Page 56 of Everything We Left Behind

“Go to sleep ... you should ... sleep.”

I crumpled to the floor.

The buzz of heated whispers reached me as the darkness in my head ebbed. I forced open my eyes, which felt like ripping duct tape off a flesh wound. Light emanated from overhead. It wasn’t blinding like the one I swore flashed in my face a moment ago, but it did burn. My eyes watered and my forehead throbbed. My limbs felt heavy as though pinned to whatever I was lying upon. I tried moving my head toward the voices. Pain shot across my temple.

Damn, that hurt.I groaned.

Whispers faded and a face appeared above me, blocking the light fixture. He looked familiar.

“What’s your name?”

I frowned and moaned again.

“What’s your name?” he asked in firmer tone.

My name? My name is ... my name ... my ... name ... is ... “Carlos.” The word scraped over dry vocal cords.

“Shit.” The face disappeared and the heated whispers buzzed again.

I willed my arms to move. Stiff plastic crinkled underneath. I cradled my head. When had it ever hurt this bad?

Once, I thought. In the early days after my accident.

I blew out a breath as memories shimmered into view. The accident, therapy, my wife, her death, my sons. Thomas, that asshole. Natalya.Oh man.I needed to call her. Focusing on the light overhead, I tried to get some control over the pain.

Voices rose, transitioning from a buzz to a hiss, moving faster. Two, or maybe three, people were here with me, and they were arguing. The ligaments around my ears tensed as I tried deciphering their words through the pain.

“Memory inhibition ... brain imbalance ... need a neural image from prior to the episode.”

“Not possible. Can we try again?”

“Not here ... shouldn’t have come ... lose my license ... bring him to me.”

I tried sitting up. Pain shot from my head and down the ridges of my spine. A long, low groan emanated from my chest.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“The suggestion hasn’t worn off yet.”

“You gave him a headache?”

Someone cursed, then sighed, long and impatient.

“What else can we do?”

“Nothing really, other than pinpoint the stressors. Go from there.”

There was a long pause before, “I think there might be another way. I’ve got to get him to the hotel before his tail thinks something other than a tour is happening.”

Whatever they were talking about, I wasn’t going to find out. I curled on my side and dropped. My nose, chest, and knees connected with the cement floor.

“Gah!” I slid my knees inward and cupped my nose.

Feet thundered to my side. Hands grasped my armpits, hauling me back onto the plastic-covered couch I’d been lying on. I propped elbows on knees and dropped my face in my hands. My nose throbbed. I cautiously touched the bridge.

The couch dipped beside me. “I doubt you broke it.”

My brain finally caught up and connected the voice beside me to Thomas. “Muck you,” I said, the words muffled in my hands.

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