The Viper

“Bit of a fall on the ice. Just a scratch.”

“He’s bleeding, for God sake! Weren’t you paying any attention?”

“It’s nothing. A bit of a bump.”

“You make little of everything! You pay no attention!”

A bell was ringing.

Louder.

Ringing inside his head.

Pulsating.

“Sir?”

A strange voice.

“Can you hear me, sir?”

The bell was a siren. He opened his eyes.

“Sir?”

“Where am I?”

“You’ve been in an accident. You’re on your way to the hospital.”

“For a bit of a bump?”

The voice didn’t answer.

HE WOKE UP in what he recognized as an ICU unit. He saw dimly that he was connected by wires to monitor screens above his bed. His head felt huge and heavy.

“David?”

A thin nurse in green scrubs stood next to the bed. She held a computer tablet.

“Where am I?” he asked. His voice didn’t sound like his own. He tried clearing his throat, but the effort sent jabs of pain through the side of his head.

“Parker Hospital intensive care unit. Do you know where that is?”

“Harbane. What time is it?”

“About three o’clock.” She checked her tablet. “Five minutes past.”

“In the afternoon?”

“In the afternoon. How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure. Do you have my phone?”

“The police have all your personal items.”

“I need to call my wife.”

“I have to ask you some questions first. Can you handle that?”

“Depends on the questions.” His voice sounded to him like it was coming from the other side of the room.

A small grin softened the bony contours of her face. “I’ll start with the easy ones. What’s your name?”

“David Gurney.”

“What month is this?”

“November.”

“What’s the capital of the state you live in?”

“Albany.”

“Can you name a major holiday this month?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“Next month?”

“Christmas.”

“I’m going to give you a list of numbers, and I want you to repeat them back to me in the same order. Four . . . seven . . . nine . . . three . . . two . . . ten.”

“Four, seven, nine, three, two, ten.”

“Can you tell me what year JFK was assassinated?”

“Nineteen-sixty-three.”

“How about the square root of your zip code?”

He started to laugh, but that made both his head and chest hurt.

“Close your eyes,” she said and tapped his left foot. “Do you feel anything?”

“Yes. You. Tapping my foot.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I’m psychic.”

“Keep your eyes closed.” A moment later, he felt a light tap on the back of his right hand. “Feel anything?”

“You again. Back of my hand.”

“You pass,” she said, her fingers rapidly entering some information into her tablet. “The doctor will be in to talk to you soon.” She turned and opened the sliding glass door to leave.

“Just a second,” he said. “Why can’t I move my head?”

“Neck brace. Part of EMS protocol. Precaution in the event of cervical injury. X-rays were taken as soon as they brought you in. Nothing fractured or broken, as far as I know. You’re very lucky. Doctor can tell you more.” She smiled and was gone.

Feeling a strain from the bright light in the room, he closed his eyes. His mind meandered back through softly falling snow to the skaters on the pond. Around and around. Swoosh-swoosh, swoosh-swoosh, swoosh—

“Mr. Gurney?”

The skaters disappeared. He opened his eyes and saw a short, sour-looking man in neatly fitted scrubs standing at the foot of the bed.

“I’m Dr. Dietz. Can you hear me?”

“Yes. Would it be possible to get hold of a phone? I need to make some calls.”

“We’ll get to that. Do you know why you’re here?”

“Someone ran me off the road into a tree stump.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then what happened?”

“Airbag went off. Not sure after that. Impact to the head. Sirens, I think. Woke up here. How soon can I leave?”

Dietz smiled in a way that was less friendly than no smile at all. He raised three fingers on his right hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

“Three.”

He raised the forefinger and middle finger on his left hand, while moving them moving them back and forth as if bidding goodbye. “How many now?”

“Two. I’d like to have my phone. There are people who need to know where I am.”

Without replying, Dietz came around to the side of the bed and pointed a small flashlight into each of Gurney’s eyes. “You’ve had a moderate-to-severe concussion. Although your symptoms appear minimal at the moment, within the next seven days they may grow more pronounced.”

“Symptoms such as . . . ?”

“TBI post-concussive manifestations—headaches, blurred vision, dizziness, loss of memory, fatigue, insomnia, nausea, irritability.”

“Traumatic brain injury?”