—underwater currents twisted Larkin’s body, dragged him away from Patrick, from Noah, and he was screaming, but it was only water in his lungs, and then a wave grabbed him up like God’s fist, hurled him toward the sun, its reflection like shattered glass seen from the underside, and Doyle was on the dock, calling Larkin’s name over and over and over—
“Rush the bus!” Doyle was shouting, but it sounded distant, muffled, like his voice was inverting on itself.
Then everything went quiet.
And finally… Larkin could rest.
CHAPTER TEN
—“Do you thinkwe’ll be together forever, Everett?” Patrick asked.
But when Larkin looked at their joined hands resting on the planks of the dock, his silver wedding band glinted in the sunshine. Larkin raised his gaze and Patrick glitched, twitched, his handsome, forever-boyish face suddenly Noah’s face. Noah had on the suit he’d worn the day they’d gotten married.
“’Til death do us part,” Noah said.—
No, that wasn’t how the memory played out.
—Patrick leaned in and Noah kissed Larkin—
No.
—thunder crashed, lightning cast ghostly flickers in the closed up bathroom, and Doyle reached into the water, pulling Larkin—
No, no, no, there hadn’t been water.
—Doyle hoisted Larkin’s limp body from the tub and laid him on his side just as Larkin began to profusely vomit—
Larkin opened his eyes.
He sat on the edge of a gurney in the ER, his crisp white shirt no longer crisp but wrinkled, unbuttoned, and sporting four small holes where the taser darts had torn through the fabric. His flesh wounds had been properly cleaned and bandaged and were hardly more than a discomfort, whereas all the muscles in his chest and abdomen ached like the worst kind of postworkout hangover imaginable. Larkin’s head was pounding, and every time he closed his eyes, unprovoked associations played out of sequence—people and places and times mixed up like someone had taken out every single card from his Rolodex and replaced them at random.
He let out a shallow breath and focused on doing up his shirt, the ambience of the hospital seeping into his concentration: thewhooshof the AC, telephones ringing at the nurses’ station, medical lingo being punted back and forth between EMTs, nurses, and physicians, the groans, cries, and snores of patients, and somewhere, a faulty machine had been beeping obnoxiously for forty-three seconds straight.
Doyle’s deep baritone, tense where it was usually as smooth and smoky as Laphroaig, could be heard moving down the hall and toward the curtained wall that made up Larkin’s “room.” “—Just want to make sure, because he suffered a traumatic brain injury about eighteen years ago.”
“I understand your concern, Mr. Doyle,” a tired-sounding but ever-polite doctor answered before drawing back the curtain, the rings jangling. She was about Doyle’s age, honey-brown hair drawn back into a no-nonsense ponytail. She wore no makeup, and the shadows under her eyes suggested she was on the latter half of a very long shift. “Mr. Larkin?”
Larkin stopped what he was doing, his gaze shifting to Doyle, who hadn’t stepped into the cramped space, then back to the doctor. “Yes.”
“Because your partner said you briefly lost consciousness at the scene, we wanted to run a few tests before discharging you.” She opened the manila folder she held in one hand, flipped the pages quick enough to scan pertinent details, then said, “Your EKG came back normal, as did your CAT scan.”
“I had a CAT scan.”
She seemed confused and cocked her head to one side.
“I’m asking,” Larkin clarified. “I don’t—remember a CAT scan.”
“Yes, you did.”
“If it came back normal, why don’t I remember the process.”
“Some people do suffer a more serious, adverse reaction to being tased. It’s rare, but it definitely happens. They can experience anxiety, lethargy, brain fog, even a brief lapse in memory within that first initial hour. Studies show that these individuals have a cognitive responsiveness about on par with that of a seventy-nine-year-old.”
“But I don’t forget,” Larkin said. He further emphasized his point by adding, “Anything.”
“The events should come back to you over the next few hours,” the doctor insisted. She moved to a line of cabinets against the wall, retrieved a few plastic packages, and then offered them to Larkin. “In the meantime, take acetaminophen for any headaches or body aches—no more than the recommended daily dose—and if you don’t have any questions, we’re ready to discharge you.”
Larkin accepted the pain pills and said, “No questions.”
