Distant Memory (4 page)

“If I was in a collision, why didn’t the other person help?”

“Maybe it wasn’t a collision. Perhaps you fell asleep at the wheel and went off the road. It was late when I found you. It’s possible that you veered off and crashed and that no one saw you.”

“I suppose.” She thought about that. It made some sense, but it didn’t sit right. Something was missing. “I’m very confused,” she admitted. The words were inadequate to describe her consternation. She was far more than confused—she was bewildered, disoriented, and panicky.

“I can imagine. Would you like me to take you to the hospital?”

The thought frightened her and she tensed. “No.”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked softly.

I don’t know
. “I’m all right.”

He cast a doubtful look.

“Physically, I mean,” she said. “I’m sore, but I don’t think anything is broken. If only …” she trailed off.

“If only what? If only you knew who you are?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why I want to take you to a hospital. Let the doctors take a quick look. Maybe they can fix you right up.”

“No,” she insisted without knowing why.

Nick sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Okay, you win. But what am I supposed to do with you? You have no money, no direction, no transportation, and no one you can call for help.”

The cold summary of truth that Nick had just spoken made her stomach ache again. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

They fell silent. She could tell that he was thinking, mulling over some unspoken thoughts. A few moments later, after swallowing the last of his coffee in a single gulp, he said, “I guess you’ll come with me.”

“With you?”

“I can’t very well leave you sitting in a McDonald’s in a small town out in the middle of nowhere, can I?” Before she could respond, he continued. “I’m headed home. My truck is empty, so I don’t have any deliveries to make. All I have to do is check my messages and then we can be on our way.”

“But—”

“But what? Do you have a better idea?”

She tried to think of an alternative, but none came. If she didn’t go with Nick, she would be alone and penniless in a desert town that she knew nothing about. Eventually she would have to trust someone. “No, but I don’t want to be a bother to you. You’ve already done enough.”

He smiled broadly. He was a handsome man, she decided again. Not movie-star handsome, but good-looking in a unique way. His deeply lined face gave him the look of a rugged outdoorsman, yet his kind eyes and broad smile made him friendly and approachable. “I’m
going to check my messages. You sit here and relax. There’s no phone in here, so I’ll use the public phone in front of the motel. I’ll be right back.” He rose from the booth and walked away.

As he exited the restaurant, a sudden sense of abandonment stabbed her. What if he didn’t come back? What if he was lying? He could walk straight out to his truck and drive off before she knew he was gone. Then what would she do? She fought back a compulsion to rise and chase after him. What good would that do? If he wanted to leave, that was his business. He owed her nothing. If anything, she owed him for picking her up and providing her with shelter for the night.

The noises of the room seeped into her consciousness. Husbands were talking to wives, children were calling out to each other. The sound of people ordering food filled the air. A young, brown-haired woman in a McDonald’s uniform wiped down empty tables and picked up trash. Outside, she could see cars passing, and she wondered who was in them. People everywhere, and each person had a name. The clammy hand of fear gripped her. Did she have a family? Was she a mother? A wife? Tears welled up in her eyes again. Sadness and uncertainty enveloped her. Alone, she was so very alone.

“Well, I’m off the hook. No messages and—” He paused as he studied her face. Then he said softly, “You thought I was leaving without you, didn’t you?”

“I guess. It’s silly, I know. I have no right—”

“It’s not silly,” he interrupted. “It’s going to be okay. Things are going to work out. I’m sure of it.”

“That’s pretty optimistic,” she said as she removed a napkin from the tray in front of her and dabbed at her eyes. She remembered the image she had seen in the mirror. “I must look horrible,” she said.

“All easily remedied. Why don’t you use the ladies’ room to freshen up? I’ll throw away our trash and get us a couple of large coffees to go. Unless you prefer something else.”

“Coffee will be fine.”

“Great. Now only one piece of business remains.”

“Business?” she asked with apprehension.

“Yup,” he replied with a smile. Turning he called out to the young uniformed woman cleaning tables. “Miss? Miss, do you have a moment?”

The woman stopped her cleaning, studied Nick for a second, and then walked over. She had a damp towel in one hand and a tray of plastic foam containers and paper wrappers in the other. Like many teenagers, she was having trouble concealing her emotions. Clearly she didn’t like being interrupted. “Yes?”

“I was just wondering what your name is,” Nick said with a smile.

Frowning the woman looked down at her nametag. It read, L
ISA
.

“Oh, I see,” Nick said. “Thanks. That’s all I needed.”

The employee looked puzzled then annoyed. She walked away, shaking her head.

“Lisa it is, then.”

“What?”

“You need a name,” Nick said. “I can’t go around saying, ‘Hey, you’ all the time. If you can’t remember your name, then let’s pick one for you. At least until your memory comes back. I vote for Lisa.”

She mulled the name over. It seemed foreign to her, but then any name would. “Lisa,” she said to herself.

“If you don’t like Lisa, then how about Drusella? She was a famous movie star.”

“Movie star? With a name like Drusella?”

“Okay, she was a cartoon.”

“Lisa will be fine,” she said with a laugh. The laugh felt good.

Carson McCullers felt lousy. He was bruised and battered, and his head pounded with pain. He was also angry, furious with himself and with
the situation. But most of all he was angry with
her
. This whole thing should have been executed flawlessly. Finding her had been easy. Disposing of her should have been equally easy, but she had surprised him. Instead of responding with terror, instead of being frozen by fear, she had become assertive and nearly killed him and herself.

“I see you’re back with us,” a voice said from nearby. Turning his stiff neck to the right, he saw a nurse standing at the threshold of a door. “Any idea how long you’ve been awake, Mr. McCullers?”

He cut his eyes back to the clock on the wall opposite his bed. “Twenty-two minutes.” During that time he had quickly assessed his situation. The woman he had been tracking had been found in Bakersfield. He had followed her east over the Tehachapi Mountains and down the other side into the desert. Knowing the road well, he had waited for just the right moment to begin his attack—

“You’re a precise one, Mr. McCullers,” the nurse said as she stepped to his bedside. She had an electronic thermometer in her hand. She slipped a thin, sterile plastic shield over the wand and deftly inserted it into his mouth. “This will just take a second.”

McCullers waited patiently, wondering if the fierce anger that boiled inside him would somehow show on the thermometer. The device beeped, and she removed the wand. “Right on target. That’s good. How are you feeling?” She worked as she spoke, removing a blood-pressure cuff from its mounting on the wall next to the bed and wrapping the black band around his arm. She began squeezing a small, black plastic bulb, and the cuff began to swell with pressure. Slipping the stethoscope into her ears, she placed its business end in the crook of his elbow.

He wanted to say, “I’m great. No problems whatsoever, so I’ll be leaving now,” but he knew that might raise suspicion. Instead he replied, “I feel pretty good. Sore, and I have a little headache. Nothing too bad.” He wondered if she could hear him with the stethoscope stuck in her ears.

“That’s good,” she said, her gaze fixed on the dial, its indicator dropping
as she released the pressure. A second later, she finished the reading and returned the cuff to its hanger. “BP is a little high, but not much. Is your blood pressure normally high?”

“No.”

“Are you on any medications?” she asked perfunctorily.

“No. Where am I?”

“You’re in Saint John’s Hospital in Bakersfield. You were airlifted here last night. Your medical report says that you were admitted at 10:30. Do you remember that?”

“Not really.”
Bakersfield
. They had brought him back to Bakersfield. That was a setback.

“I’m not surprised. The night nurse said you were pretty out of it when you arrived. Do you know what happened?”

She was testing his memory. “I was in an auto accident on Highway 58 near Mojave.”

“That’s right.” She reached down and placed two fingers on his wrist. He waited until she was done taking his pulse before he spoke.

“I assume you learned my name from my driver’s license.” The license was a fake like all of his identification. McCullers was as good a name as any in his line of work.

“I wasn’t here when they brought you in.”

“Is there a problem I should know about?” He wondered if he was worse off than he felt, and since he felt horrible, that would be bad.

“The doctor will be in to examine you shortly, but the file says that you’re in good shape overall. No broken bones, no internal bleeding. We kept you overnight since you were unconscious when you arrived. We - couldn’t have you slipping into a coma, now could we?”

“I’d prefer not to have that experience.”

She laughed. “Well, at least your sense of humor isn’t broken.”

He returned the smile, but he was loath to do it. He had a question, but he wanted to phrase it right. First he asked, “When can I leave?”

“The doctor will decide that, but assuming he finds nothing new to
be concerned about, you can probably go home this afternoon. You will need to call someone to pick you up. You shouldn’t drive for a few days. Also, there is some paperwork we need from you.”

“I see.”
I’ll be driving before the day is out, lady
. “What kind of paperwork?”

“There is always paperwork in a hospital. Is there anyone you want me to call for you? A wife, maybe?”

“No, thank you,” he replied quickly. “I’m not married. But thank you.”

She smiled, as if the revelation of his marital status pleased her. He had seen the look many times. His dark wavy hair, square jaw, and hard, chiseled physique had caught the attention of many women. There was no doubt that he could have any woman he wanted. She turned to leave. “Wait, before you go.” She stopped and turned to face him.

“Yes?” There was something in her glance, a message of availability.

Wanting to appear nervous and concerned, he licked his lips and then lowered his head. “Um … was … was anyone else hurt in the accident?” His voice oozed with a childlike apprehension.

“There was another car,” she said softly. “I don’t know if they were hurt or not. I do know the CHP wants to ask a few questions. Maybe they can tell you more.”

The California Highway Patrol. That’s all he needed. “I see,” he said just above a whisper. “I’m not sure what happened. I’m hoping that no one else is hurt.”

It was a lie. He knew everything that had happened, and he hoped that she had been more than hurt. He hoped she was dead. The scene played across the screen of his mind: her Lexus speeding down the highway, his Dodge Ram pickup truck behind, closing the distance between them. She had spotted him and floored the accelerator, but her car was no match for his enhanced V-eight. The road at the base of the Tehachapi Mountains narrowed and was bordered by a soft sand shoulder. The darkness of night, an oncoming car, and a narrow lane
had made it impossible for her to avoid him, despite her best efforts. He rammed her car hard from the rear, accelerating as he did. There was the sound of buckling metal and squealing tires, and then the Lexus flipped. Its right front wheel had left the pavement and slowed when it hit the sand shoulder. The car spun, then flipped through the air as if it were a toy thrown by a child. It landed hard on its side, then flipped end over end again.

McCullers lost sight of it as he shot past. Slowing, he had intended to turn around, to go back and make sure she was dead. But before he - could negotiate the U-turn, he saw two pairs of headlights behind him burning hot and bright. Before he could utter an exclamation of fear, he was hit. His truck had spun wildly, then flipped once and landed on its roof. The dark of night had flooded his mind, and his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he was in the hospital.

“Is there anything I can get you?” the nurse asked.

“No, thank you. I’m fine for now. When did you say the doctor would be in?”

“Probably within the hour,” she replied. “I was asked to let the highway patrol know when you awoke. I’ll call the investigator and let him know that you’re back among the living.” She smiled again.

One hour. It was doubtful that the CHP investigator would arrive before the doctor. One hour. That was enough time to get his story straight in his mind. It would have to be enough time. He looked to the stand next to his bed. “Can I make a call out on this phone?” he asked.