Already Gone

– 2 –



“The good news is that it’s a clean cut. You probably won’t need surgery.”

This is good news.

Anything is good news when you’re on morphine.

My hand is resting on a silver suture tray and covered in a cocoon of white gauze that makes my arm look like an oversized Q-tip. The doctor examines the bandage, then puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “You’re not a piano player, are you?”

I ignore him and turn toward the cop sitting on the red plastic chair next to the bed. He’s talking to Diane, asking her if she knows of anyone who might want to hurt me. He wants to know if I have any enemies.

Diane is staring at the walls, the floor, her hands, anywhere but at him. There are tears on her cheeks, and when she speaks her voice is soft.

“No one,” she says. “Of course not.”

The cop looks at me. “How about you? Anyone out there holding a grudge?”

“A grudge?” Diane looks from me to the cop, then back. “Over what?”

The cop stares at me, waiting.

“No,” I say. “I don’t think so.”

The cop scribbles something in his notebook.

“What is he talking about?” Diane asks. “Does someone want to hurt you?”

“No.” I shake my head. “No one.”

I can tell Diane wants to say something else, but instead she just frowns and looks away.

Nobody says anything for a while. Finally, Diane straightens in her chair and says, “So, what’s the next step?” She reaches for my good hand, squeezes, then turns back to the cop. “How long before you find these people?”

The cop looks up, and to his credit he doesn’t smile, but I can see it in his eyes.

He tells her once the report is filed, it’ll be assigned to a detective who will go over the details of the case, talk to witnesses, run any descriptions through the database. He tells her they’ll follow every lead to make sure the two men are caught.

If this were any other time, I’d laugh.

The cop will file a report. A detective might even look at the report, but that’s where it’ll stop. Random violence cases, especially the ones with no witnesses and no fatalities, are rarely solved.

I know this.

The cop knows this.

I think on some level Diane knows this, too, but we all go through the motions and play our roles. Who knows, maybe this will be the one time the system works.





Once the cop is gone, the doctor comes back with prescriptions for pain medication and antibiotics. He hands them to Diane and says, “Keep the hand clean and watch for infection. Make sure he takes the antibiotics. If you see anything strange, bring him in.”

Diane tells him she will, and after he leaves, she sits next to me on the side of the bed.

“What did that cop mean about someone holding a grudge?”

“No idea.”

“Is it because of your dad?” she asks. “You mentioned some of his friends in the book. You don’t think one of them saw it and—”

“You’re reaching,” I say. “The two guys tonight were strangers, I’ve never seen them before. They were probably drug addicts who wanted my ring so they could pawn it.”

“But they didn’t take your wallet.”

“No,” I say. “They didn’t.”

“It’s strange, Jake.”

“It is what it is.” I sit up, slow, and point to my coat. “Let’s get out of here.”

Diane helps me with my jacket. My ribs are wrapped tight, and my hand won’t fit through the sleeve so we run the jacket under my arm like a toga. It looks ridiculous, and I can’t help but smile.

Diane doesn’t.

“I just don’t understand why they came after you,” she says. “There were a lot of people in that bar, but they waited outside for you. There has to be a reason.”

“I was alone. That was enough.”

“You think that’s it?”

“What else could it be?”

Diane stares at me for a moment, then shakes her head and looks away. “I don’t know.”

I take her hand. “If you start looking for answers and asking, ‘Why me?’ you’ll go crazy. They came after me because they saw me as an easy target, that’s all.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” she says. “You had money, and they didn’t take it.”

“I wish they had,” I say. “I hate to lose that ring.”

“It was just a ring. We’ll get another.”

“We can’t do that. It’s bad luck.”

Diane laughs, soft and delicate. “The first one wasn’t exactly lucky, was it?”

“No,” I say. “I guess it wasn’t.”





When we get out to the waiting room, I see Doug sitting in a chair by the window. His head is back and his mouth is open and he’s snoring. The sound echoes.

“Has he been here all this time?” I ask.

“I guess so,” Diane says. “He must’ve stuck around after he called me.”

I don’t remember how long I was in the parking lot. My only memory is of someone pulling me up by one arm, then sitting in Doug’s backseat with him telling me to keep my hand over my head.

“You want to wake him up?” Diane asks.

I tell her to go ahead, and she does.

Doug opens his eyes and looks from Diane to me. When he sees my hand, he winces. “Shit, Jake, what’d they say?”

“Apparently, someone cut off my finger.”

Diane looks at me, frowns.

Doug shakes his head. “Who knows, maybe it’ll improve your typing.”

“Always the optimist,” I say.

Doug stands and grabs his coat and slides it over his shoulders. “What did the cops tell you?”

“That they’re working hard, following every lead.”

Doug nods. “Then I guess it’s just a matter of time.”

He winks at me.

I can’t help but smile.





The three of us cross the parking lot together. I feel fine, but Diane holds my arm every step of the way.

Doug is reminiscing.

“I never once locked my doors until I went to college, and you want to know why I started?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Because people kept coming in and taking my dope. Never because of this shit.”

“It’s a different world.”

“And one I don’t understand,” he says. “It’s like I woke up one day and everything was off-kilter. Not a lot, but enough to where all the rules have changed.”

“I think that’s called old age.”

“I never locked my doors growing up,” Diane says. “Now, I never leave them unlocked.”

“See, your wife agrees with me.” He looks at her, asks, “Where did you grow up, hon?”

“Name a place. My father was in the military so we moved a lot, base to base mostly.”

“Military bases are safer than cities,” I say.

“Obviously, you’ve never lived on one.”

“Not everyone grew up like you did, Jake. Some of us remember a time when you didn’t need to look over your shoulder when you stepped outside.” Doug points at my bandaged hand. “And this kind of thing was unheard of. If they wanted your ring so bad, why didn’t they just make you take the goddamn thing off?”

“You see?” Diane pulls at my arm. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Tell you the truth,” Doug says. “I’ve had enough. A couple more years teaching, and I’m done. I’ve got a little place on the beach in Mexico. All mine. It’ll be me, a few drinks, and the waves.”

“Sounds nice,” Diane says.

“It’s beautiful. I’ll make sure to have the two of you down for a visit. You can see for yourself.”

No one says anything else until we get to Doug’s car.

“I’ll talk to Anne Carlson about rescheduling the meeting,” Doug says. “She won’t mind, considering the situation.”

“I don’t want to reschedule.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want everyone making a big deal out of this.”

“It is a big deal,” Diane says. “Take some time before you jump back into things.”

“I don’t need time off. I want to move on. As far as I’m concerned, this never happened.”

“But it did happen. You can’t just pretend it didn’t.”

“I’m not pretending, but I’m not going to let it stop my life either.” I look at Doug. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

“Your call.” Doug unlocks the car door and gets inside. “If you change your mind, let me know. Anne Carlson and I go way back. She’ll understand.”

I tell him I will.

Diane and I step back and watch him pull out of the hospital parking lot and drive away. We walk to our car, and when we get there, I notice she’s crying.

“You okay?”

She nods and fakes a smile. “I just feel so bad for you. You didn’t deserve this.”

“It could’ve been a lot worse.”

This doesn’t make her feel better, but I can’t think of anything else to say that might, so I put my good arm around her shoulder and pull her close. She leans into me until the tears stop, and then we get in the car and drive home in silence.

Halfway there, I feel my hand start to pulse under the bandage, and I realize the morphine is wearing off. The pain is still far away, but I know it won’t be for long.

I take it as a warning.

Things are about to get worse.