Yes.
“Do you know where you are?”
Yes.
“Do you remember the accident?”
Yes.
“Are you in pain?”
Yes.
They gave me morphine. Not enough to knock me out, but enough to take the edge off and make me look drowsy and confused. I let my eyes drift closed. I let my answers get slower. And when Dr. Prut said he wanted to keep me under observation for the next twenty-four hours, I just nodded weakly and pretended to fall asleep.
But I wasn’t asleep. I was thinking.
Vanessa had said the brake line had been cut. That meant the accident was deliberate. That meant Marcus, whoever he was, had tampered with my car. That meant there was evidence if I could prove it.
But first, I had to stay alive long enough to find it.
The next morning, Vanessa came back.
I heard her before I saw her. She was talking to someone in the hallway, her voice bright and cheerful, the performance voice.
“Yes, thank you so much. We’re just so grateful she’s improving. It’s a miracle, really.”
Then she walked into my room, and I saw her face change just for a second, just long enough for me to see the flash of something that wasn’t relief or joy.
It was disappointment.
She recovered fast. She rushed to my bedside and took my hand, and her eyes were wet with tears that might have been real.
“Marina. Oh my God, Marina, you’re awake. You’re really awake.”
I looked at her. I didn’t smile. I didn’t squeeze her hand back. I just looked at her with the blankest stare I could manage, like I was seeing her but not quite recognizing her.
Vanessa’s smile faltered. She looked at Dr. Prut, who was standing by the monitors.
“Doctor, is she? I mean, does she know who I am?”
Dr. Prut checked his notes.
“It’s not uncommon for patients emerging from coma to experience some confusion or memory issues. It may take time for her cognitive function to fully return. Give her a few days.”
