Lee leveled a narrow-eyed glare at John. “You’re talking about fictional characters again, aren’t you?”
“Hey, you brought it up. Anything else?” There was an air of expectation in the casualness of the sentence. John was hoping for some good news on the amnesia front.
“I’m remembering more of my past, which he sees as a good sign. He says it is possible I will never remember the events of that night, or even recent events leading up to that evening.” Yep. He could tell from the way John’s face got still this wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Over the last few days, he’d been learning how to read John. Initially, he’d have said John Flynn was a man of few expressions or emotions, a closed book. He knew better now. John was a deceptively simple man. Kind of like a book by Hemmingway. Short, plain sentences that packed a punch when you read between the lines. “I told him I refused to be kept in the dark about my past like some idiot in a romcom. He agreed with me on that point, at least. He thought it best I learn as much as possible about my life, and that the memories would return in time. He wants to send me home soon.” McKay had said it was possible he’d be discharged today. Tomorrow at the latest.
John ran a hand down the back of his neck. Definitely one of John’s signifiers that he was uncomfortable about something. “About that. See, we live in California. They don’t want you flying for a while. How long, I don’t know. You’ve been placed on medical leave for the next six weeks, and then you’ll be reassessed and we’ll go from there. I, on the other hand, have to go back to work.”
“Oh.” Crap. Medical leave. Was that a euphemism for “we’re eventually going to fire your ass?” McKay had reassured him, regardless of the fact that his memory of past events was as full of holes as a slice of Swiss cheese, his memory for events since he’d woken in the hospital was astonishing. Not quite eidetic, but close. Very close. McKay seemed to take great delight in running tests on him, and made him promise to come back for further studies after he was discharged.
“Here’s what I was thinking.” John rushed his sentences, as though by pushing the information at Lee rapidly, he wouldn’t have time to assimilate the information. “Zimmerman wants me to work on a project here in DC. You need some time to recuperate. My mom has a house in Richmond. She’s, um, invited us to stay with her. I can commute to Washington, and you’ll have someone to stay with you while you recover.”
Don’t ask who Zimmerman is. He hated having to ask about things he should probably know. On the other hand, if he didn’t, would he ever fill in the gaps in his memory?
“Zimmerman’s my old boss.” John volunteered as though Lee had asked, which annoyed the snot out of him.
“I know that!” Lee snapped. John looked at him with that calm, blank face in place. It was almost as if he knew Lee was lying but had decided to overlook it.
Lee seethed for a moment before picking up the thread of the conversation. “Staying with your mom. Won’t that be an imposition?”
John shook his head, a half-smile slowly forming on his features. “No. She really wants us to stay with her.”
The image of an older woman entered Lee’s mind: she was dressed in neat, black slacks, a white shirt, and short, but stylish, pumps. For a split second, he thought he was thinking of Jackie Kennedy. Then he realized this woman had that same sort of classy chic to her. This must be Jean, then, but how he knew that completely escaped him. Instead of reassuring him, the blip of memory disturbed him, and he didn’t know why.
“Okay, but I want access to all my old cases. If I’m going to have to testify about them in court someday, I’ll need to refresh myself on the details.” There had to be some way of regaining control over his life. Some way to figure out who he was. Did he have family? Was there anyone, other than John, who knew where he was or what had happened to him? Was there anyone else who cared?
“Okay.” John agreed like a man who hadn’t expected to be let off so lightly. He got that semiconstipated look on his face again, however. “So, um, would you like me to contact your mother?”
“My mother?” Now it was Lee’s turn to feel blank. How was it he’d just been thinking of his family, and John went and brought it up?
“Yeah. You know, to let her know you’ve been injured.”
Lee tapped his lips lightly with an index finger. “No.”
“No?” John didn’t seem all that surprised, and yet the answer obviously struck him as odd.
“No.” Lee was firm. “She was probably the one who decided on ‘Jerome.’” He didn’t know why his first instinct was to reject seeing his mother, but he was going to trust it.
John laughed. The weird donkey-like braying was so completely at odds with his Joe Cool persona, Lee couldn’t help but love it. As usual, as soon as Lee thought about John’s strange laugh, he shut it off as completely as though turning off a faucet.
“Okay, look, I need to go. Can I get you anything before I leave?”
“Yes.” Lee scratched his arm just above his cast and hoped he looked pathetic. “I need the remote. There’s a big cook-off on the Cooking Channel this afternoon. And I want my laptop. I’ve got some catching up to do.”
John crossed to the desk just out of Lee’s reach and brought him his laptop before heading over to the chair to pull the remote out of the cushions. “You’re going to surf the net and watch television at the same time?”
“It’s called multitasking. You should try it sometime.” Lee was busy typing in the phrase, He’s dead, Jim. When he glanced up, John was giving him that oddly affectionate look again. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re just like my very own personal Leeloo, that’s all. I’ll be back later.”
Lee waited until John had left the room before he Googled “Leeloo.” “Huh,” he said, when the images rolled up on his screen. He picked up the remote and changed the channel to number 34, where he remembered The Fifth Element was due to start in ten minutes.
He was dozing lightly when the sound of someone tapping at his door roused him. He did that a lot these days. Simply dropped off to sleep when he wasn’t aware of being tired. The television was still on, but the movie was long over, and it was now showing yet another installment of that show about the military’s criminal investigation service. He switched it off.
“Hello? Mr. Parker?” a woman’s voice from the door tentatively called. “Am I disturbing you?”
“No, come on in.”
She turned out to be from social services. He was being discharged, but only if Lee could prove he had someone to take care of him during his presumably protracted recovery. While she was there, Josie, the afternoon nurse, came in pushing her computer station and began processing the paperwork, including his instructions for therapy, and making a return appointment for a follow-up check.
The whole thing made Lee uneasy in a way he couldn’t explain, mostly because half the time, he didn’t know the answers to their questions. Worse, the answers he could give them were based solely on what John had told him. It was beginning to dawn on him that he was taking an awful lot for granted when it came to John and their presumed relationship.
When they finally left his room, a thrumming panic set in. He didn’t know who he was. He was about to leave the supervision of the hospital staff and go off to who knows where with a man who claimed to be his boyfriend. Which was really hard to believe, no matter how much he wanted to do so. Someone had already tried to kill him once. Was he being too trusting?
He went over to the tall cupboard where he’d seen clothing hanging once before. Inside, a white shirt and dark pants hung neatly on plastic hangers next to an overcoat. How the hell was he supposed to get that shirt on over his cast?
A nice pair of loafers sat on the floor of the cupboard, alongside a duffle and a plastic bag. He drew back from the odor when he opened the bag: the smell of old blood nearly gagged him. Christ. The shirt inside was ruined. Why hadn’t someone thrown it away?
A scene flashed into Lee’s mind: a big blond
man slamming a youth into a set of lockers, pinning him uncomfortably as the man pressed up against him and demanded to know if he was gay. As though he was dreaming, the scene shifted abruptly, and this same man was bearing down on Lee in the dark, bat swinging. Only he wasn’t Lee, he was John. The man was going to kill John. Lee gasped and shook off the memory. Why was he seeing that? In such detail? It wasn’t like he’d actually witnessed his attacker strike someone. Or had he?
The old, rusty smell of blood brought to mind countless other scenes: of bodies lying in dark stains on carpets, in shallow graves, in the trunks of cars. He suddenly pictured himself, hands duct-taped together, trapped in a narrow compartment without light, without heat, without hope. That was, until he heard John calling his name.
“You okay?”
Lee started at the sound of the voice behind him. John was leaning in the doorway, one shoulder pressed into the jam, arms folded across his chest and feet crossed at the ankles. It was such a familiar pose, Lee was sure he’d seen it before. He opened and closed his mouth without saying anything, and then he knotted up the bag and tossed it into the cardboard container lined with red plastic and marked “Biohazard.”
“That shirt’s a total loss.” He didn’t know what else to say. He busied himself with the clothing, shifting it along the rod within the cupboard as though he’d find better, more fashionable choices somewhere in the back.
“I brought you some clean things earlier this morning. I hear they’re letting you out.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t turn around.
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I don’t know you from Adam!” He turned to face John, holding his left arm protectively across his body. It might hurt like hell, but if necessary, he bet the cast would make a nice club. “I don’t know who I am, I don’t know who you are, and someone tried to kill me last week! My memory has more blank spaces than a redacted government document. Now I’m supposed to get in a car and go with you to wherever the hell you choose?”
John levered himself off the door jamb with causal deliberation, as if Lee wasn’t having a meltdown. “Take it easy. I know who you are.”
Lee wanted to trust him. Wanted nothing more than to go to him and let this man take him in his arms and tell him everything was going to be all right. That he had nothing to worry about and his memories would return in time. “Yeah?” He lifted his chin. “What if you don’t? What if I’m not the same person you knew before? What if I don’t want to be the same person I was before?”
John looked nonplussed. A little frown appeared between his eyebrows. “I happen to like the person you were before. But if you want to be someone else, hey, I’m okay with that, too.” He dropped his gaze briefly and blew his breath out as though gearing up for something. “I’ll help you do whatever you want. As long as I get to come along, too.”
“Fine,” Lee snapped.
“Fine,” John agreed. That little smile crept across his face. “The paperwork is underway, and an orderly will be up in a minute to wheel you down to the lobby.” He held up a hand before Lee could speak. “Don’t bother fighting it. Hospital policy, buddy. You want to get dressed?”
“How am I supposed to get anything on over this cast?” Lee knew he was being petulant, but damn it, all of a sudden he felt overwhelmed. Tears formed of their own volition, and he blinked them back furiously.
“Hey.” John was at his side in an instant, one hand soothing his arm. “It’s okay.”
“What the hell is wrong with me?” Furiously, he ground at one eye with the heel of his hand.
“It’s just going to take some time.” John sounded like he was speaking from experience. “Your body’s been through a lot. You’re going to be a bit emotional for a while.”
“Well, isn’t that just fucking peachy keen.”
John snorted. “That’s your southern showing. In fact, your accent has been a lot stronger lately. It never occurred to me you actually worked to suppress it.”
“That’s because being a good ol’ boy is only helpful if your name is Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane.” He collected the clothing and the duffle from the cupboard. “I’m going to go change clothes now.”
John stepped back to let him pass. “Let me know if you need help. I, uh, had to split the sleeve on your shirt so it would go over your cast.”
“Lovely.”
“It wasn’t one of your favorites.”
Lee caught his gaze and held it. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Thanks for not ruining a shirt I like? Thanks for thinking about how I would dress myself? Thanks for putting up with me? “Thanks.”
When he came out of the bathroom, John was waiting patiently with the rest of his things. The orderly was there, too, and John stood back as the young man got Lee seated securely in the chair. John placed the laptop in the duffle and set in on Lee’s lap, taking over for the orderly. “I’ve got it from here.”
“You’re sure?” The young man had a nice smile.
“Yep.” John disengaged the handbrakes with ease and pushed Lee out the door and into the corridor. Lee began poking through the duffle, making sure he had everything.
“I’ve got all the important stuff. Credit cards, license, Bureau ID. They’re in my car.” He was doing it again. It was like John could read his mind sometimes.
“Is there anything you can think of you might need from the store on our way home?” John asked as they waited for the elevator.
Lee frowned. “Clothes that have the left arm missing. How much of my wardrobe are we going to have to ruin?” He was freezing, sitting in the chair with his coat only draped around his shoulders.
“We’ll try to keep it to a minimum.” John’s voice was very dry as he pressed the button for the lobby a second time. “Look, I took both of the rentals back and got a Bureau car for my use for the time being. After that, I went to the airport. I’ve got a little surprise for you.”
“I don’t like surprises.” He didn’t. It was bad enough not knowing what had come in the past; not knowing what was around the corner was even worse. “Pressing the button again won’t make the elevator come any sooner. Why did you have to go to the airport?” He played with the hospital band on his right arm. He wanted to take it off, but it felt like one of those mattress tags that threatened you with imprisonment if you removed it. Maybe there was some rule against removing the bracelet before leaving the hospital.
Was he the kind of guy who played by the rules or not? He didn’t know. He didn’t fucking know.
“Well.” John drawled the word into almost two syllables. “I didn’t know how long we were going to be based here on the East Coast. It didn’t seem right to have Amy feeding the cats all this time, so I had them flown out here to stay with us in the meantime.”
“We have cats?” The realization that he had pets in the plural staggered him. Not just him, though. He and John together. As if they were some sort of family. “Wait, you had them flown out here?”
“Um, yes. Was that a bad thing?” John was behind his chair in the elevator, so Lee couldn’t see his face, but he sounded confused.
“Cats hate leaving their home! Did you have them placed in the cargo hold? For chrissake, they’re probably about to have a heart attack.” He started to turn in his seat to glare at John but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Relax.” John squeezed his shoulder. “They flew in the cabin. I paid for Amy’s ticket. She wanted to visit some friends in DC and she brought them with her. They’re a little pissed, but I explained everything to them, and they’re fine. Phoenix even thinks it’s an adventure.”
He could see Phoenix clearly in his mind’s eye, a smallish orange and white cat with long hair, white tufts coming out of her ears. He pictured another cat, bigger, a brown and white tabby with mittens on his feet and a white bib. And he couldn’t remember the other cat’s name. He couldn’t remember it. The elevator seemed too small all of the sudden, and Lee felt like he couldn’t cat
ch his breath.
“Oliver, on the other hand, is royally pissed. I’m not sure he will be speaking to us for the next couple of days.”
Oliver. His name was Oliver. Lee felt a profound sense of relief at knowing this, as well as guilt for having forgotten it in the first place. What kind of guy forgets his cat’s name, for pity’s sake? On the other hand, he never would have pegged John as being the type of guy who talked to cats and then pretended to know what they were thinking. “Okay,” Lee said cautiously, as though speaking to a crazy person.
The elevator doors opened. John wheeled him into the empty compartment and turned the chair to face the doors. He reached around Lee to press the button for the lobby. Lee felt him use his foot to depress the chair’s wheel locks.
“I’m not crazy, you know.” He spoke in that irritatingly calm fashion, as if he hadn’t just practically read Lee’s mind. “What?” he asked when Lee didn’t respond.
Lee watched the numbers roll down as the elevator took them to the lobby. They would reach the ground floor soon, and then that was it. They would trundle out of the hospital and into the rest of the world. He wasn’t ready. The hospital represented safety, a known environment. Outside was out of Lee’s control. “It’s just, well, I didn’t even remember having cats. I’d forgotten them completely until you mentioned them. Presumably I love them, but I didn’t remember them. So, what else have I forgotten? What if it’s something really important?” What if I’m no longer able to do my job? I can’t remember a single case, just bits and fragments. The worst part of it all was that deep down, he suspected there were things he’d seen that he didn’t want to remember. Will John even want to be with me? I’m just an albatross around his neck.
He wasn’t entirely sure what the literary reference meant. Obviously, he’d have to look it up the next time he went online. How long would it take him to recreate his past? His culture and social memory? It made him exhausted just thinking about it.
Walk a Mile Page 25
