He seemed grateful.
“Why can’t I call the doctor?”
His eyes moved toward
the nurse again.
Then toward the security camera in the upper corner of the room.
I followed his gaze.
The small black lens pointed directly at the bed.
“You think someone is watching?”
One tap of his finger.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
His lips formed a word.
I could not understand it.
“What?”
He tried again.
“Don’t… know.”
The effort left him breathing harder.
I waited until the monitor slowed.
“Were you in an accident?”
His face changed.
The official story had been repeated in newspapers for months: Ethan Thornton had lost control of his car during heavy rain and struck a barrier on a private mountain road.
One tap.
Yes.
“Do you remember it?”
His finger remained still.
Then moved twice.
I decided two taps meant no.
“Do you remember anything before it?”
One tap.
“Yes.”
