I AWOKE EXPECTING TO FEEL groggy or unsettled, but I was rested and alert, just as if from any regular dream or sleep. Even the bandage on my wrist was in place as it had been when I went to sleep. Noting the old blood that had seeped through, I stripped it off and to my horror found ... nothing. No cut, no mark, not a scar or even a faint line. I clamped my other hand over the area so I wouldn’t have to look at the proof.
“Proof of what?” I whispered to myself. “That I’m crazy?”
“Bixby!” my dad bellowed up the stairs, interrupting my panic. “We’re leaving in five minutes; your grandma is already down here.”
“‘Kay,” I tried to respond normally, but my voice came out a squeak.
I splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth and threw my hair into the messiest ponytail ever. I was sure my dad wouldn’t notice anything wrong and I hoped to be calm by the time we got to Linc, but to myself I looked crazed.
I curled up in the backseat as Dad drove us back to the hospital but the thought of seeing Linc again after thinking him gone forever couldn’t keep my mood dark.
“Now, Bixby,” my dad said as we pulled into the parking garage.”Don’t say anything to anyone.”
“Who would want to talk to me?”
“Don’t smart ass me!” he snapped.”Just keep your mouth shut.”
I sighed as quietly as I could and reminded myself he would be gone again in a few days.
Up on Linc’s floor, I noticed the stares from the nurses and a security guard twirling around a chair at the nurses’ station.
Linc’s face lit up when I walked in the room. “Bixby! You come to take me home?”
I looked at my dad who looked at the nurse that had followed us in. “Tomorrow,” she promised.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “A concussion, some fractured ribs, he’s been rehydrated and will need to finish up his antibiotic for pneumonia, but he’ll be fine to go home.”
Linc and I grinned at each other.
“Mr. Gray, if we could just have a word?” she asked, pointing towards the hallway.
When dad was out, Lincoln whispered, “Bix, did you know there are reporters here?”
I nodded.
“What do they want?”
I chewed my lip. “Well, everybody sort of thought you were dead, so I guess they want to know where you were and what happened.”
He nodded and chewed his own lip. He looked so foreign to me, sitting so still, so pale, and his eyes looking large in his thinner face.
“Bixby?” he finally asked.
“Hmmm?”
“If I’m not dead, who did you guys bury?”
My stomach rolled at the thought. “I don’t know. I’m sure the police will figure it out.”
“Well, where did they find the body? Couldn’t you guys tell it wasn’t me?”
I shifted uncomfortably, knowing what I was about to say may not apply to him anymore but did apply to the guy who had been his best friend.
“It was a pretty bad accident. The car was in really bad shape and there was a fire ...”
He was quiet, and then said, “So how did you guys decide it was us? ‘Cause if we were so burned up, our wallets would have been too, right?”
“Your school IDs were in your backpacks, in the trunk. The fire started in the front of the car.”
Lincoln nodded and turned from me. I could see his drawn face reflected in the window but didn’t know how to comfort him.
Our dad stormed back in the room. “Well Linc, brush your damn hair, I guess you’re going to be on the news.”
Linc paled even more than he already was. “Why?”
My heart ached seeing my normally strong brother so skittish and scared.
“The cops want to be the ones to break the news, I guess, and whoever runs this place agrees. Said he can explain better why you can’t explain what happened.”
“Great,” Lincoln said bitterly. “So why do I have to be there?”
“Don’t smart ass me, boy,” my dad snapped.
I rolled my eyes behind his back.
The nurse came back in and shooed us out so she could get Lincoln ready. “We’re doing this now?” I asked my dad nervously.
“I guess,” he said, taking his hat off and rubbing it over his face.
“You think it’s going to be bad?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Not bad, just ... not good. People make a big hairy deal about stuff like this. We don’t need your brother all over the news or the Internet or whatever.”
I nodded then excused myself to fix my ponytail. Grandma followed me into the bathroom and watched me try to smooth out the mess.
“You have pretty hair,” she said. “You should brush it.”
My hair was long like hers, but instead of a gorgeous soft black, the Irish from dad’s side had come out and I was left with a not-brown, not-red, not-auburn color. Nobody but Grandma ever said I had pretty hair, they always said, “Well, I guess it’s not really red, is it?”
A bunch of men and women in suits led my family down to a conference room that had been set up. There was a table with glasses of water and tape recorders all lined up. Bright lights washed everything in a harsh glow. My brother looked even weaker and smaller once wheeled up there.
Dad took a seat next to him and Grandma and I stood off to the side. One of the suits harrumphed into the microphone, silencing the dozen or so reporters that had started buzzing when Linc was wheeled in.
The man introduced the lead detective who read a short, terse statement from note cards. “Lincoln Gray, assumed to have died in an accident two weeks ago, was taken to St. Worth’s hospital from a local men’s homeless shelter yesterday. He is unable to remember the events of the last two weeks, the accident he was supposed to have been in or who might have actually been in the car. We’re asking anyone that may have seen Lincoln that day or since to come forward.”
The reporters erupted with questions, most of them shouted at Lincoln. Linc’s doctor stood up and took the microphone from the detective. He held his hands help out in a silent plea.
“Please folks, let me get through this part and you can ask your questions.”
He consulted his own note cards then continued. “Detective Clemet has explained the facts, or I guess lack thereof. I’m just going to explain our young patient’s condition. I’m sure you’re all thinking we should just ask him what happened—” He paused to glare at a reporter that dared shout out his agreement. “But unfortunately, we are dealing with a closed head injury that has somewhat impaired his memory. Hours before and days after are just wiped clean, gone. I can tell you that his injuries are consistent with a car accident, although there is no evidence of burns, which I understand the other passenger, uh, passengers in the car suffered from.” He glanced back at the detective. “Anything to add?”
Detective Clemet leaned over his shoulder to speak into the microphone. “Any tips can be called in to the Michigan State Police.”
Dr. Herpa cleared his throat. “Any questions?”
The reporters jumped to their feet and started yelling over each other. I watched the color fade from Linc’s face as he scrunched down in his wheelchair. Even Grandma was watching him with narrowed eyes. What had happened to my fearless brother?
Finally, a female reporter managed to over-shout all the others. “Dr. Herpa and Detective Clemet, do you really still believe he was in the car accident?”
“Like I said, his injuries are consistent with a car accident and appear to date back about two weeks.”
Detective Clemet cleared his throat. “At this point we aren’t ruling anything out.”
Another reporter jumped up to shout her question. “Lincoln, do you really not remember what happened before or after the accident?”
Linc looked at my dad then leaned toward the microphone. “Yeah.”
The woman sat down, looking annoyed.
A man popped up and shouted, “How does it feel to
be back with your family?”
At this Linc gave a goofy little grin. “Good?”
That reporter sat down annoyed as well.
“Will you be returning to school soon?” another shouted.
Dr. Herpa answered that one. “Within the week, I should hope. But sports will have to wait a bit longer,” he said pointedly to Lincoln.
The longer Linc sat up there and answered their stupid questions, the more relaxed he became. He sat up straighter, smiled and made a few jokes. The doctor finally cut them off citing his patient needing rest and we were all escorted back upstairs.
Relieved to see Linc more like himself, I gave him a tiny hug good-bye but was surprised when he wouldn’t let go.
“Bixby?” he whispered into my hair.
“What?”
“Can’t you stay here tonight?”
I pulled back a little and looked from him to our dad. “I have to take care of Grandma. What’s wrong?”
He shrugged, and then whispered, “Nothing. Just bad dreams I guess.”
He heard my tiny intake of breath and looked at me quizzically.
“What kind of dreams?” I wheezed.
“Just ... bad ones. Like I’m stuck, or ... stuck, I guess.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, don’t worry about it.”
I nodded and shoved my shaking hands into my pockets. “There are nurses out there all night if you need anything, okay? And we’ll be back tomorrow to bring you home. I’ll make Salisbury steak, okay?”
Even that didn’t cheer him up and I left the hospital feeling like a jerk. He was sick and in pain and having nightmares and not only could I not stay to keep him company, I couldn’t help but be worried for myself. I had been distracted for the last few hours but bedtime was only a short ways away and I was worried for my sanity.
Chapter 7