Blind Justice (26 page)

THIS TIME THE talons in my head were accompanied by a spike stuck through my brain.

As the slow warmth of consciousness began to pull me back into life, I could sense myself asking if life was worth it. The pain was intense, like nothing I’d ever felt before, and I knew it would be with me for a long time.

I became aware of an antiseptic smell, the odor of sterilization. A soft light cast its hazy illumination from a distance. I realized I was lying down, and when I tried to move my head the spike in my brain twisted, its red hot point causing me to cry out.

A moment later a face was hovering over me. “Take it easy, Mr. Denney.”

The thoughts came in a jumble.

Hospital.

Nurse.

Accident.

Why am I not dead?

“Dr. Chen will be here in a moment,” the nurse said.

“Where . . .” Even that word was a struggle.

“You rest.” I felt a pat on my arm and the sense of someone leaving.

How badly was I hurt? I tried to lift both my arms. They felt like sandbags, but I managed movement. A tube was taped to my left arm, but at least my arms were up. I wiggled my fingers.

Legs next. They rippled under the sheets. I tapped my feet together and felt it.

A huge sense of relief filled me just before another shot of heat zapped through my head.

My tongue was thick, my mouth dry—unmistakable reminders of heavy drinking.

Then I heard a voice. “Jake?”

I rolled my head, slowly, to the right. A fresh jolt of pain was followed immediately by a picture of Lindsay Patino standing next to my bed.

“What . . .” I said in complete bewilderment.

“Shh,” Lindsay said softly. She pulled a chair from near the wall over to the side of my bed and sat.

“Where am I?” I said.

“The hospital. In Hinton.”

“Why?”

“You were in an accident.”

Like an amnesiac, I struggled to remember. Some of it came back to me—the verdict, the drinking, the driving. “How bad?”

Lindsay looked down at her hands.

“How bad?” I said.

“Jake,” she said slowly, “you hit another car.”

“Anyone hurt?”

She didn’t answer immediately. I blurted, “Killed?”

“No, no one killed. The other driver, a man named Ruben Azario, was hurt.”

At that point the room started to tilt, like a boat listing in a treacherous current. I closed my eyes and wished Lindsay would go away. I did not want her to see me anymore.

Then Lindsay said, “I brought you something.”

All I wanted was a new head. But I was curious. She leaned over and pulled something out of a tote bag that sat on the floor next to her. “I’m giving you an assignment, as soon as you’re feeling up to it.” She held up a paperback book for me to see, but before I could read the title, she placed it on my bed table.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Some thoughts.”

“About what?”

“Oh, just life, the universe, and everything.”

Despite my condition, despite the fact that I was sorely tempted to let go of the effort, this mystery intrigued me. I wanted to find out what she was talking about. And then I realized how good it was to have her here.

“I’ll be back to see you,” she said. “I expect you to read that and report back to me.”

“You sound like a teacher,” I joked, amazed that I had the capacity to be frivolous.

“That is exactly what I am,” she said, standing. “And I’m a tough grader. Bye.”

And then she was gone.

I tried to watch her go, but the pain smacked my head back to the pillow. After a few minutes of reflection, I realized I wasn’t sure what just happened, especially the last part with talk of an assignment. Why had she come here? I couldn’t think about it now. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I would think about it tomorrow.

I drifted off to sleep.

I was awakened by the sound of my last name. It was being spoken over and over again. When I came to, the voice that had been saying my name switched gears and said, “Well, well, well.”

Then I saw the face. It was a cop’s face and a familiar one. I -didn’t know why it was familiar until he said, “Ain’t this one of life’s twists?”

He smiled coldly, and then I remembered him. It was Officer Cheadle, the same cop who’d been guarding Howie in this same hospital when I’d first come to see him.

“Yep,” Cheadle said, “it sure is funny how things work out. What goes around comes around.”

He took out a flip book and opened it. “It’s my pleasure to tell you that you’re under arrest for driving under the influence of alcohol and causing bodily injury. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney”—he smirked when he said that—“and if you can’t afford one, one will be appointed for you at no charge before any questioning. Do you understand your rights, Mr. Jake Denney?”

With a heavy breath I said, “Sure.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I’m not talking.”

“You want a lawyer?”

“I’ve got one.”

“You?”

I said nothing. Cheadle flipped the cover of his booklet back to the front and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “That’s perfect,” he said. “You got yourself a loser for a lawyer.”

My eyes closed heavily.

“I’ll be outside,” Cheadle said, adding with a lilt, “if you need anything.” He lumbered out.

My eyes still closed, I saw the immediate future in bright colors. Imprisonment. Disbarrment. Humiliation. Even homelessness.

Congratulations.

I was now ready to pull the plug. Call Kevorkian. Get me out of the nightmare. I’d been low before, but never this low. The bottom of the barrel. Time to check out.

For no particular reason, I turned my head at that moment. In fact, it was almost as if my head turned itself for lack of anything better to do. When I did, I caught sight of my bed table, which held a plastic water pitcher, a Styrofoam cup, and a paperback book. At first it seemed oddly out of place, then I remembered Lindsay’s visit. She had left it for me. I grabbed it.

The book had a funny name—
Penseés.
I had no idea what it was about. I flipped the book over and read about it. The author’s name, Blaise Pascal, was vaguely familiar, as if I’d run across it in a college class once. The book cover copy gave the essentials—seventeenth- century mathematician and physicist who underwent a dramatic conversion to Christianity and set out to write a defense of the faith. He died before finishing, but his notes survived and were collected here.

It all sounded a bit dusty, but Lindsay had bothered to bring it by. I wasn’t going anywhere, and I had a choice. I could read the book or watch
All My Children
on the hospital TV.I started to read.