The Dead Don't Talk by Lawrence J. Epstein

Author:Lawrence J. Epstein [Epstein, Lawrence J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fig Hollow Publishing
Published: 2018-12-16T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I thought I had died. I mentally shrugged. This wasn’t so bad, just a simple lapse into a darkness that won’t let go. Fall back. Enjoy it. Be wrapped in it. The darkness was a blanket. I wasn’t scared. I had no feelings other than the peace of floating free.

My eyes snapped open. I couldn’t move, but I didn’t have to. I was in a hospital bed.

It took ten minutes before a nurse came in. I was on some medicine or drug or my mind was sufficiently damaged that I barely noticed.

She leaned over me and looked at my open eyes.

“So you decided to come back to see us, Mr. Ryle.”

My voice was a croak, a bad imitation of a frog trying to make a wisecrack response.

“Don’t even try,” the nurse said. “You’ll be okay. You ought to become a stunt driver. That was some trick. No broken bones. Nothing. Except a little pain.”

A little. You try it, lady.

“You’re a hero, you know, Mr. Ryle. The family wants to make sure you get some kind of commendation. The mom thinks you’re about the best person in the world.”

“The brakes went.” More croaking, but clearer.

“Speak slowly. And softly. There’s a man from the police here.”

He came in. Since I didn’t know anything, I couldn’t say much, and he had other work to do.

Ten minutes later the nurse came back in and said, “A Miss D’Amaro from Congressman Miles’ office is here. For some reason, they’re very concerned about you.”

Janet came in and spent ten minutes describing how lucky I was. The police said someone had tampered with my brake linings. I should be dead now. She gave me a card signed by everyone in the office. There were flowers in the room by the window.

“You’re supposed to rest, but you’re all right. There are stories all about you on the radio. Everybody knows you’re here, so I bet you get more flowers. Your friend Mr. Eilat is outside. He’s acting like some kind of guard. I had to show him my identification. Is he supposed to do that?”

“The Congressman wants him to.”

“Oh.”

She sat quietly next to me for a few minutes

Then another woman appeared by the door. Janet nodded to her and walked out.

Rebecca Roth came and sat down by the bed.

“Hello, Mr. Ryle. I heard about this. I’m so sorry.”

“It would help if you called me Danny.”

She made a puzzled look.

“How exactly would that help?”

I didn’t answer her.

“It was very nice of you to come here. I really appreciate it.”

Evidently, my mind had decided to consult a dictionary of clichés before speaking to her. I was upset with myself.

“They said you were a hero.”

“Sure. I didn’t run over three children. Some hero.”

“Be careful. By the time you get out of here they will be building a statue of you next to the Bull in Smithtown.”

“That may take a while.”

She looked down.

“I’m sorry again for my father.”

“Neither one of us is our father. Didn’t we agree on that?”

Another smile. One more and I’d ask her to marry me.

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