Distant Memory (6 page)

“Excellent. Take the company jet. I imagine you can be in Bakersfield in short order. If the doctors down there lag, you might even catch him in the hospital. Take whatever equipment you need. We have the best there is; use it. If you need anything more, call. I’ll make sure you get what you need.”

“I should let him know I’m coming so we don’t miss each other. He won’t like it.”

“I’m not concerned with what he likes,” Moyer snapped. “I’m concerned with what I want and with what is best for this company. The devil can have everything else.”

Massey nodded his understanding, turned, and marched out of Moyer’s opulent office. Before he could close the door, Moyer spoke again. “Don’t come back until it’s finished. Understood, Raymond? I cannot tolerate failure on this.”

The large man closed the door behind him.

McCullers was furious, but he had to contain it. It was like holding a dozen angry bees in a jar with nothing except his hand for a lid. He wanted to shout obscenities, to punch someone, anyone, but he - couldn’t. An assault charge was the last thing he needed, especially with a California Highway Patrol investigator on the way in to grill him about the accident. The concerned, cooperative patient act would have to be played out a little longer before he could get back to work. Assuming that his new “partner” arrived sometime soon.
Partner
. He hated the thought.

A tall, lanky doctor, who looked like he had just graduated from high school, stood before him. McCullers wondered if the man was old enough to shave. Now that he had crossed middle age, everyone looked young to him.

“I’m Dr. Wadell, Mr.…” He paused as he looked at the chart. “Mr. McCullers. How are you feeling?”

“A little sore, but not too bad,” he answered as friendly as he could manage. “It looks like you guys took good care of me last night.”

“It was a busy night,” the doctor said, pulling a silver cylinder from his pocket. He flipped a switch, and a small, bright light came on. Wadell bent over the bed and peered into McCullers’s eyes. “Any trouble with your vision?” His breath smelled of coffee.

“No.”

“Dizziness? Nausea?”

“No. Really, Doctor, I feel fine. Just a little bruised.”

“Uh-huh,” the doctor said perfunctorily. Returning the penlight to his pocket, he held out both hands to McCullers. “Squeeze my hands.”

“What?”

“Take my hands and give them a squeeze.”

“What for?” A bit of pent-up anger tainted his words.

“It’s a little complex, but it helps me judge the symmetry and response of your muscles. It’s a simple test to verify that each side of your body is getting the same message from your brain.”

McCullers smiled. He liked the idea of squeezing the doctor’s hands. He was strong enough to easily break the bones in the medical man’s fingers. Then where would the doctor be? It would be hard to practice medicine with two or three crushed fingers on each hand. Despite the nearly overpowering urge, McCullers decided to play nice and comply. The exam continued with the doctor asking questions, examining his patient’s ears, poking bruises, and scribbling words on the chart.

Ten minutes later, Dr. Wadell delivered his judgment. “Well, Mr. McCullers, I think we can let you go. Your test results and x-rays are all negative, and you seem to be in pretty good shape. You’ll be sore for a few days. I suggest you take some over-the-counter pain medication if you need to. No driving for the next week and get plenty of rest. Should your vision change any—double vision, blurriness, that sort of thing—then you should see your doctor immediately or come into emergency. The same goes for sudden bouts of nausea, difficulty in waking, and dizziness. Those could be signs of trouble.”

“Will do, Doctor,” McCullers said with a broad smile. One part of his complex situation had just got easier. He would have no trouble checking out of the hospital. That saved him the trouble of sneaking out. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “The nurse will be in soon to start some of the paperwork for dismissal. I understand the CHP wants to talk to you.”

“That’s what I hear, although I don’t know what I can tell them.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. It is all pretty routine. Unless you were purposely trying to run someone off the road, they shouldn’t bother you.” He chuckled.

McCullers tensed and then caught himself. The doctor was only making a joke.

“Thanks again, Doc.”

“Good-bye, Mr. McCullers.” Five quick strides later, the doctor was gone and McCullers was planning his next move.

The bed in the sleeper cab was more comfortable than Lisa had imagined. The thin mattress wedged in the closet-size area provided a soft, cozy rest. Just fifteen minutes into the trip, a heavy blanket of weariness had covered her. Nick had noticed and suggested that she nap on the bed.

“If the highway patrol pulls me over for any reason,” he had said, “I would greatly appreciate it if you would return to your seat. California requires that everyone in a vehicle wear a seat belt. The bed has no seat belt.”

She had chuckled at the thought and promised that she would move as quickly as she could. Once on the bed, she was fast asleep. There had been no dreams. Now she lay on her back, peering through the curved skylight that made up half of the sleeper cab’s ceiling. Outside was an azure sky with a single wisp of white cotton cloud. A hawk seemed to hover overhead for a few moments before the truck moved from beneath it.

The cab bounced lightly as it moved down the road. The droning of the tires and her physical exhaustion, coupled with a profound emotional
weariness, had proved to be a powerful sedative, lulling her to sleep within minutes of lying down. Lisa felt slightly refreshed, but her memory was still gone.

She yawned and gently stretched.

“She lives,” Nick said jovially from his seat behind the steering wheel. “I was starting to think you had slipped into a coma. Except - people in comas don’t talk in their sleep.”

“I was talking in my sleep?” Lisa asked, sitting up.

“Well, not really talking,” Nick said. “It was more of a yodel.”

“A yodel? I did not.”

“It was really quite good. Maybe you should consider a yodeling career.”

Leaning forward, Lisa could see the broad smile on Nick’s face. “I think you’re having a little fun at my expense.”

“Me?” Nick said with flourish. “I speak nothing but the truth. You yodel nicely.”

“I don’t know how to yodel. I don’t even sing.”

“Are you sure?” Nick asked. A hint of seriousness had tinged his voice. “I mean, how do you know?”

That is a good point
. “I guess I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure that I don’t yodel. I don’t think I sing either, but I don’t know why I think that.” The darkness of uncertainty that had cloaked her when she had awakened in the motel room returned.

Nick seemed to notice the return of her gloom. “I’m sorry. I was trying to cheer you up. I seem to have had the opposite effect.”

“That’s all right. You did nothing wrong.”

“Thirsty?”

She was. “Yes. My mouth feels like I’ve been sucking on cotton.”

“It’s the air conditioning. It keeps the air cool, but it also removes the moisture. Not that there is much moisture out there.” He nodded forward. The desert stretched out before them. “There’s soda in the refrigerator.”

“How big is this desert?” she asked as she opened the small cooler and removed a root beer.

“The Mojave? It’s huge, but we’ll be out of it soon. We’re on the 14 and headed south. Pretty soon all this open space will be replaced with wall-to-wall buildings.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Not long really. Half an hour, maybe.”

“It seemed a lot longer,” she said. “Do you want a drink too?”

“Please. I think there’s a Squirt in there. That’s my favorite.”

Lisa removed a green can of citric soda and handed it to Nick. She then returned to the passenger seat and buckled her belt. It pressed on her bruised hips. “I feel foolish asking this now, since I should have asked before I agreed to go with you, but where are we headed?”

“To the coast. I have a home just south of Santa Barbara. It’s a nice place. I think you’ll like it.”

“You’re taking me to your house?”

Nick nodded. “I’m taking the next few days off. I have some paperwork to do, forms to fill out for my business, that sort of thing. Besides, you wouldn’t let me take you to a hospital or to the police. I don’t have many other choices.”

Lisa was uncomfortable for reasons she could not determine. Maybe it was going to a man’s house when she knew neither the man nor the city in which he lived. “I see.”

“I’m open for other ideas,” he said kindly. “Actually, I’m at a loss. I certainly can’t leave you on the street somewhere. At least at my place you will be warm and comfortable and have a place to stay.”

The logic was unassailable. Nick really did have his hands tied, and she was the cause. He seemed trustworthy and honest, but how could she really tell? Did evil men walk around with tattoos on their foreheads that read, B
EWARE
? How much different would a criminal look from a saint? She had no idea.

“You can make yourself at home,” Nick continued. “The guest room is clean and available. It doesn’t get much use.”

“Then what?” Lisa asked. Confusion had mixed with her uncertainty to form an amalgam of apprehension. It had been crazy of her to get into a truck with a man she didn’t know, but she had no other choice, at least that she could see. Besides, if Nick had wanted to harm her, he wouldn’t have taken her to a hotel. There was nothing in his words or manner to suggest evil. He was the only help on the horizon, so she had agreed to his offer.

Nick shrugged. “Hopefully, you get your memory back. Maybe there will be a news report or something to help us identify you. Somebody must know you. Maybe you have a family, a mother, a neighbor, or an employer. Sooner or later someone is going to miss you and make a report. That would be the easiest solution.”

“I don’t know if I have a family,” Lisa said sadly.

“There’s no wedding ring on your finger,” Nick observed. “I doubt you’re married.”

“Maybe I lost it, or it was stolen.”

“Perhaps, but the skin tone is uniform on your fingers. The skin shows no sign of having been hidden beneath jewelry. It’s not conclusive, of course, just interesting. Do you think you like jewelry?”

“I have no idea.”

“Check your ears.”

“What?”

“Are your ears pierced?” Nick asked.

Lisa placed her soda in the cup holder and touched her earlobes. She felt nothing. “I don’t think so.”

Nick glanced at her. “They don’t look pierced. Most women I’ve known have pierced ears, but I’ve known some who don’t. In general the ones who don’t have pierced ears don’t wear much jewelry.”

“And just how many women do you know?” Lisa asked.

“Not many,” he admitted. “I spend too much time on the road.”

“I see,” she said. She felt suspicious. It seemed odd to her that Nick was not married or at least serious about some woman. He was attractive, had a sense of humor, was concerned for others, and was well-spoken. Somehow she had thought a truck driver would be the opposite of that.

“I suppose the thing to do is let you rest up and get over your injuries. In the meantime we can keep our ears to the ground. If you were in an auto accident, then the CHP is probably looking for you. The best thing would be for you to call them.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t.” Her heart began to beat faster. The thought of the police bothered her.

Nick fell silent, and Lisa knew she was putting him in a difficult spot. Her refusal to seek help from the police made her look guilty, as if she were running. It amazed her that he would be so willing to help, given the circumstances.

As they passed through Palmdale and continued down the grade, the terrain changed from the high desert with its spotty juniper, scrub brush, and Joshua trees to rolling hills made brown by the summer heat. Highway 14 led them through Soledad Pass and into Soledad Canyon. Large tract houses sprouted out of the ground like trees, their red roof-tiles shimmering in the harsh daylight. The number of houses increased as they continued southward into Santa Clarita.