Page 10 of This I Know
I try to control my emotions as I read. Maybe this isn’t the best time to do this. But I can’t stop myself. I get to the end of the stack, and my heart sinks when I start to suspect none of this is about his present case. And then I see it. A single page, a list of charges.
In the cases of Whitney Cromwell and Alyssa Zucconi: two counts of murder. In the case of Avery Dylan: one count of attempted murder.
Avery
My very first conversation with my doctor was a rude welcome to the world of recovery.
My doctor is a short man, stout and with dark hair that sometimes resembled an Elvis-do, and my first impression of him was that he was always busy and aloof. He treated me like I was just another patient, but like one that was seriously hurt, and because of that he went out of his way to give me serious attention. That’s not a good impression to have.
“Welcome back, Avery,” I heard him say through my drug-induced haze. It might not have been the drugs. It could have been the haze of my own battered mind; I guess there’s no way to know for sure. But I felt druggy.
“What happened to me?” I said. It hurt to talk.
The doctor took a deep breath. He held his hands together in front of him. “I’d like you to tell me what you can remember.”
I thought.
I thought harder.
The thinking hurt, so I stopped. I gave up and just looked at him.
He leaned in closer. He was so close to me that I could smell his breath. I crinkled my nose. “Anything at all?” he asked.
“I remember some things.”
“Such as?”
“I remember leaving Cole and walking to my friend’s house–”
My mom interrupted. “You left Cole? Why did you leave Cole?”
I looked at her, surprised. I didn’t even realize she was there.
I shift my seat. “He dropped me off.”
“In the middle of nowhere?”
“Not in the middle of nowhere, no. I knew where I was.”
She shook her head. “I knew it was Cole. You’re not to see him again, Avery. Do you hear me? You two were arguing again, weren’t you? And he kicked you out.” She put her head in her hand. “That boy.”
“Mom, it wasn’t him. Stop it.” I didn’t bother pointing out that if itwashim, as in the one who attacked me, of course I wouldn’t see him again. Like she would even need to tell me that.
She extended an arm, correcting herself. “I didn’t mean he did this to you, I meant he allow this to happen. He did, didn’t he?” She handed the authority back to the doctor. “Go on. Please.”
The doctor faced me again, his body just as close. He must think traumatized people are hard of hearing, standing this close. Funny, you’d think he’d catch on to the fact that we’d like some space more than anything.
“Ms. Dylan, do you have any idea of the injuries you sustained? What have you heard?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Alright. So I’ll start from the beginning. Whoever did this shot you once in the leg,” he said, his voice flat and professional.
All I thought was:That was the beginning?
“You sustained a pretty serious head injury, although we don’t know what from. Some kind of blunt force. And we had to put you in a medically-induced coma for close to three days to get that swelling down. You’re going to feel a bit groggy for a while because of the medication we gave you, but the good news is you’re on the mend.” He flipped his chart papers and nodded. “You’ve made progress in the right direction already.”
So, drugs. It was the drugs.
