ST. JOSEPH’S
A man, head
bandaged, lies in a hospital bed. The
sound of medical equipment is heard in the background. A nurse enters the room and is startled to
see that he is moving and beginning to wake up.
“Good morning,”
the nurse says. “It’s good to see you’re
finally awake.”
The man opens his
eyes at the sound of her voice. His
vision is somewhat blurred and his eyes are bothered by the light.
“Where am I?” he
says softly, squinting. “Who are you?”
“Just relax sir,
you’re in the hospital,” the nurse says. “You
had a head injury yesterday and you were brought here. You’ve suffered a concussion.”
“Yesterday?” he
asks vaguely. “What…what happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
the nurse asks. “You don’t know how you
got injured?”
“No,” he responds
slowly, obviously disoriented..
The nurse walks
over and looks at the IV machine. She
then makes a few notes on his chart.
“You didn’t have
any identification on you when they brought you into the ER,” the nurse
says. “So we couldn’t call anyone. Is there a family member you would like us to
notify and tell them where you are?”
“Family?” the man
asks, his forehead wrinkling in concentration.
“I don’t know…”
The nurse looks
at him puzzled. “Can you tell me your
name?”
He pauses, showing signs first of frustration
and then desperation. “I don’t know…I
don’t know my name.”
“Okay, you just
lay there and relax,” Gordon says. “I’m
sure you’ll think more clearly after some rest.”
The nurse makes a
few more notes on her pad and notices he has fallen back to sleep. She walks to the nurse station and picks up
the phone.
“Dr. Patterson,
this is Nurse Gordon,” she says. “Our
patient in 307 is awake, but you better come and check for yourself. I think he has amnesia.”
==========
A SIDEWALK IN
It is a
sweltering evening in
A black Cadillac
limousine approaches. It slows as it
approaches and then stops at the curb in front of Charnquist. The limo’s rear window rolls down. Charnquist walks up
and looks inside.
“I hear you
wanted to see me,” the unknown man sitting inside says.
“We need to
talk,” Charnquist replies brusquely.
“Get in!”
Charnquist enters, shuts the door and the car pulls away.
The man eyes Charnquist. “I hear you may be looking for work.”
“You could say
that. It seems my boss doesn't appreciate my abilities.”
“That’s not how I
heard it, Gerald.”
“What did you
call me?” Charnquist asks in a shocked voice.
“Don't pretend
you've forgotten!” the man asks as he pulls out a pipe. “We won't let you forget, Gerald. Remember,
we know your past and we also are well aware
of your… shall we say … Kimble situation.”
“That problem is
under control,” Charnquist insists.
“Don’t lie to
me, Gerald!” the man says. “I’ve heard
the news from
“The police can handle Kimble.”
“They’ve been
surprisingly inept so far - as have you.”
Charnquist glares at
him angrily. “If I were you, I’d forget Kimble and worry about more immediate
problems.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a computer disc, holding
it just out of reach. “Does this look familiar?”
“Should it?” the
man asks. “Come now,
is this another one of your games?”
“I don’t play
games. You of all people should know that.” Charnquist
says with menace in his voice. “I’m sure the FBI would appreciate seeing what’s
on this disc. It has the names of
several, shall I say, business associates.
In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you know some of them…personally.”
“Is that a
threat?” the man asks coldly.
“A
threat? No, we’re just having a friendly
conversation,” Charnquist says, pocketing the disc
again. “I just thought you should know
that there is information floating around that is vital to your success…or
perhaps your failure.”
“So I’m supposed
to be alarmed, am I?” The man pulls a gun from his coat. “What if I kill you right here and now and
take the disc? Nobody would know. There would be nothing…”
“What, do you
think I’m stupid?” Charnquist asks. “You think I would come here with the only
copy? I was trained better than that.”
“Stupid you are
not,” the man says, lowering the gun.
“Okay, let’s assume, for the moment, that what you’re saying is
true. What do you want from me? What do you want from us?”
“As you said, I’m
looking for new employment,” Charnquist says.
“A job,” the man
says, laughing at Charnquist’s request. “Come on, Gerald. Don’t you mean that we are having this talk
because you want, and need, our protection?”
“Take it however
you want.” Charnquist says with a smirk. “If I work for you, the disc remains on our
side. There is little chance of it
getting to anyone else.”
“Don’t threaten
me, Gerald. You need me too much, now that you’ve antagonized Palazzolo.” the man asks.
“We heard about the stir at his office recently. That was a very stupid thing to do.”
“So, are you going
to find me other employment…or not?” Charnquist
asks.
“I don’t think
so. You're to stay where you are!” At the look on Charnquist’s
face, he quickly adds, “However, I will see that your immunity code remains
in effect, as long as the contents of that disk remain confidential. After
your foolish actions in
“I don’t trust
you, Gerald. In fact, I despise you. But
business is business. Just remember this. If you ever come here threatening me
again, all of your problems will be over. Permanently.
You understand?”
Charnquist looks at the gun pointed at his
chest. “I believe that we have a mutual
understanding,” he replies calmly.
“Good, now get
out,” the man says angrily. Charnquist opens the door and exits.
The man calls
after him. “Watch your back, Gerald! Our protection is good, but it’s not
guaranteed.” He pulls the door shut and the limo speeds off
into the night.
= = = = =
ST. JOSEPH’S
Dr. Patterson
bends over his patient and shines a light in his eyes. Straightening up, he
looks at him. “Can you tell me what 8 times 8 is?”
“64”
“And
the name of the president?”
“George Bush.
George W. Bush.”
“And your
mother's name?”
After a prolonged
silence, the man responds. “I don't know.”
The doctor nods. “You
have the classic symptoms of retrograde amnesia - ability to remember common
facts, but no memory of past personal events up to and including your accident.
It’s an occasional side effect of a closed head wound to the parietal lobe such
as you’ve had.”
The patient
absorbs the information but still looks anxious. “I feel…lost.”
“I wouldn't worry
about it too much,” the doctor says, dismissing his concern. “Memory usually
returns in a few days to a few months, usually the earlier memories first. I'll
order another CAT scan to check for any physical causes. Other than that,
you'll just have to wait and see. Let’s just call you John Doe for now.”
The doctor turns
abruptly to the patient in the next bed. Taking a cursory look at her, he
writes on the chart and tells the student nurse entering the room to up the
dosage of her medication to 40 mg, then walks briskly out of the room.
In
the other bed, John Doe gets a startled look on his face. He calls to the
nurse as she is altering the dosage in the IV.
“Nurse, did he
say 40 mg?”
She looks over at
him, startled, but hesitates and checks the chart. “It says 40 mg right here.”
She turns back to the IV.
“Wait! That dosage
is too high. It could kill her!”
The nurse looks
at him doubtfully, but the certainty in his voice persuades her. “I'll check
with Nurse Gordon,” she says, giving him a puzzled look as she walks out of the
room.
15 MINUTES LATER
Ruth is staring
at the orders on the patient's chart.
“You're right,
Sarah, this dosage does seem far too high. Nice work! A good nurse has to be
alert for mistakes like this before the patient is harmed. I'll call Dr.
Patterson and get him to confirm the correct dosage.” As she leaves with the
chart, the student nurse looks over at John Doe, asleep in the next bed, with a
look of relief and gratitude.
NEXT MORNING
John Doe is
tossing and turning in his bed. Suddenly he jerks awake and calls out “Helen!”, bathed in sweat,
he looks around the room, first in fear, then in resignation.
Ruth runs into
the room at the sound of his shouting. Doe
looks embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
"It’s all
right. I didn’t get to introduce myself
yesterday. I’m the supervisor in this wing. My name is Ruth Gordon,” she says,
holding out her hand.
“I’m afraid I
don’t...”
“I know,” Ruth
interrupts him sympathetically. “Do you mind if I call you John?”
“No, that’s
fine.”
“How are you feeling
this morning?” Ruth asks as she checks his chart “Judging by your outburst
I gather you didn’t sleep well?"
"Not
really.”
“Most patients
say that. Hospitals are too noisy.”
“It isn’t that. I
had… a nightmare. There was a one-armed man … we were fighting …it seemed so
real.”
Ruth looks at him
with interest. "Perhaps you're starting to remember some things. They said
you were in a fight with another man when you hurt your head.” She looks at the
bedside table. “ Is there anything I can get for you?
Some water?" she adds kindly.
“Some memories,”
he says in frustration.
“You called out
the name Helen. Do you have any idea who
that might be?”
“No,” he shakes
his head in disappointment.
“It must be
really hard for you not to remember. Would you like to get out of bed and move
around? Maybe seeing some different sights will trigger a memory. You'll have
to use a wheelchair, though. We can't have you falling down and suing the
hospital,” she adds with a smile.
Doe gives her a
rueful smile in return. “OK, I'd like that.”
30 MINUTES LATER
Doe is pushing himself slowly
down the hallway. He realizes the sights and sounds are exactly as he expected,
but they trigger no personal memories. He stops as he spots a teen-ager just
outside the pediatrics ward, sitting in a wheelchair and staring listlessly
down the hall. Doe notices a nurse watching the boy and goes over to speak to
her.
“What happened to him?” he
asks, nodding in the boy's direction.
“He was in an accident on his
bike. It flipped over and he landed on his back on a rock. He’s paralyzed from
the waist down. He’s been pretty despondent. He’ll be starting rehab soon. I
hope that helps.”
Doe wheels himself over to
the boy. “Hi!”
“Hi.”
“You’re new to this, aren’t
you?” Doe says, pointing at the wheelchair.
“Yeah.”
“Want to race?” he challenges
him.
“You’re kidding!”
“Not at all,” he
says, pulling up beside him. The boy looks at him in surprise and takes up the
challenge. Side by side, they speed down the hall until they reach a ramp. The
boy pulls up short, afraid, as Doe circles back and pushes to the top of the
ramp.
“I have a friend who can do
amazing things with one of these things. Have you ever seen anyone pop a
wheelie in one?”
The boy looks at him in total
disbelief.
“I’m serious! Let me show
you.” He heaves backwards, pushing the
wheelchair back to balance on its hind wheels. Then he pushes down the ramp,
doing a quick 180 degree turn at the bottom. He looks back up to see the boy
watching him in awe.
Doe smiles. “My friend could make a turn on one wheel. He said it
was no different from learning to ride a skateboard. It just takes practice.”
“Wow!”
“Just don’t let the nurses
catch you,” Kimble says with a wink. “Oops, here comes one, I better go.” As he
moves down the hall, Ruth catches up with him.
“Thanks. That’s the most
interest he’s shown in anything since he got here. That was a good story you
told. I almost believed you myself.”
“It wasn’t a story. I really
did know a boy that showed me how to do that. His name was Cleyton…” His voice
trails off as he sees her looking at him in surprise and realizes what he
is saying.
“Your memory is coming back!”
Ruth says, filled with excitement. “Can you remember anything else?”
“His name was Cleyton!” he
says in surprise. “He used to race down the hill in the hospital parking lot
just to impress the nurses. He drove a custom-modified Mach 1 Pace Car. He
was the most dogged person I ever met. He never quit!” He stops, concentrating,
willing himself to remember more, but he finally gives up in defeat, a look
of disappointment on his face.
“Don’t worry,” Nurse Russell
says, kindly. “You’re starting to remember. That’s all that matters. You know,
you seem to be good with kids. Why don’t you stop in pediatrics for a visit. But no more speeding violations!” she warns him with
a wag of her finger.
ONE HOUR LATER
Doe is pushing
his wheelchair into his room, when he stops at the sight of Dr. Patterson, who is obviously
altering the chart on the other patient's bed. He turns around abruptly with a
guilty look as he sees the shocked look on Doe’s face. Doe says nothing, but moves
over to the bed and climbs in, while the doctor walks over.
“I've
been waiting for you to come back from your excursion. How are you feeling
today? Getting any of your memory back?” Doe realizes he is only asking to
distract attention from his actions.
“A
little.” Doe hesitates
to admit his memory of Cleyton. “Doctor, I've heard that 16 IU per day of vasopressin has been
known to speed the return of memory.”
Dr. Patterson
looks taken aback by his obvious medical knowledge. “Vasopressin is sometimes
administered as a nasal
spray with some success, mostly in
“Why do you say
that?”
“I only hesitate
because…you seem like a well-educated man, Mr. Doe. I'm wondering why you were
wandering the streets with no ID, why no family members have reported someone
of your description missing. Perhaps… you're a man who doesn't want to be
found…”
Doe registers
shock at what he is implying, but after a moment’s hesitation, he says, “Nothing
could be worse than not knowing who I am. Publicity is fine.”