The Seventh Enemy by William G. Tapply

Author:William G. Tapply [Tapply, William G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784088705
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd
Published: 2013-06-28T21:55:00+00:00

20

AFTER THE NOONTIME RECESS on Tuesday; I took a cab from the courthouse in East Cambridge over to Mass General. Wally had a private room with a view of an air shaft. A vase of spring flowers sat on the table beside his bed. A television on an adjustable shelf flashed silent color pictures overhead.

His bed was cranked up under his knees and behind his head, folding him into the shape of an N. A plastic tube was trickling clear fluid into the back of his hand. His eyes were closed.

I poked his shoulder. “Hey, are you awake?” I whispered.

He opened his eyes, blinked once, and focused on me. “What time is it?” he croaked.

“Noon.”

“Day?”

“Tuesday.”

“City?”

“Boston.”

“Correct.” He grinned. “You win another spin at the wheel.”

“So how’re you feeling,” I said, “aside from that chronic pain in the ass?”

He hunched his shoulders and rotated his head. He winced, then smiled quickly at me. “They wake you up every three hours to shove things into your orifices and then they ask you how it feels. With a thermometer in your mouth, all you can do is mumble, which is what they want to hear, because they don’t like to know that your worst problem is all the gadgets they’re sticking into you. All I want is a good night’s sleep. I try to sneak in naps between interruptions. Mainly, I feel tired. Coyne. Other than that, I just feel stupid.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t keep track of things. I can’t tell whether I’m awake or asleep. I have dreams.”

“Drugs, huh?”

“I guess.” He yawned. “You just missed Diana, I think.”

“You think?”

“She was here. Or else I dreamed it. Or else it was yesterday.” He grinned through his beard. “A certain part of it I dreamed, I’m pretty sure, because I don’t think I really jumped her. I’m not used to being tethered to a bed.”

I pulled a wooden chair up next to him, turned it around, and straddled it. I rested my forearms on the back. “What do you remember about it?” I said.

“It?”

“Your accident.”

“The last thing I remember is kissing Diana and taking Corky into the woods. He got to chase a rabbit, and we flushed a grouse.” He shrugged.

“You don’t recall hearing anything or seeing anything.”

“No.”

“When we found you, you said, ‘They got me.’”

“They?”

“That’s what you said.”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

“Are you sure?”

He turned his head and glowered at me. “Jesus, Coyne.”

“I’m sorry, Wally.”

“Enough of the fucking interrogation.”

“Okay. I just hoped maybe we could figure it out. You do know what happened.”

“Sure. I got bushwhacked.”

“Have you thought about it?”

He grinned crookedly. “In what the nurses quaintly call my ‘moments of lucidity,’ it’s about all I do think about.”

“Somebody tried to kill you. you know.”

“Sure. I know.” He cocked his head at me. “Have you and I already discussed this?”

I nodded. “Sort of. Back when you were in North Adams. You were heavily sedated.”

“What’d I say?”

“You said, as I recall, that you were sleepy.”

“I didn’t mention anybody then?”

“No. The sheriff out there is calling it a hunting accident, you know.

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