People were coming toward me. I’d warned them, but either they hadn’t noticed or they were on their way to help me.
Two doctors came around a concrete pillar.
“The teacher said, ‘How can you prevent diseases caused by biting insects?’ and the third-grader said, ‘Don’t bite any.’”
Oh, no. Not DadJoke and Chortle. Chortle broke into laughter at DadJoke’s lame joke, as my world started to spin.
“Hey?” I managed. “Be really careful. There’s an unstable man over there.”
“You look like the unstable one.” DadJoke guffawed. “What’d you do, head out for a solo drinking binge after your last surgery? Everyone makes mistakes, man.”
I hadn’t made any mistakes in that surgery. “No, I mean—” I was concussed and confused. Something warm and viscous crawled down the side of my neck. I reached up. A smear of blood! Hot liquid poured down the back of my neck. Ears bleed. A lot. So do head-wounds.
“DadJoke?” I managed. But … that wasn’t his name. It was … “Drew? I’m injured.” It came out only as a whisper. The edges of my vision flickered in the already dim parking garage.
The two doctors averted their eyes and kept walking and laughing. A moment later I heard a couple of car engines fire up. I wasn’t sure what I did or didn’t hear, or saw or didn’t see, as I lay on the floor of the parking garage. Was that Wrench Guy coming back to finish the job? Would I bleed out? Would it all end there for me?
Images flooded my memory of the ceiling falling in on me, of dust and choking and darkness. Of a cry for help in the dark. The world went black.