Home > A Thin Disguise(8)

A Thin Disguise(8)
Author: Catherine Bybee

Leo hesitated.

Shit, he hadn’t given that a thought.

“I should probably go, then.”

Brackett took a deep breath. “Not alone.”

Fitz let out a deep sigh and started to stand. “I’ll change my clothes.”

“Fifteen minutes?” Leo asked her.

She nodded through a tired smile.

 

“You’re okay. Don’t struggle.”

Pain flickered and came into red-hot focus.

Breathing was an effort, and her head was thick with fog.

“You’re in the hospital,” a male voice told her.

Her throat was on fire.

“Can you open your eyes?”

She tested her eyelids and found the bright lights invasive to her brain.

There were two men and one woman at her bedside. All three of them stared down at her, watching. The antiseptic smell of a hospital assaulted her senses. And the sound of her own breathing was accompanied by a strange sensation in her chest. She looked toward the window and felt the movement just as painful as her breath.

“W-what happ—” She didn’t get the question out before a cough tore at her lungs.

The woman she assumed was a nurse pressed a button on the bed, lifting her head, while one of the men brought a small cup with a straw to her lips. “Just a sip,” he told her.

The tiny taste of water felt as if it were going through sandpaper that was once her throat.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.” She swallowed again and tried to shake the curtain in her brain. “What happened?”

The Asian man removed a pen light from his pocket and flashed it in her eyes. “I’m Dr. Lee. You’re at the University Medical Center in Las Vegas. You were shot last night.”

“I was what?” She attempted to look down at herself. Saw the rise and fall of her chest through a hospital gown and wires that were attached to her chest.

“Do you remember anything?”

No. She didn’t. “No.” But getting shot didn’t sound right.

“It’s okay. That’s not uncommon. The bullet went through your lung. You have a chest tube that’s helping you breathe. That’s the pain in your side . . .” Dr. Lee went on to talk about a surgery she didn’t remember and terms she didn’t know. Then, as she was watching him talk, she had a hard time concentrating on his words.

Who was he again?

“What’s your name?” the nurse asked.

“It’s, uhm . . .” My name. She closed her eyes, searching for it. “It’s . . .” This was not a hard question. “My name is . . .” The harder she concentrated, the more pain filled her head.

She attempted to sit up taller, as if doing so would bring the answer to her lips.

The doctor and the nurse looked at each other in silence.

“My name is . . .” She took a deep breath to answer. But it didn’t come.

“Do you know where you are?” the doctor asked.

“A hospital.” That was an easy question.

“What city?” he asked.

Didn’t he just tell her that? “Atlantic City.”

The doctor flashed the light in her eyes. “You’re in Las Vegas.”

“Why am I in Vegas?”

He smiled at her, didn’t answer. “I want you to remember three things for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Elephant, moon, and peanut butter. Can you repeat that for me?”

“Elephant, moon, and peanut butter.”

“Good. Just remember that for me.”

She could do that.

“Do you know today’s date?” he asked.

“It’s May.”

The look on the doctor’s face told her she was wrong. She looked around the room, searching for clues. There was a whiteboard on the wall across the room. On it was a date. “September.”

The doctor glanced over his shoulder. “That’s cheating,” he said, teasing. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

She closed her eyes . . . searched. “My feet hurt.”

“Your feet?”

The doctor walked to the end of the bed and moved the blanket off her feet. He touched each one. “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

He pressed and poked before returning the blankets. “Okay, sweetheart . . . what were those three things I asked you to remember?”

“Uhm . . .” It was there. Close. Something big. As she pushed her brain to remember, she forgot his question altogether. Her stomach started to churn, and her body felt cold. “I’m going to be sick.”

Her words put the strangers at her bed in motion.

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

Leo and Fitz were buzzed back into the ICU and were instructed to check with the nurse before going into Jane Doe’s room. Once there, they showed the nurse their identification.

“How is she doing?” Leo asked.

“Physically? Better. We took her off the vent a couple of hours ago. She’s breathing on her own.”

A weight lifted from Leo’s chest.

“You said ‘physically,’” Fitz pointed out.

“Her memory is taking some time to come back.”

“What do you mean?” Fitz asked.

“Transient amnesia. She doesn’t remember what happened that brought her here or even her own name,” Maureen, the nurse, reported.

“Transient? It won’t last?” Leo asked.

The nurse shrugged. “Most of these things resolve on their own. Could be a few hours or a couple of days. Dr. Lee ordered more tests for the morning to make sure there isn’t something else causing it.”

“This is from the head injury?”

“Appears that way.”

“This is normal?”

“I wouldn’t say normal, but it happens. You were with her when the shooting happened, right?” Maureen asked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe seeing you will spark a memory.”

Somehow Leo doubted that. “Worth a try.”

Leo and Fitz followed Maureen into the room.

Once the curtain was pulled back, Leo took in the stranger. Her head was slightly elevated, eyes closed. Long brown hair splayed on the pillow, and a canula was fitted in her nose, delivering oxygen. The vibrant color of her skin the night before, before a bullet penetrated her body, was gone. Here she was drawn, pale. Evidence she’d lost enough blood to make a difference. Or maybe it was the stress of everything on her body.

“Hey, hon.” Maureen coaxed her awake. “You have visitors.”

Janie, which was how Leo had been referring to her in his head instead of Jane Doe, opened her eyes. Green eyes . . . not the blue he remembered. The sharpness of those eyes had lost some of the focus from the night before. But the beauty of them was still there.

“How is your pain?” Maureen asked.

“I’m okay.” Janie looked past Maureen toward Leo and Fitz, her stare blank.

“Do you remember my name?” Maureen asked.

Without words, she shook her head. “You’re a nurse.”

“I am.” She pointed to the wall opposite the bed. “My name is written up there.”

“Maureen.”

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