dead. But no. He’d moved a second ago. So not dead. But what? Drugged?
Somehow, understanding and returning awareness calmed her. Curious. But nothing frightening at the moment.
Her bed had been the concrete floor. The room appeared to be an enclosed stairwell. She’d seen similar stairwells not long ago, but where? She tried to remember. After a second or two, she gave up.
Yes. Drugged. But not dead. Why not? Odd.
Kim reached over and shook Gaspar’s shoulder. He groaned, but didn’t wake up. She shook him more vigorously until his eyelids popped open. She watched until he worked through the same initial disorientation and grogginess she’d felt.
“I have a slight headache, Chico. Got any Tylenol on you?” Her throat was parched and her voice sounded whispery.
Gaspar sat upright and said, in a slightly less croaky voice, “Probably.”
She struggled to stand and offered him a hand, which he rejected. This reaction made her feel a little bit closer to normal, too. As if they were still the same selves as before. Comforting. But not true. A chunk of her mind was now gone. His, too, she figured.
Once on his feet, Gaspar reached into his pocket and pulled out four Tylenol and handed two to her. She put them in her dry mouth, tasted the bitter capsules, wrinkled her nose and swallowed them on the third try.
“How can you stand that stuff?” she croaked.
He rubbed his right shoulder near his neck—in precisely the same spot hers ached. “No choice,” he said, looking around the gloom. “Where are we?”
She shook her head, then realized he probably couldn’t see her well enough to notice in the red dimness. “I’m not sure. It looks like the stairwell of an old building. Do you recognize it?”
“Kind of. They all look the same, don’t they? How’d we get here?”
“What’s your best guess?” she asked.
“Judging from the pain at the base of my neck, likely some kind of whack on the carotid sinus dropped me. Followed by a good-sized dose of roofies, probably.”
Kim nodded again, noticed the low lighting anew, and replied, “Seems most likely to me, too. Which means our memories have been chemically erased. We won’t get that back.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember?”
She’d been thinking about that for the past few seconds. Moving through her recall, backward from the moment her pillow first moved. She answered his question carefully, because pinpointing the last clear event was critical to defining the extent of the damage. “Maybe waiting for the elevator in Neagley’s building? Not getting on the elevator, or even the elevator arriving on the tenth floor. Maybe I do remember that. I seem to. But then again, I don’t.” Her voice trailed off because she knew her speech was as garbled as her recall.
“We rode that elevator six times,” Gaspar said. “Three up. Three down. Maybe your memory is confused as well as absent.” He continued to massage the pain in his right shoulder. “It’s hard to administer roofies precisely. They might have overdosed you a bit. I’m bigger than you are. More muscle mass. My dose probably metabolized quicker. You could be slower coming out of it.”
Kim nodded. Realized yet again that he couldn’t see her. Confusion was another hallmark; how bad would that be? “I feel like a slug. What’s your last clear memory?”
He spoke slowly. “I’m not sure yet. I don’t know how we ended up here. But I remember we climbed these stairs to Neagley’s office before. I recognize the old-style tiles on the walls.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his car keys, and activated the tiny LED flashlight on his key ring. Its beam illuminated the stairwell brightly enough to locate the fire door. He walked over, turned the knob, and yanked the heavy steel slab open, but no fluorescent light flooded into the dark stairwell. “Follow me.”
She remembered she had a key ring and LED light, too. She found hers a moment later. She used it
Somehow, understanding and returning awareness calmed her. Curious. But nothing frightening at the moment.
Her bed had been the concrete floor. The room appeared to be an enclosed stairwell. She’d seen similar stairwells not long ago, but where? She tried to remember. After a second or two, she gave up.
Yes. Drugged. But not dead. Why not? Odd.
Kim reached over and shook Gaspar’s shoulder. He groaned, but didn’t wake up. She shook him more vigorously until his eyelids popped open. She watched until he worked through the same initial disorientation and grogginess she’d felt.
“I have a slight headache, Chico. Got any Tylenol on you?” Her throat was parched and her voice sounded whispery.
Gaspar sat upright and said, in a slightly less croaky voice, “Probably.”
She struggled to stand and offered him a hand, which he rejected. This reaction made her feel a little bit closer to normal, too. As if they were still the same selves as before. Comforting. But not true. A chunk of her mind was now gone. His, too, she figured.
Once on his feet, Gaspar reached into his pocket and pulled out four Tylenol and handed two to her. She put them in her dry mouth, tasted the bitter capsules, wrinkled her nose and swallowed them on the third try.
“How can you stand that stuff?” she croaked.
He rubbed his right shoulder near his neck—in precisely the same spot hers ached. “No choice,” he said, looking around the gloom. “Where are we?”
She shook her head, then realized he probably couldn’t see her well enough to notice in the red dimness. “I’m not sure. It looks like the stairwell of an old building. Do you recognize it?”
“Kind of. They all look the same, don’t they? How’d we get here?”
“What’s your best guess?” she asked.
“Judging from the pain at the base of my neck, likely some kind of whack on the carotid sinus dropped me. Followed by a good-sized dose of roofies, probably.”
Kim nodded again, noticed the low lighting anew, and replied, “Seems most likely to me, too. Which means our memories have been chemically erased. We won’t get that back.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember?”
She’d been thinking about that for the past few seconds. Moving through her recall, backward from the moment her pillow first moved. She answered his question carefully, because pinpointing the last clear event was critical to defining the extent of the damage. “Maybe waiting for the elevator in Neagley’s building? Not getting on the elevator, or even the elevator arriving on the tenth floor. Maybe I do remember that. I seem to. But then again, I don’t.” Her voice trailed off because she knew her speech was as garbled as her recall.
“We rode that elevator six times,” Gaspar said. “Three up. Three down. Maybe your memory is confused as well as absent.” He continued to massage the pain in his right shoulder. “It’s hard to administer roofies precisely. They might have overdosed you a bit. I’m bigger than you are. More muscle mass. My dose probably metabolized quicker. You could be slower coming out of it.”
Kim nodded. Realized yet again that he couldn’t see her. Confusion was another hallmark; how bad would that be? “I feel like a slug. What’s your last clear memory?”
He spoke slowly. “I’m not sure yet. I don’t know how we ended up here. But I remember we climbed these stairs to Neagley’s office before. I recognize the old-style tiles on the walls.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his car keys, and activated the tiny LED flashlight on his key ring. Its beam illuminated the stairwell brightly enough to locate the fire door. He walked over, turned the knob, and yanked the heavy steel slab open, but no fluorescent light flooded into the dark stairwell. “Follow me.”
She remembered she had a key ring and LED light, too. She found hers a moment later. She used it
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