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Mastermind’s eyes are still on mine as he nods. “That’s what the man says.”
“Only, that’s the other thing,” the Emperor say, “We may not have for fucking ever.” My whole insides tighten. His voice is hard. “We need to get things moving along.”
I shudder.
The Mastermind asks the doctor, “How long are we talking?”
“There’s no way to know. Nothing whatever is guaranteed.”
The Emperor asks him, “And you can’t do anything at all to speed things up?”
“Some practitioners will prescribe psychoactive drug therapies. Personally, I believe that they risk damaging the psyche.”
“Are you serious?” the Mastermind’s laugh is like a grenade. “I didn’t think doctors even talked about a ‘psyche’ anymore.”
“Okay, doc,” the Emperor says, “We’ll get you back home now.”
As the Emperor steers the doctor to the door, I call out to apologize for puking in his face.
“No problem,” he smiles from the door. “It’s all part of the joy of doctoring.”
Nothing about the room seems familiar but, apart from the hospital bed I’m lying in and a mass of medical machines and drips, it looks like somebody’s bedroom. A woman’s.
A stool sits under what I expect would be a dressing table nook in the wall of closets. There’s a small table with a pretty wicker chair. Is any of this mine?
Did I choose the patterned wall covering and the thick, blue tapestry rug? Even though I have no idea what my taste is, it doesn’t seem like this would be it.
The covers over all the closet doors are lovely, expensive silk print scarves, draped and fastened together into pairs and hung from the ceiling to the floor. I like them. I can appreciate how gorgeous they are, but would I have picked any of these bright, floral prints?
The Mastermind pulls the chair up to sit by the bed. He makes me nervous, watching me.
When the lights came on, when I could finally move, I was sure that everything would come flooding back into my mind.The pressure of it all, the sheer weight, I can feel it. Pressing like it’s there, ready to burst. But I don’t remember anything.
I feel like weeping.
The Mastermind sees it. He leans forward to take my hand.
Now his kindness really makes me want to cry.
But I know this much. Whoever I am, whoever inhabits this body, I don’t do that. No crying. No show of weakness.
I tell him, “I need some clothes.”
He showed me one of the closets with clothes hanging inside. I get up and stretch.
He says, “You’ve been getting nutrition from the drips. I bet you must be starving.”
“You know what, I probably am.”
“I’ll get you some food and give you a chance to freshen up. How does fruit, cheese, toast and yogurt sound?”
“Sounds great. And some coffee?”
“The doc said on the first day, you should only have things that are easy on your stomach, so I’ll make green tea. But I’ll bring fresh coffee, too, in case you do feel up to it.”
He gives me a long look before he leaves. “It’s good to have you back.” Those eyes make my knees weak, and I’m not even standing up.
As he leaves, I feel a mixture of longing and lust, with a brimming feeling of sentimentality.
