Page 223 of The Fall
20,000 people disappear; there is only Blair.
The trainer guides me back to the room. My legs work, but barely, and the bright lights are needles through my skull.
I hold a towel to my nose while the overhead crackles with play-by-play: “—You don’t see leadership like that every day, folks. Blair Callahan sent a message to the entire league?—”
Dr. Lin shines a light in my eyes. “Follow the light, Torey. Any double vision?”
“No.”
“What day is it?”
“Tuesday.” Blood’s still trickling from my nose. She hands me gauze. “March 21.”
I try to focus while the commentary continues.
“This Mutineers team has a rare chemistry this season, between Callahan and Kendrick particularly?—”
“Any nausea?” Dr. Lin asks.
“No.” I taste copper from my bloody nose. “My head hurts, though.”
“—Kendrick took a similar hit last season that ended his year. You have to wonder if that was going through Callahan’s mind?—”
“—relationship between Callahan and Kendrick has transformed the Mutineers’ offense this year?—”
“Dizziness?”
“A little.” More than a little, but I need to get back out there.
The commentators’ voices drift in and out, an ebb and flow of sound.
“—Mutineers rallying around this. Look at that bench. They’re ready to go through walls right now?—”
“...five for fighting and a major, but what a statement from the captain.”
“Count backward from twenty by threes,” Dr. Lin says.
The numbers come out a little slow, a little thick. My head throbs in time with the distant roar of the crowd, spiking and falling with the unseen play.
“Okay.” Dr. Lin clicks off her penlight. “You’re done for tonight. You’re showing minor concussion symptoms. Nothing severe, but given your history, we need to be cautious. You’ll be under observation for the next twenty-four hours.”
A muffled cheer filters through the walls. Someone scored. Was it Blair? “Can I go back to the locker room?”
“No, it’s the quiet room for you, then straight home after the game. I want you to check in tomorrow morning.”
She lets me change, and then I’m escorted to the quiet room. The trainer guides me with a hand on my elbow when I sway.
The quiet room lives up to its name. Four walls, dim lighting, a deep couch. No TV, no screens, nothing to stimulate a brain that might be injured. Dr. Lin packs my nose with gauze, and then we sit in the silence together. I count down minutes left and replay the hit in my mind.
It wasn’t as bad as Vancouver—I didn’t lose consciousness—but the similarity is enough. What if…ithad happened again? What if I’d woken up back in Vancouver?
What if this life isn’t real?
My phone buzzes from my jacket pocket. I fish it out, hiding it from Dr. Lin and wincing as the screen lights up. It’s a text from my dad.
Saw the hit. You okay?
Before I reply, the door opens and Hayes appears, still in his full gear. “How is he?”
