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“Look, since you’re obviously in a bind, how about you come back and stay with me for a while? I live alone, so you won’t be bothering anyone. I can’t see you just tossed out on the street like this when you have no memory of your life.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that?”
“Because that’s what friends are for.”
“I thought I didn’t have any friends.”
He shrugged. “Acquaintances, then.”
I couldn’t stay in this hospital forever, and if I was to leave on my own, I guessed I would be going to a hotel room, alone, and hoping my memory came back to me. At least if I was with someone I knew, they would be able to fill in some of the details. Still, I felt awkward at the situation. More than anything, I wished I could remember who I was supposed to be. It was like a black hole at the back of my mind, and every time I reached to try to find something, I found myself grasping at infinite space.
“I’ll check with the doctor,” I said eventually, “and make sure it’s all right that I’m discharged. I expect they’ll be happy to see the back of me. I’m not sure they knew what they were going to do with me.”
He nodded. “Good. You’re making the right choice. Look, I’ve got a meeting a few blocks away. I’m sure the doc is going to want to check up on you and do a mountain of paperwork before they discharge you, so I’ll go to that and then come back in a couple of hours. How does that sound?”
I nodded. “Sounds fine.”
He pulled a trigger finger at me. “Don’t go anywhere without me.”
I tried to force my mouth into a smile, and then he turned and left. Alarm bells were ringing inside me, but I couldn’t explain why. There was no reason I should be in any danger from an old work colleague. But someone had shot me, though I doubted very much the person responsible would walk right into the hospital to come and see me. Yes, the paper might have reported that I had lost my memory, but he didn’t know to what extent. Besides, I might have been lying for some reason, and the minute he’d walked in I could have pointed the finger at him.
No, I didn’t think Harvey Baglione had been the one to shoot me, but still, something wasn’t quite right about him.
I weighed my options. I could leave on my own and go to a hotel room and hang out, totally unconnected to anyone or anything, and hope my memory came back to me. I could stay in the hospital and rack up massive bills which I had no idea how I was going to pay, and wait for the hospital staff to eventually throw me out, which would mean I’d then end up doing option one anyway. Or I could go with Harvey and try to unravel whatever fucking mess I’d ended up getting myself stuck in.
I didn’t think I was the type of person who sat around doing nothing. I figured I didn’t have much of a choice.
***
A couple of hours passed before the doctor came back in, giving me his professional smile as he did so. It was starting to piss me off.
“Sorry I took so long,” he said, “I had other patients to see. So, what’s the verdict?”
“Mr. Baglione has offered me a place to stay until my memory comes back, so I think I’ll take him up on his offer.”
I could tell he was relieved to have the problem taken out of his hands.
“That’s great to know. We’ll want to see you back here in a few days to reassess you, see if anything is changed.”
“Sure.”
“Excellent. I’ll just get you the paperwork. I’m afraid you only have the clothes you were brought in here with. They have been washed and dried, but they are looking a little ... tattered.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine. I’ll treat myself to a shopping trip when I’m settled.” I was being sarcastic—even with no memory, I knew shopping wasn’t my thing—but the doctor didn’t pick up on it.
“I’ll send the nurse over shortly with your paperwork. Your clothes are in the drawer of the cabinet beside you.”
I waited for him to go, then pulled open the drawer and took out a black pair of pants and an equally black shirt. Black shoes, which I was amazed I hadn’t lost in the water. I must have really liked black.
I ran my hands over the material, catching my fingers in a tear. Something—a feeling, a memory ... I couldn’t be sure—jolted through me. Frowning, I examined it closer. It was a cut put through the arm of the shirt, a slice, as though done by a sharp blade. I lifted my corresponding arm and looked down at my forearm. Sure enough, there was the wound, a still-red scar, from the injury being brand new, the skin still delicate and newly formed. Someone had cut me, and it felt vitally important that I remembered who. Had it been the same person who had shot me? I couldn’t explain why, but for some reason I thought they were different. I continued my inspection of the shirt, locating the hole in the shoulder where the bullet had passed through the material before lodging in my flesh. Finding nothing else, I started on the pants. Just like with the shirt, I found another cut in the material. So I had been wearing these clothes when I had been stabbed, and shot, though the cop had told me the injuries looked like they’d happened several days apart. He also said it was harder to give an exact time between the two injuries due to the amount of time I’d spent in the water.
I dressed in the clothing and stood up straight. That feeling again rushed through me, the sensation I was reaching closer to the person I’d been before I’d almost drowned. I felt the urge to stand taller, to square my shoulders and lift my chin. I didn’t think the man I’d been took much shit from anyone, and I wondered if that had been the reason for all my injuries.
The nurse approached holding a clipboard of paperwork. She was looking down at the board, flicking through the top pages, and didn’t glance up until she’d almost reached me. When she did, I noted the almost imperceptible double take she did, the flush that rose to her cheeks. Having me standing there, dressed in black, in the stance that had seemed to come naturally to me, had made her look at me in a different way. I was no longer a patient, but a man who would have caught her eye, and the change left her flustered.
“You’re looking better,” she said, her voice an octave too high. “I just have to get you to sign these forms and you’re good to go.”
“Thank you.”
