Rising to his full height, he glanced at Jack as he walked back toward the front of the station. Jack followed both men out into the night.
“We could do some tests for concussion, but between the gash, which does need stitches, and the memory loss, it’s a pointless exercise. You can drive into Denver and leave him at the hospital. He got insurance?”
“Nobody knows. No ID.”
“No. Shit. That’s a tangle.” He scraped a big paw over his chin. “We can’t drive him down because we never know if we’ll be needed here. And he’s stable.” He looked at his partner. “We could stitch him up. Then you could take him over to Jefferson when they open in the morning.”
“If he has a concussion, doesn’t he have to stay awake or something like that?”
“No. Since he can track and carry on a conversation, it’s fine to let him sleep. In fact he should.”
“I can take him home with me tonight,” Jack said.
“That’ll work.” They turned to get the supplies they’d need from the Fire Department vehicle.
“You hungry for something else before we head to my place?” Jack asked. “Because I don’t have much at home.”
“No. I’m fine,” Dash said.
An hour later he was sitting on the side of the bed in Jack’s guest room in the dark feeling like there was something he needed to do. Some place he needed to be. Somebody he needed to call. It was like an itch that needed to be scratched. But he couldn’t remember.
He woke to kitchen sounds and smelled coffee. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and why he was there. He remembered that. No problem. But he still didn’t know a thing about himself. Not who he was or where he came from. Not how old he was or what he did for a living. He didn’t know if he was good at school or basketball. He didn’t know if he could cook or if he could speak any languages besides English. He was a blank book.
He tried to get up as he normally would, but learned the hard way that rapid movement would be punished with pain. Moving slower, he stopped off at the hall bathroom on the way to the kitchen.
Jack looked up when Dash appeared at the door.
“Good morning. How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” Dash said with a voice that was hoarse. “I was wondering if it might be okay to, ah, take a shower?”
“Sure, but you’re not supposed to get the stitches wet for two days. Although I’m not sure why they think you’re more likely to get an infection from clean water than dirty hair.” He scoffed and shook his head. “But they’re the experts. So no hair washing and be careful where the spray goes. Hold on.” He turned the gas flame off under the bacon. “Let me get you some clean clothes. I’ve got some sweats. They’ll be big on you, but… you know. They’ll be clean.”
“That’s very nice of you, Jack.”
Jack looked embarrassed. “It’s nothing.” He rushed off and returned with sweat pants, long-sleeved tee, a zip up sweat jacket, socks and jersey boxers. Handing them off to Dash, he said, “You like scrambled and bacon?”
Dash’s haunted eyes raised up to meet Jack’s. It was clear he was checking in with himself for an answer to that question. He offered a ghost of a smile. “I think the answer is that everybody likes scrambled and bacon.”
Jack laughed. “Probably true. It’ll be ready when you’re done.”
Dash turned and shuffled back to the bathroom muttering more thanks.
He was in the bathroom for twenty minutes. The shower took ten. The rest of the time was spent staring into the mirror. Into the face of a stranger.
If the person looking back in the reflection was really him, then he supposed he had sandy brown hair and gray eyes. It was, he thought, out of the ordinary coloring. Not to such an extent as to be called odd, but different enough to be called unusual. He also gathered that he was good-looking. At least he thought he might be if he wasn’t wearing an expression that broadcasted ‘scared rabbit’.
He hated that expression, but couldn’t escape the fact that he wasn’t just scared. He was terrified. Standing in a stranger’s bathroom, wearing a stranger’s clothes. No ID. No toothbrush. And no idea what was going to happen next.
He made his way gingerly back to the kitchen in oversized clothes, trying not to shake his brain on the way. At least he had his own boots. They were still a little damp on the inside from the rain. There was a time when he might have thought that an inconvenience or discomfort, but he had far bigger worries now. At least they fit.
“Here you go,” Jack said as he put a plate of eggs, bacon and toast on the dinette. “You want coffee?”
“Yes. Please.”
“How do you take it?”
Dash answered without hesitation. “Black.”
“That was decisive.” When Jack set the cup in front of Dash he said, “Eat up. Jefferson’ll be open by the time we drive over.”
“Is that a hospital?”
Jack shook his head. “Community mental health. They’ll either know what to tell you or know where you should go to get some answers about what’s going on.”
Dash didn’t change expression. “You’re a good cook.”
Jack barked out a laugh. “Hardly. But like all bachelors who want to eat, I know some basics.”
“What about take out?”
Jack smirked. “Pull that curtain over there back and take a look around. I don’t get Chinese delivery.” As he finished cleaning the frying pan, he said, “Well, to be fair, I do get pizza delivery. But even pizza pigs get tired of pizza eventually.”
“Pizza pigs?”
“I just made that up. What do you think?”
“Catchy.”
Jack set Dash’s plate in the sink, let water run over it, and said, “You ready?”
“Ah, yeah. I appreciate this. What you’ve done.”
Jack nodded and waved off the thanks. “One thing we do know about you. You were taught manners.”
Jack and Dash walked into the clinic five minutes after the door opened. The receptionist looked up. She recognized Jack and knew him by name, but said, “Yes, Deputy?”
Jack motioned for Dash to take a seat in the waiting room then said, “I need to talk to Lydia. Or whoever’s in charge this morning.”
“She’s here.”
“Okay then.”
“Come on around.”
Jack looked over his shoulder and gave Dash a nod before disappearing behind closed doors.
“Yes. We get a tiny little bit of funding for charitable use, Jack. But since the funding is small and the need is great we have to be careful how we use it.”
“What do you suggest?”
She sat back in her chair and sighed. “He could get his memory back any time.”
“So I should leave him on the side of the road and hope for the best?”
“Well, no,” she said, getting exasperated. “I could tell you to take him to a doc in a box, and chances are they could do as much as we can, but since this means so much to you, I’m going to kick the can.”
“What does that mean?”
She opened her laptop. “It means I’m going to give you a referral to a specialist. In Boulder.”
“You mean…?”
“If we’re talking concussion, we’re talking football. The best specialist in the state will be found at C.U.”
Jack scrubbed his hand down his face. “It’s an hour over there.”
“I know.”
“And an hour back.” She gave him a look. “You’ll make sure they’re expecting us?”
“Are you on the way?”
Jack muttered some expletives under his breath. “Yeah. Tell them we’re on the way. So it’s like, what do you call it? In-patient care?”
She laughed. “No, Jack. It’s not.”
“Well, then. What am I supposed to do with him?”
She shook her head. “That’s a problem. Go get your diagnosis. Then ask the physician if he wants to be on TV. Believe me, he’ll perk right up. Tell him the local news sta
tions are going to put out the story that you’re looking for this guy’s identity. Tell him you can’t offer money, but you can offer free TV exposure.”
“Why do you think the TV people will be interested?”
She laughed. “Look, Jack. This kind of thing fascinates people and it’s fairly rare. A combination made in TV heaven.”
“Wow, Lydia. That’s… smart. If you weren’t married, I’d…”
“Save it, Deputy. It just so happens that I am married. And to your boss.” She smiled. “I’ll make sure you have the department’s stamp of approval to spend the day taking care of this situation.” She winked.
“Well, okay. Thanks. But just to be sure, you’re saying I don’t need to ask the sheriff?”
She rolled her eyes, picked up the phone, called her husband, gave him the highly abbreviated version, and hung up the phone. “He says they’ll cover for you and you can use the county vehicle.”
Jack shook his head. “Well, no name and I are in your debt.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Remember that the next time I’m speeding on Clear Creek Canyon Road.”
Jack snorted as she handed him the Boulder address.
As they turned into the eastern edge of the University of Colorado campus Jack looked down at the paper Lydia had given him. “I guess I should have put this into GPS.” He read the address out loud.
Dash said, “Oh. It’s right over that way,” and pointed in the direction of Folsom Field.
When Jack gave him a funny look, Dash said, “I know where it is. That means I’ve been here before. Maybe I was even a student here.” In fact Dash had gotten his undergraduate degree in Boulder.
“Maybe.” Jack followed Dash’s directions. Since it was Saturday, they were able to get a spot in on-campus visitor parking.
By mid-afternoon there were three television crews lined up to interview Deputy Berry and Dr. Parsighian. But at the end of that frenzy, Dash was standing there with instructions on concussion care, an appointment to return on Tuesday, and no place to go. He didn’t know who he was, but he knew he hated the situation he was in. He didn’t like feeling like he belonged nowhere. He didn’t like being completely dependent on the goodwill and mercy of strangers. And he didn’t like the feeling that he was missing something of urgent, critical importance.
“I guess you’re stuck with me for another night,” Jack said. “Let’s go grab an early dinner so we can get home in time to watch the news.” Dash didn’t look happy. “Look. I know you don’t know your name, but I have a real strong feeling that you’re the kind of guy who would do the same for me if things were reversed.”
Dash pinned Jack with a look that was surprisingly intense. It was a look that said the man was not comfortable with handouts. “I hope so.”
“I feel sure of it. So we’ll just call it that thing. What is it? Pay it forward?”
“Pay it forward,” Dash repeated.
As they got back into the truck, Jack said, “Let’s be pizza pigs. I know a place. You like beer?”
Dash nodded. “I believe I do.”
Jack played the radio on the way back, sensing that Dash would rather not try to make conversation. Over pizza, he said, “Somebody who knows who you are is going to see the coverage tonight.” After studying Dash’s lack of reaction to that, he added, “You don’t seem especially pleased about that possibility.”
“No. I am,” Dash said carefully. “It’s just that… These people who might turn up and say they know me? I don’t know them.”
Jack considered that carefully, thinking the man in front of him was a poor bastard in a hell of a bind. He was damned if he didn’t know and damned if he did. “The doc said you’re probably going to get your memory back. There’s just no guarantee when.”
“I heard three words that are cause for concern. Probably. And no guarantee.”
Jack nodded. “I wouldn’t trade places with you. It’s strange you didn’t have any ID on you.” Dash nodded and sighed. “No reports of an abandoned vehicle. Whole thing is a mystery.”
Jack lived a modest lifestyle, the one obvious self-indulgence being the huge flat screen TV that took up most of one living room wall. He sat in his overstuffed vinyl chair while Dash sat on the sofa.
“You got a preference for which station we watch?” Jack asked.
Dash shook his head. “Suit yourself.”
All three of the big stations ran the coverage. Jack thought that TV made him look fat and didn’t do his nose justice. Dash just felt nervous about the whole thing and couldn’t make his knee stop bouncing.
“If you know this man,” the TV anchor said as a still shot of Dash appeared, “call this number. We’ve set up a hotline for information as to his identity.”
Adelaide met Zane at their favorite bar two blocks from the Pepsi Center. They had tickets to the first game of the Avalanche season and were determined to make their last months as a childless couple count.
They were sitting close together at the bar, feeding each other finger food and sharing the events of the day when an image on the TV screen above Adelaide’s shoulder caught Zane’s attention.
“What’s wrong?” she said, alarmed at the fact that her husband’s face had just gone slack and pale.
Zane stood and shouted for the bartender, pointing at the screen. “TURN THAT UP! THAT’S MY BROTHER!”
The bar got instantly quieter as people turned to see what the commotion was about.
When the volume came up to fill the curious silence, the newscaster was just finishing. “So if anyone knows this man, please call the Channel 9 News Hotline.” The number appeared on the screen below her.
Zane began fumbling for his phone. “Never mind,” Adelaide said, “I’ve got it.”
She’d already entered the number. “Yes. That’s my brother-in-law. I’m putting my husband on.”
She handed the phone to Zane.
“Where is he? What’s happened? What’s wrong?” Zane fired in rapid succession. “I just caught the tail end of the broadcast.”
After a couple of minutes of discussion, the assistant producer said, “Come to the station, Mr. Fonteneau. After we verify your identity, we’ll give you information on how to reunite you with your brother.”
Adelaide couldn’t hear both sides of the conversation, but she’d slid off her stool, looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder, and was signing the tab so they could leave immediately. When Zane ended the call and handed the phone back to his wife, he looked grim, but resolute.
“Come on,” he said, taking her elbow, “I’ll tell you on the way.”
She nodded and walked as fast as she could in cute wedgies. Knowing she was going straight to a pub supper and hockey game after work, she’d dressed for walking far, not fast.
As they walked, Zane related what he’d heard. He was out of breath. Since he was young and in top athletic condition, she knew that was emotion and not exertion.
“He was found on the Central City Parkway yesterday. No ID. No memory.”
Adelaide sucked in a big breath and considered whether or not she might be dreaming. That sort of thing didn’t happen to real people living real lives. And it most certainly, definitely did not happen in families like theirs.
Did it?
“Are they sure?” she said that without fully thinking through how it sounded or if it made sense to ask that question.
Zane pressed his lips together and growled, “Yes, Adelaide. They’re sure.”
She quashed the emotional reflex that prompted hurt feelings and forced herself to put Zane first. Because for one thing he was beside himself and, for another, it was a stupid question.
They had ridden in one car that day as part of the date night plan. As they neared his car, Zane said, “You get directions to the TV station while I call my folks. I’ve got to catch them before they start hearing from people who know Dash.”
She nodded and began fishing in the side pocket of her bag for her phone.
His mother reacted more or less as he’d expected.
“What do you mean doesn’t know who he is?”
“I don’t have the details yet, Mom, but I will call you when I do. Just sit tight, let Dad know.”
“I’m not ‘sitting tight’,” she spat. “I’m coming down there.”
For the first time in his life, Zane raised his voice to his mother. “NO. YOU ARE NOT! That would only complicate things.”
“How dare you say that to me? I’m his mother.”
“I’ve got this. And for once in your ever-fucking life, you’re going to get a grip on the fact that respect goes two ways.”
“You will not speak to me like that.”
Realizing that the conversation was hopeless, Zane took a deep breath, hung up on her and called his father, who was more reasonable, as Zane had known he would be. “Yes. I’ll handle your mother. Go take care of business and call us the second you know something more.”
Zane was momentarily overcome with gratitude to have a somewhat sane parent. His voice softened. “Okay.”
The whole time Zane had been talking to his dad his mother had been trying to call. Feeling fed up with her inability to cooperate, he blocked her. Temporarily. He’d unblock her at some time in the future when things were… less out of control.
CHAPTER Three
Rachel had checked the flight status over and over. On time. The plane that was supposed to bring Dash back to her had landed at 9:40 central. Even if he’d checked his bag, he should have been home by midnight. She’d taken a glass of black blend wine and gone up to the second story front balcony, watching for a pair of headlights coming up the hill.
Dash had called that afternoon to say he was just going for a drive to kill time before his flight. He also teased that he’d bought something special.
“What?!?”
He laughed. “Not telling. It’s a surprise.”
“Come on.” She sounded as impatient as a child. “Tell me now!”
“Just a hint. It’s red.”
It was a puzzle he’d mastered beautifully. What do you give a witch when she could basically conjure anything she wanted? Something personal bought with love.
Witch Wants Forever Page 4