There were no balance problems. No sudden scarecrow phases. No paranoia or amnesia or aphasia. Just a tough headache at the back of his skull from the steel plate the doctors had screwed in place.
Nothing like the shockwave from a gunshot to set your mind right, Kline thought. Who would have thought it could be so easy?
He almost laughed out loud.
One of the incoming nurses, still groggy and grumpy at that early hour, wondered why the tall man who passed her in the parking lot was wearing such a large wool cap, or how anyone could possibly look so cheery coming out of a hospital. But she didn’t dwell on these thoughts. She was tired, and her first cup of coffee had not yet taken hold. The idea that a patient might want to escape never crossed her mind.
And so Dr. Nathan Kline, one-time murderer, current gunshot wound victim and recently presumed vegetative patient, strolled calmly out of the building, into the bright New Hampshire morning, and out of the public eye forever.
He was on a bus within an hour, headed for somewhere, anywhere, else.
He had always enjoyed bus rides. They made him feel purposeful.
And he still had so much to do.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Charcot's Genius Page 30