Dead and Gone Read Online Free PDF Page B

strength was coming along. I deliberately held back, but he told me I was doing great. Another week or so, I’d be transferred.
    I asked him a lot of questions, all wrapped around the only ones I cared about. When he told me that there were no private rooms in the Institute, that they had one of the highest staff-patient ratios in the country, and that the entire day was “activity-scheduled,” I knew I couldn’t make a break from there as easy as I could from where I was.
    Time was tightening. But still nobody came for me.
    A few days later, Rich told me my lungs were perfectly clear.
    “You did a great job,” he said, smiling approval. “You must have worked very hard.”
    “I’ve been working just as hard in my head,” I told him. “Trying to bring it back …”
    His face turned sad. “Don’t worry about it. That part, it has to come on its own. And it will, as soon as it’s ready.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “No question about it. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”
    “Thank you,” I said. Meaning it.
    He said “Sure,” and walked out, waving his hand to hide his face. But I’d already seen the tears. He had a good heart, that kid. But he was a lousy liar.
    T he floor outside my room was a rectangle, with a nurses’ station near each end and a bank of elevators in the middle. A full lap around the perimeter took me almost an hour the first time I tried it. Now I could do a couple of dozen without stopping to get my breath. I’d been off the morphine for ten days, but I’d kept the billing computer happy. And anybody watching wouldn’t see I was disconnected. I moved slow, taking my laps. Just like on the Yard—eyes down, but always watching.
    If cops were watching the door to my room, I couldn’t see them. Or any of those little dots that tip you to a minicam.
    But I couldn’t see what was at the bottom of the elevator’s ride, either. And I couldn’t leave the floor to find out.
    There had to be a reason why none of my people had come. The cops had all their faces, but Michelle had gotten through once. Why …? Sure! That was before the cops made their move on me, before the whole private-room game. That had to be it.
    Maybe the cops had some patience of their own, figuring they could outwait my people.
    No matter how I played it out, it came up NFG all the way. No Fucking Good. If my people came for me, the vise would close. And if they didn’t … Ah, no use in thinking about that. They would . They were waiting, but they wouldn’t wait forever.
    Well, fuck that: the State had made me into a lot of things during my life, but it wasn’t going to turn me into a goddamn Judas goat.
    “W here are my clothes?” I asked Rich when he came on duty.
    “Your clothes?”
    “I must have clothes. I mean, I was driving in the car before it … happened. I must have been dressed, right?”
    “Oh. I see what you mean. They’re probably right over here in the closet.…”
    The “closet” was a free-standing wardrobe. Rich opened the door. Turned to me with a puzzled expression. “There’s nothing here,” he said. “Give me a few minutes, I’ll see if I can find out where they put your stuff.”
    I already knew where it was—in a forensics lab being vacuumed for evidence to help them put me back where they knew I belonged. Or in an NYPD evidence locker, waiting to nail the coffin they were building for me. But I kept my face blank and confused, watching him leave.
    It took him about an hour to return. “Apparently, there’s some sort of rules for a person who was … assaulted. The police—”
    “But what do I do ?” I asked him, depression leadening my voice. “I have to get dressed sometime , don’t I? I mean, if I’m ever going to get better? So I can find my—”
    “Of course you do,” he said. He was trying to be soothing, but I could feel the anger beneath the surface. He was in the right profession, caring for other people. I wondered how long he’d last, working