.”
“I don’t…” She drops her glittering gaze to the cup, visibly swallowing so her throat bobs. “I-I don’t think I should.”
“Can you tell me your name?” I lower my arm, but I don’t take my offerings away.She’ll accept them soon enough.“You’re logged in as Jane Doe at the moment, and I’ve saidma’ama time or two. But I’ll have to inspect your sutures in a minute, and I’d really rather know your real name, if it’s all the same to you.”
“My name?”
She’s so slow. The synapses in her brain, excruciatingly relaxed, though I know she wishes otherwise. She reaches forward with a grazed, dirty hand and takes the pills. But she nurses the cup in her lap and stares down at them.
“Ma’am?”
“I don’t know…” Frightened, she brings overflowing eyes back up to mine. “I don’t know my name.”
ROUND THREE
OLLIE
“Call Ramone and let him know she’s awake, and that she has no recollection of who she is. If he hasn’t been out to the crash site yet, tell him to move his ass. Chances are her purse or phone or whatever went flying into the bushes when Barbara mowed her down.” I move through the storeroom, just three doors down from Jane’s room, collecting a pre-prepared suture kit. A tray. Gloves. I glance over my shoulder at Janine waiting by the door. “If Barbara comes back and starts getting fussy, move her along.”
“You don’t think she did it on purpose, do you?”
“No. But I think she’ll try to insert herself, and when she realizes Jane doesn’t remember a damn thing, she’ll probably cozy up and tell her they were best friends or some shit. What we’renotgonna do is stand by and allow our patient to be fed false memories.” Grabbing my things, I turn and head back in her direction. “Ramone and Billy will wanna swing by and question Jane, so if they say when they’re coming, let me know.” I stop in front of her and exhale. The dread curling at the base of my stomach persists, even though Jane is awake. If anything, it’s grown worse. “If Barbara hit her, got out of the car, called the ambulance, and stayed with her from start to finish, that means Jane was on the ground for a few minutes, right? Ten at the most.”
Considering, she shrugs. “Sure. Why?”
“Torn up fingernails. Choppy, messy hair, and I don’t mean messy, like a car hit her. I mean messy, like she hasn’t seen the inside of a salon in a decade. She’s underweight and was wearing clothes that werenotmadefor her. She’s damn lucky she didn’t lose any limbs to frostbite. And she’s cagey as hell. The confusion and fear are understandable. But the rest…” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth. “Why does it feel like she’s homeless?”
“Maybe she is.” She opens the door and gestures me out, following on my heels. “Times are tough. Life is expensive, and most folks are already on the brink of collapse. No indentation on her ring finger tells me she’s single, which means she’s reliant only on herself and has no safety net in place in the event of a job loss or an unexpected bill. She’s ended up here in Plainview, where everyone knows everyone, but no one knows her. That says she’s transient. Being hit by Barbara means she was on foot, in freezing weather. Maybe her car broke down a few miles out, and she was too afraid to sleep in it overnight, so she got out and started walking toward town. Or maybe she has no car at all. Regardless, she’s having a tough time right now.”
“And since life was already being so kind, the universe thought putting her on the road in front of Barbara would be a good idea.” Shaking my head, I tilt my chin toward the desk—call Ramone—then I start along the hall and take a sharp turn into Jane’s room.
Passing my intern—because Jane slipping out while my back is turned is a serious concern—I gesture him away. “I need you to move on to Mason for me, then check on everyone else in the ward and bring me your notes when you’re done. After that, I need you in the hall—if Ramone comes, let me know. If Barbara turns up, redirect her.”
“Yes, Doctor.” He dips his chin and spins through the door, heading straight for the nurse’s station to collect patient files.
Finally, I bring my gaze around and stop on Jane’s terrified stare. Her trembling body and nervous, picking fingers as she pulls a loose thread on her gown. Pasting on a kind smile, I wander in and carefully deposit the tray on her bedside table. “You doing okay?” I keep my voice gentle. My expression friendly. Turning and making my way to the sink in the far corner, I pump soap into my palm and scrub, lather, rinse, and repeat. I clean all the way to my elbows, just to make doubly sure, and when I’m done, I whip paper towels from the dispenser and dry. Then I grab sanitizer and follow all that with a pair of gloves. “I hate to sound so simple. But you look terrified. Makes me feel bad.”
