Page 14 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘I didn’t bash my own fucking brain in, Mom.I’mnot doing this. Not everything is my fault.’

Dad stepped forward. ‘Jet, your mom didn’t mean it like that. She only wants what’s best for you. We all do, baby girl.’

He hadn’t called her that in years.

‘Yeah,’ Luke said gruffly, like that added anything.

‘But you’re going to choose the surgery,’ Mom said, tears released, chasing each other down her cheeks. ‘You know that’s the right decision, don’t you? Scott, help me.’

Dr Lee cut in, rising from her chair. ‘This really has to be Jet’s decision.’ Her voice softened. ‘You don’t have to make it right this moment. The police are outside. They’ve been waiting for you to wake up. They need to ask you some questions about your assault, before you decide.’

‘In case I choose the surgery and don’t make it,’ Jet said, seeing through the doctor’s words. ‘They’re here, now, to i-i-in …’ What was the word? Ah, fuck, you know the word she meant. What you do to get a job, same thing when the police ask you questions. Sounds like … Jet couldn’t remember what it sounded like. ‘I-in …’ What was that fucking word?

‘Interview?’ Luke offered.

‘Yes. Interview.’ Jet smacked her hand down on the bed. ‘What was I saying?’

Dr Lee’s eyes narrowed. ‘Jet, are you having trouble finding your words?’

‘No.’

Yes. Not some of them. LikeFuck, fuck, I’m going to die, fuck.But she couldn’t find the word for that thing resting around Dr Lee’s shoulders. That long thing with earbuds anda metal disc, for listening to hearts. Jet didn’t need one; her heart was too loud already.

Dr Lee nodded, like she could read minds, even if she couldn’t fix this one.

‘One of the blows was to the side of your head here.’ Dr Lee gestured to the stick-on bandage. ‘The left hemisphere, where the brain’s language center is. Sometimes trauma to this area can cause problems with understanding or producing language, called an aphasia. Your comprehension and speech seem mostly unaffected, so it’s likely anomic aphasia, the mildest kind.’ She paused. ‘You may have trouble retrieving certain words, specifically ones you don’t use too often. It can be temporary, may only last a few weeks or months, and can be treated with speech therapy.’

Jet shrugged. ‘I don’t have weeks or months, though, do I?’ Not really a question.

‘If you have the surgery, Jet –’ Mom began.

‘– I think we need to let Jet speak to the police now.’ Dr Lee gestured with Jet’s medical file, sweeping Dianne to her feet.

Luke lingered by the door.

‘Who was it, Jet?’ he asked, mouth in a grim line, hiding his teeth. ‘Who did this to you?’

She exhaled. Three words she definitely knew how to find: ‘I don’t know.’

‘Come on, Luke.’ Dad patted him gently on the back. ‘Let’s let the cops ask their questions. There’s not much time.’

Mom pressed her hand to the lump of Jet’s foot, beneath the sheet. ‘I’ll be right outside, sweetie.’

The doctor was the last to leave, looking back at Jet, a sad half-smile. The smile of an execu-exec– fuck, what was that word? You know: the people who wore hoods in movies, swung the ax or dropped the platform?

‘She’s ready for you,’ Jet heard Dr Lee say outside, muffledby the door swinging shut. ‘Please don’t press her too hard. I’ve just broken the news.’

The news.

Ha.

Extra, extra, read all about it. Jet Mason’s got a time bomb in her head.

The door was going to open any second now. Was that enough time to scream?

The hinges creaked. No. Not enough time. To scream. To live.

A man in a suit was the first in, a file clutched in his white-knuckle hands. All this paperwork; lucky her.

---