“What do you mean?”
“The circumstances under which I was brought in that time. My own memory is a blank from right before the accident until some time after I had been transferred up to the other place-Greenwood. Do you recall how I arrived?”
He frowned, just when I had decided he had one face for all occasions.
“We sent an ambulance,” he said.
“In response to what? Who reported the accident? How?”
“I see what you mean,” he said. “It was the State Patrol that called for the ambulance. As I recollect, someone had seen the accident and phoned their headquarters. They then radioed a car in the vicinity. It went to the lake, verified the report, gave you first aid, and called for the ambulance. And that was it.”
“Any record of who called in the report in the first place?”
He shrugged.
“That's not the sort of thing we keep track of,” he said. “Didn't your insurance company investigate? Wasn't there a claim? They could probably—”
“I had to leave the country right after I recovered,” I said. “I never pursued the matter. I suppose there would have been a police report, though.”
“Surely. But I have no idea how long they keep them around.” He chuckled. “Unless, of course, that same salesman got to them, too... It is rather late to be talking about that though, isn't it? It seems to me there is a statute of limitations on things of that sort. Your friend Roth will tell you for sure—”
“It isn't a claim that I have in mind,” I said. “Just a desire to know what really happened. I have wondered about it on and off for a number of years now. You see, I have this touch of retrograde amnesia going.”
“Have you ever talked it over with a psychiatrist?” he said, and there was something about the way he said it that I did not like. Came one of those little flashes of insight then: Could Flora have managed to get me certified insane before my transfer to Greenwood? Was that on my record here? And was I still on escape status from that place? A lot of time had passed and I knew nothing of the legalities involved. If this was indeed the case, however, I imagined they would have no way of knowing whether I had been certified sane again in some other jurisdiction. Prudence, I guess it was, cautioned me to lean forward and glance at the doctor's wrist. I seemed possessed of a subliminal memory that he had consulted a calendar watch when taking my pulse. Yes, he had, I squinted. All right. Day and month: November 28. I did a quick calculation with my two-and-a-half-to-one conversion and had the year. It was seven, as he had indicated.
“No, I haven't,” I said. “I just assumed it was organic rather than functional and wrote the time off as a loss.”
“I see,” he said. “You use such phrases rather glibly. People who've been in therapy sometimes do that.”
“I know,” I said. “I've read a lot about it.”
He sighed. He stood.
“Look,” he said. “I am going to call Mr. Roth and let him know you are awake. It is probably best.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that with your friend being an attorney, there might be things you want to discuss with him before you talk to the police.”
He opened the folder wherein he had somewhere jotted my age, raised his pen, furrowed his brow, and said, “What's the date, anyway?”
I wanted my Trumps. I imagined my belongings would be in the drawer of the bedside table, but getting at it involved too much twisting and I did not want to put the strain on my sutures. It was not all that urgent, though. Eight hours' sleep in Amber would come to around twenty hours here, so everyone should still have been respectably retired back home. I wanted to get hold of Random, though, to come up with some sort of cover story for my not being there in the morning. Later.
I did not want to look suspicious at a time like this. Also, I wanted to know immediately whatever Brand had to say. I wanted to be in a position to act on it. I did a quick bit of mental juggling. If I could do the worst of my recovering here in Shadow, it would mean less wasted time for me back in Amber. I would have to budget my time carefully and avoid complications on this end. I hoped that Bill would arrive soon. I was anxious to know what the picture was in this place.
Bill was a native of the area, had gone to school in Buffalo, come back, married, joined the family firm, and that was that. He had known me as a retired Army officer who sometimes traveled on vague business. We both belonged to the country club, which was where I had met him. I had known him for over a year without our exchanging more than a few words. Then one evening I happened to be next to him in the bar and it had somehow come out that he was hot on military history, particularly the Napoleonic Wars. The next thing we knew, they were closing up the place around us. We were close friends from then on, right up until the time of my difficulties. I had occasionally wondered about him since. In fact, the only thing that had prevented me from seeing him the last time I had passed through was that he would doubtless have had all sorts of questions as to what had become of me, and I had had too many things on my mind to deal with them all that gracefully and still enjoy myself. I had even thought once or twice of coming back and seeing him if I could, when everything was finally settled in Amber. Next to the fact that this was not the case, I regretted not being able to meet him in the club lounge.
He arrived within the hour, short, heavy, ruddy, a bit grayer on the sides, grinning, nodding. I had propped myself up by then, already tried a few deep breaths and decided they were premature. He clasped my hand and took the bedside chair. He had his briefcase with him.
“You scared the hell out of me last night, Carl. Thought I was seeing a ghost,” he said.
I nodded.
“A bit later, and I might have been one,” I said. “Thanks. How have you been?”
Bill sighed.
“Busy. You know. The same old stuff, only more of it.”
“And Alice?”
“She's fine. And we've got two new grandsons-Bill Jr. 's-twins. Wait a minute.” He fished out his wallet and located a photo. “Here.”
I studied it, noted the family resemblances.
“Hard to believe,” I said.
“You don't look much worse for the years.” I chuckled and patted my abdomen.
“Subtracting that, I mean,” he said. “Where have you been?”
“God! Where haven't I been!” I said. “So many places I've lost count.”
He remained expressionless, caught my eyes and stared.
“Carl, what kind of trouble are you in?” be asked.
I smiled.
“If you mean am I in trouble with the law, the answer is no. My troubles actually involve another country, and I am going to have to go back there shortly.”
His face relaxed again, and there was a small glint behind his bifocals.
“Are you some sort of military adviser in that place?”
I nodded.
“Can you tell me where?”
I shook my head. “Sorry.”
“That I can sort of understand,” he said. “Dr. Roth told me what you said had happened last night. Off the record now, was it connected with whatever you have been doing?”
I nodded again.
“That makes things a little clearer,” he said. “Not much, but enough. I won't even ask you which agency, or even if there is one. I have always known you to be a gentleman, and a rational one at that. That was why I grew curious at the time of your disappearance and did some investigating. I felt a bit officious and self-conscious about it. But your civil status was quite puzzling, and I wanted to know what had happened. Mainly, because I was concerned about you. I hope that doesn't disturb you.”
“Disturb me?” I said. “There aren't that many people who care what happens to me. I'm grateful. Also, curious what you discovered. I never had the time to look into it, you know, to straighten things out. How about telling me what you learned?”