Daniel Palmer - Helpless

“Are you buckled?” Tom said aloud. He kept the pressure on the accelerator at a constant, while his hands held the steering wheel on a straight-ahead course. What little vision he had left went completely dark. Tom felt his eyelids begin to descend, as if lead weights were pulling them closed. His mouth had gone even drier, if that were possible. He didn’t know if he could hold his head up any longer. He just needed to sleep… to close his eyes… for just a moment.

Wake up! Wake up!

Tom came to. His internal voice had been screaming at him. His vision returned slightly, just enough for him to see a ball of red light coming toward him. As it neared, the ball grew from a barely visible speck to a blinding red glow. He could see other balls of red. Cars, Tom managed to think. Stopped at a traffic light. No time to brake.

Tom turned the wheel and punched the gas pedal to the floor. The car lurched forward with a force that made his stomach drop and his body go tense. He felt a violent jolt, and his whole body shook when Lange’s car slammed into the side of the Taurus. Their cars locked together.

Tom bit his tongue until blood began to seep into his mouth. The shock was just enough to counter the drugs. His vision cleared slightly. He was in the center lane, with Lange’s car pressed up against his door.

Tom saw the opening he needed.

He saw a light post, too.

His escape.

He jerked the wheel and broke away from Lange’s car. He pushed against the gas pedal as far as it would go. He kept the car on a diagonal trajectory as it rocketed forward. Lange pursued Tom from behind.

Tom threaded the Taurus between two cars and, having seen the light post through the gap, spun the wheel to avoid a direct hit. He counted on Lange not having seen what he maneuvered to avoid. The side of Tom’s car scraped against a light post cemented into the sidewalk. He glanced over his left shoulder, just in time to see Lange’s vehicle slam into that very same post without slowing. Lange’s car folded in on itself as the stone post crushed metal and glass.

Tom’s car hadn’t stopped moving, as he hoped it would. Instead, it listed hard to its side, two wheels lifting off the ground. Then it flipped over onto its roof. The car began to slide down an embankment. Tom was knocked unconscious. Otherwise, he would have been screaming.

“Tom…Tom, can you hear me?”

Tom blinked. The darkness receded. In its place came a flood of light so intense that it forced his eyes shut again.

“Tom… try one more time. Try to open your eyes.”

Tom blinked again and kept blinking, because each flash of light hurt too much to keep the lids open.

“Good. You’re doing great,” the voice said.

Tom continued to blink until he opened his eyes wide. The first thing he saw was a face staring down at him. His vision was blurry, but the face was clearly a man’s, though Tom didn’t recognize him. He tried to lift his head, but the pain exploding from someplace behind his eyes was nothing short of extraordinary. He grunted and fell back onto a soft pillow.

“Don’t try to do too much at once,” the man said. “I’m Dr. Paul Prince. You’ve been in a bad accident. You’re in the hospital. Do you remember anything about that?”

Tom let his mind relax so that he could process the man’s words.

A doctor. An accident. A hospital.

Tom’s throat felt parched, but he wanted to speak. “No. I don’t.”

“Well, that’s not uncommon from a patient coming out of a coma,” the doctor said.

He tried to move his right hand to scratch his cheek. His hand moved only two inches toward his face. He heard the sound of metal scraping against metal, and his hand jerked to a sudden stop. He looked down and saw a handcuff secured around his right wrist. The other end was locked around the bed railing.

“What the hell? What’s going on?” Tom’s strength returned with an intense rush of anger. He managed to work himself into a seated position, though it took some maneuvering of the handcuff and a little help from Dr. Prince. “I demand an explanation,” Tom said, though he was breathless because it hurt that much to move.

Before Dr. Prince could answer, the door to Tom’s hospital room flew open and Marvin Pressman came storming in. He clutched a piece of paper in his left hand.

“Get the police in here right now, and get this man unlocked,” Marvin barked at the doctor. Prince didn’t budge or respond. Marvin didn’t back down. “Do it now, or I swear I’ll have the Joint Commission here tomorrow for a surprise hospital inspection, and trust me when I say you won’t like what they’ll find.”

Dr. Prince gave Marvin an angry look. “It’s my understanding that this man is in violation of his bail and that he poses a flight risk. That’s what the police told us.”

“And exactly what violation are you referring to, Doctor?” Marvin growled back.

“Driving under the influence.”

Marvin fluttered the piece of paper in front of Prince’s face in a taunting way. “Well, I have a medical power of attorney for Mr. Hawkins. His toxicology report from your lab just came in. Guess what it showed?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Dr. Prince replied in a calm, low voice.

“Marvin, where’s Jill? Is she here?” Tom asked.

Marvin placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder. He looked down at his client and said, “Yes, but hang on a second, Tom. Let me get this straightened out first. The toxicology report shows enough scopolamine in his system to knock out an elephant, that’s what.”

Tom shook his head, because he’d never heard of the drug before. “What the hell is scopol—whatever you said?”

“It’s a colorless, odorless, tasteless drug used to treat motion sickness and Parkinson’s disease.”

“Why would I be given that?” asked Tom.

“It’s also used by criminals to commit robbery and date rape, not to mention prisoner interrogations. It zaps your memory, along with a lot of other functions,” Marvin explained. “If you think my client intentionally ingested this narcotic, get ready for that inspection I promised you.”

Prince was visibly flustered. Red splotches on his face showed his anger. “The officer in charge of Mr. Hawkins’s case told me to call him the moment he awoke. I’ll do so right now. Though we do have a key, in case of a medical emergency.”

“Then I suggest that you go and get it. Now, Doctor.” Marvin’s smile to Prince was really just a reminder of his threat.

Prince, in turn, called for a nurse to come check Tom’s vitals. He left the room with a snort of disgust.

“I’m guessing the last name of that officer in charge is Murphy,” Tom said.

“And you’d be right,” Marvin said. He added, “I can get Murphy’s badge for what he did to you here. But it’s not worth the fight right now. We need to keep our focus on your trial.”

“What the hell happened to me?”

“Well, I’m not a doctor,” Marvin said as he flipped through a series of charts and reports attached to a clipboard at the foot of Tom’s bed. “From what I’m reading here, I’d say you’ve suffered a grade-three concussion and apparently came within inches of never walking again. Just a little something.”

Marvin grabbed a chair and came around to the side of the bed. He sat down and got himself eye level with Tom. The concern shown on Marvin’s face told Tom that his lawyer considered him a friend, too.

“You think I was drugged?”

“I think that somebody couldn’t wait for your trial to punish you,” Marvin said matter-of-factly. Marvin glanced at the toxicology report in his hand. He turned on a floor lamp to help him read the file. Tom winced in pain and groaned as soon as the light came on.