"Mike."
Whose voice is that?
"Hey, Mike."
Is he talking to me?
"Mike, buddy. I know you're awake."
Man, it's bright in here. I blink slowly and the world starts to resolve itself.
"There he is," the voice by the bed says encouragingly.
"Hello?" I ask dumbly, not recognizing the face that enters my vision.
"Mike, it's Tom."
I blink a few more times. Now that he mentions it, he does look like Tom...I think. I smile at him. "Yeah, hey Tom. Don't mind me. I'm just a little..." I sit up look around in confusion. "Am I in a hospital?"
Tom nods. "Yeah. Listen, Mike, don't worry. The doctors say you'll be fine. You just had a minor heart attack. If you just take it-"
"Heart attack?" I ask, bewildered.
"Yeah," Tom says calmly, "if you just take it easy, you're gonna be alright."
I lay back against the pillow. I can feel my heart pumping. It makes me feel a little light headed.
"Now look, Mike. I need to ask you something pretty important. I need you to relax and try to remember," he says to me in a very serious tone.
I look at him. "What is it?"
Tom sighs. "You remember the new girl at the office?" he asks.
My heart beats a little faster for some reason. "Uh, yeah. Lori, er, uh...Loretta?"
"Loretta, that's right," Tom nods. "Well, she's missing."
"Ok," I say hesitantly. While I'm sure I don't know what he's talking about, my chest seems to be pounding an answer. This can't be good for someone who recently had a heart attack.
"Well, Mike, the last time anyone saw her was with you," Tom says pointedly.
I shake my head. "What are you asking?"
He gives me a long hard look, then sighs again. "Mike, it's hard for me to say this because I know things have been difficult for you, but everyone knows about you two."
"Knows about...about what?" I ask, my nervousness matched only by my confusion.
Tom shrugs. "That you've been...y'know seeing each other," he answers, looking away.
I stare in disbelief, my head shaking of its own accord. "Tom, I...Linda..." is all I can manage to stutter.
"Linda's gone, Mike," he says sympathetically. "It's ok to move on."
It all rushes back to me. The bank. Linda's blood. Her lips moving. "No!" I shout, curling over onto my side and shielding my head.
"Mike, it's ok. Calm down," Tom tells me.
My sleeve is quickly soaked with tears. "Linda..." I whisper between sobs.
"Mike, we just need to know where Loretta is," he says with a hint of urgency.
Something about that tone tears me from my self pity. I look up at Tom. His eyes are quietly demanding. "Who's 'we'?" I ask suspiciously.
Tom leans back and looks up in thought. "Look, I didn't want to tell you this, but the police think..." he trails off.
"What?" I urge him on.
He looks at me with a pained expression. "Mike, they think you may have had something to do with it," he explains. "I'm here to help you before they get their hands on you."
"Tom," I begin, but I'm not really sure what to follow it up with.
"Is there anything you can tell me?" he asks, looking sympathetic again. "Is there some place where you guys usually meet?"
The memory of a church flashes through my mind. A small room. A syringe. Someone injecting me with something. I look up at Tom and shake my head.
He sighs. "Ok, you obviously need some time to rest. I'm going to be in the lobby. Call for me if you can remember anything."
Without pausing for my reaction, he walks out of the room.
I take a moment to look around the room. It's pretty sparse. There's no window. Not even a TV. Seems more like a prison cell than a hospital room. I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Man, I feel really weak. I wonder if this is what it feels like after a heart attack.
Taking a breath, I slide myself onto my feet and stand. This is a very shaky process. My legs feel like they haven't worked in weeks, maybe more. I step carefully over to the door and turn the handle. At least, I try to turn the handle. It's locked. Why am I locked in my room?
Something definitely doesn't feel right about this. What's really going on here? I try to think back to where I was before I woke up here. I was at work. The day was pretty normal. I went home and fell asleep. But if I went home and fell asleep, where did I have the heart attack? How did anyone find me? Think!
I was home asleep and then... Oh yeah, there was that crazy dream about Linda. She was on the table. She turned to look at me. She said something that freaked me out. What was it? I close my eyes and concentrate.
"Richard..."
My eyes snap open. I shudder at the memory of Linda's lifeless corpse looking up at me. Why did she call me Richard? Does it have anything to do with my heart attack? She said that; then I woke up. I got some water. Then I got into the car and went...
Went where? Where would I have gone? Dammit, think, Rick!
Rick. Why did I just call myself Rick? What the hell is wrong with me?
"...we erased your memory..." a female voice echoes from the recesses of my mind. I close my eyes and try to remember more.
"...most of the subjects reported a surrealism to their memories. Some even had odd things go on, like what you might expect in a dream," the woman's voice explains to me from some time in the recent past.
When did that happen? It seems so familiar, but I don't know why.
"...come to this address: 1420 Mission Avenue. It's an abandoned church near the city limits..."
The image of a run down building with a steeple stretching into the night sky fades into view behind my eyelids.
"If you manage to get out, don't wait for me. We'll meet here."
Loretta. It must be. So, Tom was right; we were meeting somewhere, but it wasn't for the reason he thought. She was saying something about...erasing my memory? But she had said 'we'. What did she have to do with it and why did she tell me? I didn't actually do something to her, did I?
Again, I briefly recall someone injecting something into my forearm. Was that her? Maybe she did something to me...aside from erasing my memory. Maybe she's the reason I had a heart attack. I wish I could remember all of it!
The sound of someone turning the door handle catches my attention. I back away from the door to avoid being hit as it swings open. Someone outside says something I can't hear, then steps into the room.
"Mr. Menda, you really should be resting," the nurse says to me as she walks in.
I look out into the hallway before the door closes. It seems empty. "Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering why the door was locked," I say to her.
She smiles and says, "I'm sorry about that. Must've been locked by accident."
"Ok," I say hesitantly. "Does that mean I can leave whenever I want?"
"Well, Mr. Menda," she begins, "you've just undergone treatment for a heart attack. You've only been here for a day. We'd like to observe you for at least two more days before we start talking about whether it's ok for you to go home."
"Of course," I say, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
"Now, come back to your bed and I'll go get you some lunch," the nurse promises. She adds, after looking around the room, "Let's get you a TV too, so you're not bored to death."
Eyeing her warily, I make my way back to the bed. If I weren't suddenly so hungry, I'd keep pressing her for more answers. Really, though, just her presence and the promise of lunch and a TV makes this seem more like a hospital than I thought it did a few minutes ago. Maybe that's just a justification for the other reasons I don't want to leave just yet. I definitely don't feel 100%. It won't do me any good to get out of here and have another heart attack in the parking lot. I'll wait another two days, but that's it. If they don't let me out, I'm leaving of my own accord.
Time passes interminably slowly. If it weren't for the clock on the wall, I'd swear they were lying about the passage of days. I try to distract myself with TV. When that doesn't work, I try sleep, but I'm just not tired. I feel like I've slept for months and just don't need to anymore.
On the second day, Tom comes to talk to me again. He pries pretty insistently about Loretta, but I still don't remember everything, so I let on nothing. He leaves, seemingly a little more frustrated than I might have expected. On the third day, a couple of cops show up.
"Good morning, Mr. Menda," on of them greets me. "If you have a minute, we'd like to ask you some questions."
I look around the hospital room and say in a sardonic tone, "I think I could free up a few seconds."
He smiles tightly. "I'm Detective Haskell with the Madison PD, and this is my partner, Detective Allen."
Detective Allen nods, looking stern.
I reach up and shake Det. Haskell's hand. "How can I help you, gentlemen?" I ask.
"Mr. Menda, we were wondering if you knew the whereabouts of a Miss Loretta Vine. She was reported missing three days ago and you were the last person seen with her," Haskell explains.
"Really?" I ask. "Where were we seen together?"
The detectives exchange a glance. This time, Allen is the one who speaks. "It was reported to us that the two of you are involved in a relationship. The last time Miss Vine was seen, she was getting into your car as you were leaving your mutual workplace. No one has seen her since."
I shake my head slowly. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. I have no recollection of any of this. I mean, I spoke to her a few times at the office, but that's it."
"I understand," Det. Haskell says with a furrowed brow. "We know you recently lost your wife. It's hard. You have feelings for someone and you're afraid it might be too soon. You're worried that you're dishonoring your wife's memory."
I look away, but say nothing.
"Did something happen?" Det. Allen asks, trying on the same reassuring voice his partner just used. "Maybe you got into an argument over your doubts about the relationship and things got out of hand."
I turn my gaze back toward them, narrowing my eyes. "What, so I just lost my wife and then turned around and kidnapped this woman?"
Det. Allen jumps at the opening. "Nobody said anything about kidnapping. Did you kidnap her?"
"No!" I snap, rolling my eyes.
"Where is she?" he shouts back.
Haskell puts his hands up and gives his partner a calming look. "Mr. Menda," he says, turning back to me, "no one is suggesting you did anything to her...yet. We have to investigate all leads. If someone says they saw you together, we have to check it out."
"So, I'm a suspect," I growl accusingly.
"You're a person of interest," he corrects me, "but if you have some idea of where Miss Vine might be, you would do well to tell us. People who care are worried about her. They just want to know where she is. If there's anything...anything at all you can tell us..."
"I'm sorry," I insist. "I don't know where she is."
Haskell sighs and reaches into his jacket. "Very well. Thank you for your time. If you think of anything, please give me a call," he says, handing me a business card.
I take the card, but offer no response. The two men leave me alone, once again, with my thoughts. My confusion remains, but above that is a resolve to find out exactly what's going on. It will be interesting to see if I am actually released today. Either way, I'm leaving this hospital tonight, come hell or high water.
"Good Morning, Mr. Menda," a chipper voice interrupts my thoughts.
I look up at the nurse who just stepped in. "Oh, uh, morning," I reply.
"Ready to go home today?" she asks me.
My surprise renders me momentarily speechless.
"We're going to get the doctor in here to check on you one more time. If he says you're ok, we'll send you on your way!" she explains with way more excitement than I'm sure she actually feels.
"Oh. That's great," I manage to say.
"Uh-huh," she says absently as she comes over and starts checking my vitals. She sticks my finger in a clip hooked up to a machine and also takes my blood pressure.
After writing a few things down, she smiles at me. "Ok, he should just be a few minutes," she reassures me before hurrying back out the door.
Well, that's interesting. I'm not going to get my hopes up, though. Just watch, there will be some kind of heart murmur or my blood pressure will be too high or something. They'll figure out something to keep me here for 'a few more days'.
About 15 minutes later, a young guy in a lab coat walks in with a stethoscope across his shoulders and a clipboard in his hand. He looks like he's fresh out of med school.
"Good morning, Mr..." He flips to the front of the file. "Ah, Mr. Menda. I'm Doctor Fulton."
I nod to him.
"Doctor Patel is on call today, so I'm going to be checking you out before you go home."
"Ok," I say.
He looks at the stuff the nurse wrote on my file. "Ok, that looks ok," he mutters. "Let's take a listen," he says, grabbing his stethoscope.
I pull off my shirt and sit up straight.
He listens to my chest for a few seconds, then tells me to take a deep breath. He repeats this in a few places on my chest and back. When he's done, he nods and slings the stethoscope back over his shoulders.
"Ok, Mr. Menda," he says, "you're heart sounds okay, breathing sounds normal. You're blood pressure's ok and everything else checks out."
While I find it hard to believe that my blood pressure is ok, given my brief grilling by the detectives, I'm greatly relieved.
"The nurse will stop by in a few minutes to give you some literature," he tells me. "You've just had a heart attack, so you should take it easy. I'd recommend maybe taking a few more days off from work. The stuff the nurse will bring will give you some info on how to proceed from here, foods you should avoid, exercise regimens, that kind of thing."
"Ok," I nod.
"Ok?" the doctor repeats, heading toward the door. "Great, you take care." With that, he quickly exits.
So...how about that? It seems like I actually will be leaving today. The nurse pops in just a few minutes later to give me the aforementioned 'literature', then wishes me well. Everybody seems to be in a hurry today, which suits me just fine.
I get up and put on my clothes. After making sure I have everything, I take one last look at the room and step out into the hallway. I half expect to see armed guards, or at least the two detectives hovering around, but there's no one. I look down the hall and see a green exit sign. I head toward it.
With every step that brings me closer to that sign, my belief that I'm actually getting out of here increases. By the end of the hallway, I feel better than I can remember feeling in quite a while. It's so strange. I've only been here for three days. Still, my excitement continues to mount as I follow the next exit sign, and then the next.
My heart skips a beat when, as I'm walking toward a set of doors through which I can see the parking lot outside, someone calls my name.
"Mike!" the voice repeats.
I look around. Tom comes jogging up to me. "Hey, buddy!" he says jovially.
Glancing back toward the doors, I return the greeting. "Hey, Tom. You still here?"
"Yeah, I stopped by to see if they were releasing you today," he says. "I guess they are."
I nod, "Yep."
"Well, good thing I got here when I did," he chuckles.
"Oh yeah?" I ask absently, eyeing the doors again.
"Well, yeah!" he says incredulously. "Otherwise you'd be walking home."
"Oh."
"What, did you think you drove yourself here in the throes of a heart attack?" he laughs.
"Hey, thanks for picking me up," I tell him sincerely.
Tom nods. "No problem, buddy. Now, let's get you out of here."
"Yeah," I agree enthusiastically.
Tom is pretty talkative as we make our way to my house. I have a hard time paying attention. The warmth of the sun on my face and the spectacle of the city distract me. I don't get it. I wasn't even in the hospital for a week. I apologize to Tom several times for spacing out on him. He just shrugs it off and continues talking. Oddly, he doesn't mention Loretta at all.
When Tom's car rolls to a stop in front of a vaguely familiar house, I look around in confusion. "Are we here already?" I ask.
"Yeah," he answers with a hint of concern. "You feeling ok?"
I take a long look at my house. I guess it's how I remember it. Something just seems...out of place.
"Listen, you want me to hang out for a while?" Tom asks.
I blink away my distracted expression and look over at him. "Thanks, Tom, but I think I'd just like to relax by myself for a while."
He nods. "Ok," he says, "but you call me if you need anything."
"I will," I assure him.
"Ok, buddy. Take care," he calls as I exit the vehicle.
"Yep, you too," I reply, pushing the passenger door closed.
I watch him drive off until he turns the corner at the end of the street, then turn to look again at my house. Everything feels a bit surreal. My house seems like something out of a distant memory, but I know I was here four days ago. Taking a deep breath, I walk up the driveway and step over to the front door. I easily extract my keys from my pocket and pick the right one with barely a glance. In a motion that definitely feels automatic, I unlock the door and walk in.
This place is empty. It's nice enough. I can see hints of my tastes here and there. I recognize everything and know my way around, and yet it feels like something's missing or maybe like it doesn't quite look like I remember it. It all serves to make me feel like I need to find out what's going on...now.
I lock the front door behind me and cross the living room, walk through the kitchen and out the side door to the garage. My awkward feelings persist as I quickly hop into my car and hit the button for the automatic garage door opener. As I back down the driveway and into the road, I look around to make sure no one's watching me. Guided by only the vaguest sense that I know where I'm going, I put the car in drive and proceed down the road.
I find myself wondering, oddly enough, if I'll ever make it back.
* * * * *
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