Chapter 2: Recovery

August 11, 1981

I spent the morning doing some tests and hanging around my hospital room. Mom spent most of the morning with me. They had sent Angie to school, over her protests.

Around 11:30am we were interrupted by a knock at the door. We both looked over, spotting a man in a suit. “Hello?” Mom said.

“Hello. Mrs. Marshall? And Steven?”

“Yes. Can we help you?”

“I’m Detective Stanley Brewer from the Hedwig Village Police Department. I wanted to talk with Steven about what happened yesterday.”

“Of course, Detective Brewer,” Mom said.

“Steve, please, Detective Brewer. I’m happy to talk about it, though I might know the least about what actually happened.”

He smiled. A nice, warm smile. I imagined that was a tool of his job just as much as it was for Dr. Stanton. Being friendly, approachable, and easy to talk to would make his job much easier. Fortunately, I had nothing to hide, not after talking with Mom yesterday.

“I think we have yesterday covered, though of course I’d like to know your perspective on it.”

I went briefly over what I knew, which wasn’t much. Angie shouting Max’s name, seeing the bat (but not who held it; we went over that carefully), the impact on my helmet, the bike pressing into me, loss of consciousness.

“All that tracks exactly with what we know from other witnesses, of course. Now, son, do you know why he might have done this?”

I nodded. “Yes, Detective. He used to date my sister, Angie.” He nodded; I’m sure he knew that. Everyone would have told him. “It was a ... tumultuous time. I’m not going to accuse him of anything directly so much as to say that I generally have liked Angie’s boyfriends — Mom can confirm that — and I didn’t like Max at all.”

Mom nodded. “He’s been close friends with Angie’s other boyfriends. Sam and I didn’t approve of Max either.”

“I’d told Angie that she should stop seeing Max. There was an altercation after school just before Spring Break. Max yelled that he was going to make me stop interfering and teach me a lesson, then charged me. I was able to defend myself; I’d just started studying karate at the Y. I wasn’t very good — still aren’t — but good enough to get out of the way of a charging guy, anyway.” He laughed a bit at that. “That was it; I haven’t been in any contact with him whatsoever since before Spring Break. So ... five months or so? I assume this was revenge for that altercation, but I have no way to know that.”

We went over the altercation a few times in different ways. It was all very polite and he never even hinted at not believing me. Still, he made sure of things. Where did this happen? Out behind Orange Wing in Smoker’s Heaven. Who moved first? I spoke to him first; he made the first move physically, and I never struck him except when he was physically attacking me. Were there any witnesses? Yes, and I could name a couple of them. He probed at further contact several different ways, but since there really had been none, it was easy to stick to my story. In this case I wasn’t even omitting anything or being creative with phrasing.

Finally, he nodded. “Thanks, son. I believe that’s really all I needed.” He looked at Mom. “Since he’s a juvenile, the proceedings will mostly be closed, but we’ll be able to let you know whether to be on the lookout for him or not. Right now there’s no reason to worry.”

“Thank you, Detective,” Mom said, smiling.

I added, “If you do need anything more, I’m happy to talk, and I imagine everyone else who knows anything would be as well.”

He smiled. “Thank you both for your time.” He handed Mom a card. “Here’s my card. If you do need to contact us about the case, I’d be the best person to call.”

“Thanks again,” Mom said.

He left. “I’m glad you told me yesterday!” Mom said, smiling and chuckling. “I’d have been so much more upset if I heard about that for the first time with a policeman listening!”

“I’m glad too, Mom. I’m sorry that I didn’t share it earlier, but...”

“But what good could it have done? You were right. It wasn’t a bad secret to get. No other fights?”

“Not a one. Not ever.”

“Good! I hope it stays that way!”

An hour or so later, they declared me sufficiently healthy to discharge. Mom drove me to Dr. Reynolds’ office.

We checked in and, as I expected, waited only a few minutes before being called back. The nurse got me prepped. A few minutes later, Dr. Reynolds came in.

“I thought we were done!” She smiled, shaking my hand.

“I just couldn’t stay away, so I stuck my head under a baseball bat.’

She shook her head, laughing. “Don’t do that! Though at least you wore a helmet. Seriously, though? Someone attacked you, at school, with a baseball bat?”

I nodded. “My sister’s ex-boyfriend. We didn’t get along, but his reaction was more than a bit over the top.”

“I’ll say! That’s attempted murder. No question at all.”

“Yeah. He’s a minor, so, I’d guess juvie? But I don’t expect to see him anytime soon, anyway.”

“Unless it’s in court, yes. Well, let’s make sure nothing got scrambled in your brain.”

She started the recording and left the room with Mom, returning in the usual ten minutes. Unlike before, this time she unfurled part of it, looking.

“Ok, grossly, this is good news. There’s nothing in here showing any significant reaction to trauma. I need to look further, but I didn’t want to wait if I could spot something.”

“Thank you, Dr. Reynolds!” Mom looked very relieved.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, picking out the white electrode goop.

“I’ll be right back.” She headed out.

“I have to say, when I insisted you wear a helmet I never in a million years thought of this as a reason to wear one!”

“Me neither, Mom. Me neither.”

About fifteen minutes later, Dr. Reynolds returned. “We’re all clear. There’s nothing of note at all. It looks slightly better than the last EEG, which is what I’d expect, since, even post-monitoring, there’s still a little more recovery going on. You escaped any damage this time. Do not get your head in the path of any more baseball bats, though. Or any blunt objects! Or pointed objects!”

I laughed. “I’ll do my very best, Dr. Reynolds. Thank you.”

We stopped on the way home to buy a new helmet. I still hadn’t seen the old one. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but I supposed I had to, in the way people slow and look at traffic accidents.

Since I was essentially OK — left arm in a sling much of the time for a while, hobbling, sore neck, but OK — I got Mom to agree that I could go to study group. I wanted to see my friends and let them see I was fine. If it’d been anyone else, I’d have been going crazy, and I figured they would be, too. Because of unusual circumstances we’d wait for Angie to get home, then Mom would take us and pick us up a couple hours later. While they’d replaced the helmet, my bike was in the shop. It turns out that being slammed a couple times with a baseball bat isn’t the best thing for a bike. Of course, it’d have been even worse for me.

I met Angie outside when she arrived. She hugged me tightly, being careful of the sling. She still had the black eye, which it didn’t look like she’d even attempted to cover with makeup.

“What’d they say? What, what, what?”

“I still have a brain. It still counts as normal.”

She giggled. “Well, we know she’s wrong about that, but since that’s how you were before, then, good!”

“Mom says we can go to study group.”

“Yay! Let’s go, then!”

“Sorry about the eye.”

She shrugged and leaned in. “Not, um ... the first time for that. Probably the last, at least from him. Badge of shame, before. Badge of honor this time.”

I hugged her tightly. “I love you, Ang.”

“I love you too! Plus, I don’t know what I’d do without you! Now that I’m not in this alone, I can’t imagine being in this alone.”

“You’d be fine. You’re tough. But I have no intention of going anywhere.”

“See that you don’t, big brother!” She hugged me right back.

We arrived at study group a bit after everyone else, of course. Angie offered to drive, which amused Mom, but she agreed it was a good plan. This was my first time riding with Angie in her own car. She was smooth and assured, as if she’d been driving for years. Which, of course, she had — but it was still good to see, knowing how many years she’d been away from it. As we got close, I looked at her. “Like riding a bike, huh?”

She giggled. “No, but I got enough practice. This thing is much more ... solid ... than the old rattle-trap I drove my first life. I think I’d just plow through most anything. Not that I intend to test that!”

“Please don’t! We’ve got a good thing going here.”

“Yes, we do. Very good!”

Once we’d parked and were heading in, Rita saw us first and rushed over. “Oh, my goodness, hon, I heard you’d been attacked! Are you ok?” She hugged me, being careful.