A Thanksgiving To Remember. Margaret WatsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
clawed at him again, its dark fangs waiting to devour him. He closed his eyes, forcing the monster to recede, until there was nothing inside him at all. His mind felt like a huge black void, totally empty. Except for this woman’s voice.
He grasped at the one familiar thing he’d found. “Did I know you before…before the accident?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “We never met before last night.”
“But your voice sounds familiar to me. It’s the only thing that feels familiar.”
To his surprise, he saw her face turn a delicate shade of pink. “I think that’s because I was talking to you last night. You were unconscious, but I didn’t know how much you might be able to hear. And you were alone. So I…talked to you.”
“You did?” As he watched her, fascinated, her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.
“We always encourage family members to talk to unconscious patients,” she said, her voice prim. He watched her try to regain her composure. “It can’t hurt, and we think it might help. So I talked to you.”
“And I remembered,” he said slowly.
“On some level, I guess you do.” Tina moved around the room, keeping her back to him, straightening the already-straight machines that surrounded his bed.
“I definitely remember your voice.”
“Then I guess you weren’t as deeply unconscious as we’d feared.” She turned to face him again and pasted what looked like a professionally detached smile on her face. “Maybe that means your memory will come back quickly, also.”
The reminder about his memory jogged something deep in his brain. A sense of urgency surfaced, made more frantic by the fact that he couldn’t remember why.
“I need to remember something,” he said suddenly.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Flynt. It will come back.” Tina’s voice was once again warm and soothing.
“No, there’s something specific. Something I need to do.” He moved restlessly, ignoring the stabbing pain in his left side and the pounding in his head. “Maybe if I got up and walked around, I would remember.”
“You can’t do that,” Tina said, moving closer to the bed. Her blue eyes stared down at him, full of concern and understanding. “I know it’s hard, but you’re going to have to stay in bed for a while and let your lung heal. And your head.” She hesitated, then leaned forward. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to forget everything, including who you are. It must be horrible. You must feel so helpless and alone. But we’ll do everything we can to help you heal. And I know the police are trying to find out more about you. Chances are we’ll have your family standing next to your bed in a few hours.”
She hesitated, then said, “Do you think you have a wife, or children?”
“No,” he said immediately, then frowned. “I don’t know if that’s true or not. But I don’t feel married.”
Her mouth curled into a slow smile, and he couldn’t stop staring at her. His heart began racing, and it had nothing to do with his injuries. Tina’s whole face seemed to light up when she smiled. “I’ve heard that line before,” she said.
For the first time since he’d woken up, Tom relaxed. “Yeah, I guess you probably have. But it’s true—I don’t feel married.” He smiled at her. “But then, I don’t feel like my name is Tom Flynt, and I’ve never heard of Grand Springs, Colorado, either.”
Tina nodded. “I’m sure the detective will be back to talk to you today. He came by last night, when you were still unconscious.”
Hearing that the police would come by took away his smile and brought the urgency back. Tina must have seen the change, because she sat down and leaned toward him. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. But whenever you mention the police, I get this sense of urgency. Like there’s something I should know.”
He saw her hesitate, saw her knuckles whiten on the metal rail of his bed. “I’ll tell you what happened last night, what led up to your accident, at least as far as we know. Maybe that will help you to remember.”
“You don’t have to do that, Ms. White. I’ll talk to Mr. Flynt.”
Detective Bob Jones stood in the doorway, looking at her. Assessing her.
She raised her chin. “Mr. Flynt has amnesia, Detective. He can’t remember anything, including his name.”
The detective looked over at him, and Tom could see the hard cynicism in his eyes. “That’s convenient.”
“It’s the truth,” Tina said hotly. “You can ask Dr. Wilson. He was in here just a few minutes ago.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to the doc,” said Detective Jones. “But first I want to talk to Mr. Flynt, here.”
Tina moved over to stand next to him. It almost looked as if she were trying to protect him. “You can talk to him for a while, Detective. But he’s got serious injuries and I won’t let you badger him.”
“I don’t badger anyone,” the detective said, but he was watching Tom instead of Tina. “I just ask questions.”
“Ask away,” said Tom.
The detective studied him for a while, and Tom stared back. There was nothing familiar about the older man’s face. “Do I know you?” Tom finally asked.
The detective shook his head. “Never met. I’m Bob Jones, with the Grand Springs Police Department. My partner will be in soon.” He jerked his head toward the door. “He’s talking to the nurses right now.”
Trying to verify everything I’m telling him, Tom thought, surprising himself with his certainty. He filed the information away and focused on the detective.
Bob Jones stared at him for a moment, trying to intimidate him. Again, Tom wasn’t sure how he knew it, but he did. Finally the detective said, “So you don’t remember anything that happened to you last night.”
“Detective, I don’t remember anything at all, including my name. I’m taking it on faith that it’s Tom Flynt.”
“That was the name on the driver’s license we found with you,” the detective said deliberately.
Tom frowned at him. “Are you saying that it’s a false driver’s license?” he asked after a moment.
“I’m not saying anything. I’m just stating a fact. And I’m the one asking the questions.” He leaned closer. “Do you remember Grand Springs?”
“Not at all. Do I live here?”
“Apparently not. The address on your driver’s license is from Missouri. The St. Louis area. Does that ring a bell?”
Tom thought for a moment and almost shook his head until the stabbing pain reminded him not to. “No. St. Louis sounds as unfamiliar as everything else.”
The detective nodded, as if that were what he’d expected Tom to say. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rectangle. “This look familiar?”
He was holding a driver’s license, and Tom could tell it was his. He remembered the face from the glimpse he’d gotten in the mirror earlier. Otherwise, it looked like a complete stranger. “No, it doesn’t,” he said quietly.
The detective reached into a bag and pulled out a huge, ugly handgun. “How about this?”
Tom heard Tina gasp beside him, but he didn’t look up at her. “I don’t remember that, either.”
“The paramedics found it strapped to your back.” He narrowed his eyes and gave Tom a hard look. “You didn’t have a permit with you to carry concealed.”
“I