Dead on Arrival by Anne Rooney

One
    ‘He’s been here all night. Stone cold – no pulse,’ the paramedic said, looking at Alistair’s body slumped in the road, his head slammed against the kerb.
    ‘There’s not much blood,’ he said. ‘I guess the rest must have washed away in the rain.’
    The woman who had called the ambulance stood on the footpath with both hands raised toher mouth. Two paramedics loaded Alistair’s body onto a stretcher and pulled the blanket over his head. A police officer took a statement from the woman, while her dog tugged at its leash and sniffed his boots.
    The ambulance drove off, without sirens or lights.
    * * * * *
    Ruby tried her brother’s mobile again and again, but it went to voicemail every time.
It must be out of battery,
she thought. It was so unlike Alistair – he always kept his phone charged. He’d gone to Ben’s for the night. She wished she had Ben’s number.
    Ruby made toast and flicked the TV on, trying to distract herself. She was alone in the house.
    By eleven, she couldn’t stand it any more. The rain started again, and was falling hard by the time she passed the police tape at the end of Ben’s road. She hurried on, head down. Ben answered the door in his dressing gown. He was surprised to see her.
    ‘Alistair? He didn’t come. I thought he’d just changed his mind,’ Ben said.
    Ruby’s mouth was suddenly dry.
    ‘No. No, he really wanted to come,’ she said.
    ‘Come in a minute.’ Ben held the door open for her.
    * * * * *
    Alistair opened his eyes. He was cold. And he was on some kind of trolley. Panic rose in his throat like bile, and his head hurt. A bright lightfrom a tube shone in his eyes. He couldn’t move his head without it hurting.
    Hospital,
he thought.
I must be in hospital. I hurt. Hurt people go to hospital.
    He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t work. People moved around the room, but he couldn’t see them. He wanted to call to them. How many were there? Two? Three? Their voices sounded fuzzy at first, but then words started to creep out of the mumbling:
    ‘Looks like a hit and run … no ID … doesn’t match any missing persons …’
    His eyes closed again, and he drifted somewhere else. Somewhere he couldn’t hear the voices, but somewhere his head still hurt.
    When he next opened his eyes the room was silent. He hurt all over. He touched his head. His fingers felt the edges of a cut and he winced. The room was cold. The arm he had lifted to his head was bare – no wonder he was cold. He was naked. Why?
    He struggled to remember where he was and what had happened. He had gone to see Ben. They were going to play on the Xbox all night. It had been dark and rainy.
    … Now he remembered. Car headlights coming round the corner, just as he stepped off the kerb. Trying to step back, but twisting his ankle and the car still coming. He didn’t remember it hitting him, or being hurt. But here he was, so he must have been hit.
    He pushed himself up on one elbow. There was a sheet over him, but no blankets. He’d expected to see a hospital ward, but that wasn’t what he saw. He was in a room with bare trolleys, not beds. The end wall was covered in large metal handles. And there were no doctors or nurses. There was someone on the next trolley – an old woman. She had her eyes shut.
    She must be asleep
, he thought.
I’ll be quiet
.
    His clothes weren’t near his trolley. There wasn’t a chair, or a table for his things, or a TV. There wasn’t even a button to push to make the nurse come. It was nothing like the hospitals he’d seen on TV. Maybe because he mostly watched American hospital programmes – perhaps they were very different in England.
    Further along the room there was a desk with a computer on it and a jumper draped over the back of the desk chair. Alistair didn’t like to take someone else’s things, but he was so cold.
I’ll bring it back,
he thought.
I just need it until I find my clothes.
    The jumper was very big, and came almost to his