She Wore Mourning

by P. D. Workman

  “Zachary! Stay with me, buddy. Focus on my voice. Can you count? Backward from one hundred. Ninety-nine, ninety-eight…”

  Zachary wanted to wake up enough to tell the idiot that that was what you did to go to sleep, not to stay awake, but he couldn’t rouse himself. His lips moved like he was counting too, but there were still no words, just animal moans.

  “Finally here.”

  Zachary didn’t know what was finally there. Maybe he was ready to wake up. He thought maybe he’d fallen asleep riding the bus, and he had reached his destination.

  “Cold as a witch’s backside,” someone complained.

  There was laughter and some joking around, but the mood was mostly somber. Zachary wasn’t cold anymore. He had finally warmed up. Maybe he had pulled the blanket on, or maybe the furnace had kicked in.

  There were more lights in his eyes, so bright that they cut into his brain even through his closed eyelids. He tried to tell Bridget to turn off the light. Just because she couldn’t sleep, that didn’t mean she had to keep him awake too. He wanted to sink deeper into sleep, to find that peaceful, restful place.

  The noise was even worse. Like the building was going to fall on top of him. Zachary tried to reach out to steady himself, to keep the world from falling down around him or to keep himself from falling into the world. More moans came out of his mouth.

  “It’s okay. Just a few more minutes.”

  Zachary’s head spun. He waited for it to all settle down. How much had he had to drink at supper? He couldn’t remember what he had eaten. Or what day it was. He thought it might be Christmas. He’d had too much to drink and he needed to throw up, but he had to wake up and get to the bathroom. He didn’t want to barf in his shoes. Doing that once was enough.

  There were tearing, rending noises around him. More light. More noise. It was overwhelming. Zachary felt his jaw clench. There was an explosion in his brain. All the sights and sounds were gone, and he was stuck inside his brain, in blackness, with no way to get out.

  He didn’t know how long it lasted. A second or an eternity. With no external stimuli, there was no way to gauge it.

  A moan woke him.

  “He’s coming back.”

  The world tipped this way and that, trying to reestablish a horizon. Zachary realized his eyes were open again and he couldn’t command them to shut.

  There were hands on him. Moving him, then strapping him down. His head felt like a watermelon. He tried to speak to one of the figures moving around him, dark silhouettes against the bright lights.

  It’s going to be okay. Everything will be all right.

  We need warming blankets.

  Shock and hypothermia.

  Zachary thought the world was right-side-up again. He tried to look around, but he was still in the grip of the nightmare and couldn’t move.

  “You’ve been in an accident,” a new voice told him.

  There were blankets around him, but he didn’t feel warm. His body started to shake again. He tried to speak but still couldn’t form the words.

  “Try to relax. We’re going to take care of you. Everything is going to be okay.”

  Then he was driving again. Or maybe he wasn’t driving, but he was in a moving vehicle. He didn’t seem to be able to control it or to anticipate the curves and the forces that pulled him to one side or the other. There were unfamiliar noises around him. Beeping and pumping and the whooshing of air. People spoke to him from time to time, but he seemed to be losing his ability to understand them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Zachary woke from the nightmare with a start. He was in bed. He was warm and not shivering.

  But there was still beeping, and other unfamiliar sounds, and the light around him was a flat, uninspiring white. Zachary tried to move. They had him strapped down. He couldn’t move a muscle.

  Had he attempted suicide? So they had put him in restraints to prevent him from harming himself?

  “Wha—what happened?”

  “You were in an accident.” The voice was soft, female. Reassuring but unfamiliar.

  “Drinking and driving,” someone farther away said.

  Zachary tried to counter this. He would never drink and drive. He might be a screw-up, but he would never put someone else’s life in danger.

  Or maybe the driver of the other vehicle had been drinking and driving. Maybe that was what the other voice meant.

  He was there. Or somewhere else. There was one long shadow across the ceiling he couldn’t remember being there before. That must mean that he was somewhere else. He tried to move but again was unable. His previous awakening, or one of them, at least, came back to him.

  “An accident,” he murmured.

  “Yes, you were in an accident,” a voice confirmed. Familiar this time.

  “Bridget?”

  “No. Bridget’s not here.”

  Zachary’s head was still spinning. He felt nauseated. But he couldn’t move if he needed to throw up. If he threw up when he was flat on his back, unable to turn his head, he’d drown in his own vomit. Zachary tried to keep this thought in his head to convince himself that he couldn’t throw up and to push it out of his mind because it was so disgusting and frightening.

  “Colder than a witch’s behind.”

  Who had said that earlier?

  “Are you cold? I’ll get you another blanket.”

  Zachary wasn’t cold, but he didn’t object as she unfurled another blanket over him and tugged it this way and that to cover him.

  There was a hand on his arm, shaking him. “Mr. Goldman. Mr. Goldman, can you wake up for me?”

  Zachary tried to pry his eyes open. It took some work. He finally opened them and blinked a few times, trying to focus and to clear the stickiness from them. He wanted to rub his eyes but he still couldn’t move. If it was an accident, why had they strapped him down?

  It was a man. A doctor or nurse. He nodded encouragingly. “That’s right. How are you feeling today, Mr. Goldman?”

  Zachary tried to lick his dry lips with a sore tongue. “An accident.”

  “Yes. You were in an accident.” The doctor waited for him to say more. “Do you remember it?”

  “No.”

  “How do you feel this morning?”

  Zachary blinked some more. He tried to turn his head to look around, but that didn’t work.

  “Are you in pain?”

  Zachary considered the question, trying to evaluate his body’s signals. “Some.”

  “That’s not surprising. It’s actually a good sign.” The doctor shone his light in Zachary’s eyes. He took Zachary’s hand. “Can you squeeze my fingers?”

  Zachary wasn’t sure whether he succeeded or not. The doctor continued to move around his body, testing reflexes and giving him instructions. He ended up at the head of Zachary’s bed, opposite to the side he had started on.

  “It was a pretty serious accident. I understand your vehicle is a total write-off. They needed the jaws of life to get you out. There is some spinal cord trauma, but it looks like it is just bruising. We believe that as the swelling goes down, you’ll regain full mobility.”

  Zachary tried to comprehend this. “There was an accident.”

  “Yes. You don’t remember it?”

  “No.”

  “You feeling warmed up now? Your body temperature is back up to normal, but you keep complaining about being cold.”

  “Cold,” Zachary repeated.

  The doctor used a thermometer that beeped in Zachary’s ear. He took his pulse. He smiled down at Zachary.

  “Okay. I’ll let you go back to sleep. That’s probably what your body needs the most.”

  Zachary closed his eyes and opened them again, listening.

  “Bridget?” he asked.

  “The young lady has gone for something to eat. I’m sure she’ll be back before long.”

  Zachary closed his eyes again.

  “Hey. How are you doing?”

  Zachary opened his ey
es and tried to turn his head.

  “Bridget?”

  “Bridget has been in to see you, but you were asleep.”

  “She was in an accident.”

  “No. We were in an accident. Not Bridget.”

  “She was hurt.”

  “No, Zachary. I was in the car with you, not Bridget. You’re mixed up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure.” There was a laugh in her voice. “All I have to do is look in the mirror.”

  “Oh.”

  She leaned over him so he could see her. Kenzie. Not Bridget. He had taken Kenzie to the inn for New Year’s dinner. She had two black eyes and a number of cuts on her face.

  “Kenzie.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re hurt.”

  “Superficial.”

  “Oh.”

  “You were hurt worse than me, but the doctor says you’ll be fine.”

  Zachary drifted for a while, on the edge of sleep, but not quite able to fall asleep again.

  “It was cold.”

  “Yes,” Kenzie leaned closer to him. “It was really cold. They couldn’t cover you up because you were upside down.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes.”

  Zachary’s brain worked in slow motion, making it difficult to work through each thought.

  “Why?”

  “Because the car was upside down. I got out, but we couldn’t get you out.”

  “Colder than a witch’s behind.”

  She laughed. “That’s what the fire chief said.”

  “Oh.” He closed his eyes. They were aching from the light. He was close to sleep. “Do you remember what happened?”

  The room was darker, or maybe it was a different room. He could still hear the machines, and the PA system, and the people walking around and talking to each other. It was night. Zachary strained to turn his head and look around, but it wouldn’t move.

  He was still awake when a nurse came in. A black, overweight, middle-aged woman. She smiled down at his face. “Well, look who’s awake. How are you feeling, sugar?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. I just need to check all your vitals and the machine. Can I get you anything? Are you comfortable?”

  Zachary licked his lips. “Water?”

  She retrieved a cup and held the straw to his lips. The water was tepid but felt good in his mouth and throat.

  “Tongue hurts,” he noted.

  “Yes, it’s a little cut up. You had a seizure at the accident scene before they brought you in. I guess you bit your tongue then.”

  “I did?”

  “Or maybe you bit it during the accident. That can certainly happen when the car is rolling over and crashing into a ditch.”

  Zachary couldn’t remember the accident happening, but when she described it so matter-of-factly, panic took over. He could suddenly feel the car rolling, the suspended feeling of not knowing which way was up. Debris was flying around the car, the windows shattering, Kenzie was screaming beside him.

  “Whoa, there,” the nurse said, laying a hand on his arm. “Calm down. Deep breaths.” The beeps and noises of the machines had sped up, complaining loudly. “You’re okay, sugar. You’re safe here.”

  She put two fingers over his carotid pulse, even though she could surely hear his racing heartbeat on the machine next to her. Her touch was soothing.

  “There, hon’. It’s okay. Deep breaths. Blow it all out. Deep breath in… blow it all out… no gasping, you’re fine. Just breathe it all out again. It’s okay.”

  She stroked his hair, speaking soothingly, and the panic attack gradually passed. She waited for a while.

  “Okay now?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re safe, and your girlfriend is safe, and we’re going to make sure you’re all fixed up. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s a boy. You want another sip of water?”

  “Yes.”

  She gave him the straw again, and Zachary drank a few sips.

  “I’m going to go on and do my rounds now, but I’ll check back on you again. Don’t worry. Even though you can’t reach the call button, the machines will let me know if you’re in trouble. You can just rest.”

  Zachary blew out a breath. “Okay.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  He slept and woke restlessly, never sure how long he had been unconscious or what time of day it would be when he awoke again. Kenzie was often there. Sometimes a doctor or nurse talked to him and tested his reflexes and other signs.

  Then there were a couple of policemen beside his bed. Not ones he knew. A department or precinct he hadn’t worked with before.

  “How are you feeling today, Mr. Goldman?” asked the big, hearty one. His name tag said Farrell.

  “Been better,” Zachary said, trying weakly for a smile.

  “Yes, I imagine you have been. You’re pretty bruised up today. You’d make a good addition to a zombie walk.”

  Zachary tried to think of a clever comeback, but his brain still wasn’t operating at full speed.

  “I wonder if you can tell me what you remember of the accident?”

  “Not much. Just after… them cutting me out of the car.”

  “What do you remember of that evening? Do you remember going out to eat?”

  Zachary tried to replay it in his mind. “Yes… Kenzie. At the inn.”

  “That’s right. You have a nice meal?”

  “Yeah. Really good. But I wasn’t drunk. I wouldn’t drive drunk.”

  “No. Your blood tests are back, and we know you weren’t drunk.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Do you remember going back out to your car?”

  “Yes. Was there…” Zachary focused, trying to pin down the ephemeral images. “Was there a flyer on the car?”

  “Was there?” Farrell prompted.

  “There was… a paper.”

  “An advertisement for a local bar or band?” Farrell suggested.

  “No… no, it was another note.” It formed in Zachary’s mind. “A threat… because I hadn’t quit a case.”

  “What case?”

  “I… don’t know which one. They never said.”

  “They?”

  “Whoever was leaving the notes. They didn’t say which case I was supposed to stop investigating.”

  “Do you have any idea?”

  “A few… but I don’t know for sure.”

  “You had received other notes?”

  “One other note taped to my apartment door; and… a voicemail. It’s still on my phone, but they used a voice changer.”

  “We’ll requisition it from your phone company. Since your phone was… not recoverable.”

  Zachary hadn’t thought about his phone until that point. He hadn’t thought about whether any of his possessions had survived the accident. He got out of there with his life, and that was as much as he could hope.

  “You have an idea of who might be sending the notes?” Farrell pressed.

  “Maybe. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “We’ll need to question anyone who might be a suspect.”

  Zachary tried to process this. “Why?”

  The other policeman moved. Farrell scribbled something down in his notepad, saying nothing, but keeping an eye on his partner.

  “Rick Savois,” he told Zachary, who couldn’t shake his hand. Savois leaned in close to him, dropping his voice. It wasn’t like there was anyone there to overhear him. Who did he think was going to hear? One of the nurses out in the hallway? His partner? “It would appear that your car was tampered with.”

  “Tampered…” Zachary echoed. He knew he should be angry or frightened, but he was just blank. The idea of someone tampering with his car was unthinkable. “I… I checked the bumpers. For a tracking device.”

  “A tracking device wouldn’t cause an accident,” Farrell pointed out.<
br />
  “Oh… but… if there was an explosive… it wasn’t under the bumper.”

  “No,” Savois agreed. “It wasn’t a bomb. It was your brake lines.”

  “The brakes were cut?”

  “Looks like it. That fits Miss Kirshe’s recollection of the accident. She said that you tried to hit the brake rounding a curve, but nothing happened. It was going too fast to make the curve, went off the side of the road, started to roll…”

  The heart monitor started beating faster. Zachary drew in his breath and couldn’t get enough oxygen. He gasped harder, trying to drag it in. The two officers looked at him with wide eyes. Farrell grabbed the call button for the nurse, clicking it repeatedly.

  “Mr. Goldman, are you okay?” Savois asked, leaning right over Zachary’s face, competing for his oxygen. Zachary tried to object, but couldn’t speak while he was trying to breathe.

  “What’s going on here?” A nurse came in. Skinny. With an accent that Zachary would have associated with blacks. Caribbean. Rastafarian. Something like that. But she was white, with big blue eyes and blond hair. “You said you wouldn’t be upsettin’ my patient. Go on, back up, get out of my way.”

  The two officers quickly backed away from the small woman. The nurse looked over the equipment and laid a hand on Zachary’s arm.

  “There,” she soothed. “None of that. Your machines are just telling me you’re a bit upset. Nothing serious. You just take a few breaths. Nice and slow and easy.”

  “Can’t breathe,” Zachary gasped.

  “You are breathing. Doin’ a fine job of it. In fact, if you don’t slow down, you’re going to make yourself pass out. Long breaths. Slow down.”

  She picked up the chart hung on the wall, her eyes scanning it.

  “You had a panic attack last night. Is this something you do a lot of? Are you on medication?”

  “No—I can usually—control—it.” Zachary gasped between the words. His chest was hurting. Maybe it had been damaged in the accident. Maybe his heart had been damaged during the crash, and they didn’t know it. He was having a heart attack, and they thought it was nothing to worry about because he had a history of panic attacks. “I’m going—to—die!”