covered quite a lot of ground over the past few days,” Jenn told him.
It was then that he noticed she wasn’t the only woman standing next to the side of his bed. There was a blonde on his other side, pulling a blanket back up and over his legs, and activating a blood pressure cuff that squeezed his arm.
A nurse, which meant—shit—he was in a hospital.
“I’m not dreaming, am I?” he asked Jenn, who shook her head.
No.
She’d come all this way. Wherever he was, he knew it wasn’t Manhattan. Her being here involved air travel and time off from work.
“Is it bad?” he asked as he suddenly remembered. The car bomb. The sniper. The woman and child. The blood exploding out of his leg …
His leg …
But he lifted the blanket and saw that it was still there—heavily bandaged at his thigh. And great, he had some kind of catheter tube coming out of his dick, which bothered him far more to look at than any bandaged or unbandaged wound ever would, so he put the blanket back down so he wouldn’t hurl.
“You’re okay,” Jenn was telling him as more tears spilled from her eyes. “Your waking up was the last big hurdle.”
“I’m sorry I scared you, baby,” Dan tried to tell her, fighting the sudden nausea. But the best way was to close his eyes, which gave his body some kind of disconnect signal, which he then had to fight in order to stay awake.
She leaned over and kissed him, her mouth soft against his, her fingers gentle in his hair. “It’s okay if you go back to sleep now,” she whispered.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he tried to tell her, but he was back to sounding like Frankenstein’s comical monster.
“It’s okay,” Jenn said again. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
And he surrendered to the darkness.
L AS V EGAS
M ONDAY , A PRIL 20, 2009
The boy who wore makeup was in the shopping mall again.
Neesha pretended that she didn’t see him, didn’t notice him.
So many people stared at him—she knew what that was like. Shegot stared at sometimes if she didn’t find a place to wash up or clean her clothes in the sink. Sometimes she just got stared at because she looked a little different from almost everyone else in this city.
But now, today, the boy who wore black liner around his eyes and black polish on his fingernails was watching her, and the ice of fear slipped through her.
Maybe he worked for Mr. Nelson or Todd. Maybe he’d been sent to bring her back.
But he didn’t look the type. He didn’t look old enough, either, even though he was quite tall.
Neesha could feel his gaze upon her and she forced herself to stay seated even as he pushed his own chair back and stood up. She sat even as he began to walk toward her. If she had to, she could run.
He shifted slightly, as if he were going to walk right past, but then, at the last moment, when she was sure she was safe, he stopped.
And despite her resolve to not look at him, she found herself doing just that.
He was beautiful, with pale eyes the color of the open sky and skin that was much lighter than hers. “You don’t really work here, do you?” he said.
She pretended to not understand. “I sorry,” she said, making her voice higher pitched and singsong. “I not much speak American.”
He reached a hand into his pocket, which made her heart race, until he pulled it back out—and held out a bill with a giant five on it—as if he wanted her to take it.
“Just in case you ever get tired of eating other people’s leftovers,” he said.
She didn’t know what leftovers were, but just the same, Neesha couldn’t take it from him. If she took his money, she would be indebted. She shook her head.
“Look,” he said, “I’ve seen you. You find a group of people, usually a family with little kids. And you offer to clear their trays as if you work for the food court. But this is a self-serve place. You’re supposed to busyour own trays—throw out your own trash. But little kids, they don’t always eat
It was then that he noticed she wasn’t the only woman standing next to the side of his bed. There was a blonde on his other side, pulling a blanket back up and over his legs, and activating a blood pressure cuff that squeezed his arm.
A nurse, which meant—shit—he was in a hospital.
“I’m not dreaming, am I?” he asked Jenn, who shook her head.
No.
She’d come all this way. Wherever he was, he knew it wasn’t Manhattan. Her being here involved air travel and time off from work.
“Is it bad?” he asked as he suddenly remembered. The car bomb. The sniper. The woman and child. The blood exploding out of his leg …
His leg …
But he lifted the blanket and saw that it was still there—heavily bandaged at his thigh. And great, he had some kind of catheter tube coming out of his dick, which bothered him far more to look at than any bandaged or unbandaged wound ever would, so he put the blanket back down so he wouldn’t hurl.
“You’re okay,” Jenn was telling him as more tears spilled from her eyes. “Your waking up was the last big hurdle.”
“I’m sorry I scared you, baby,” Dan tried to tell her, fighting the sudden nausea. But the best way was to close his eyes, which gave his body some kind of disconnect signal, which he then had to fight in order to stay awake.
She leaned over and kissed him, her mouth soft against his, her fingers gentle in his hair. “It’s okay if you go back to sleep now,” she whispered.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he tried to tell her, but he was back to sounding like Frankenstein’s comical monster.
“It’s okay,” Jenn said again. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
And he surrendered to the darkness.
L AS V EGAS
M ONDAY , A PRIL 20, 2009
The boy who wore makeup was in the shopping mall again.
Neesha pretended that she didn’t see him, didn’t notice him.
So many people stared at him—she knew what that was like. Shegot stared at sometimes if she didn’t find a place to wash up or clean her clothes in the sink. Sometimes she just got stared at because she looked a little different from almost everyone else in this city.
But now, today, the boy who wore black liner around his eyes and black polish on his fingernails was watching her, and the ice of fear slipped through her.
Maybe he worked for Mr. Nelson or Todd. Maybe he’d been sent to bring her back.
But he didn’t look the type. He didn’t look old enough, either, even though he was quite tall.
Neesha could feel his gaze upon her and she forced herself to stay seated even as he pushed his own chair back and stood up. She sat even as he began to walk toward her. If she had to, she could run.
He shifted slightly, as if he were going to walk right past, but then, at the last moment, when she was sure she was safe, he stopped.
And despite her resolve to not look at him, she found herself doing just that.
He was beautiful, with pale eyes the color of the open sky and skin that was much lighter than hers. “You don’t really work here, do you?” he said.
She pretended to not understand. “I sorry,” she said, making her voice higher pitched and singsong. “I not much speak American.”
He reached a hand into his pocket, which made her heart race, until he pulled it back out—and held out a bill with a giant five on it—as if he wanted her to take it.
“Just in case you ever get tired of eating other people’s leftovers,” he said.
She didn’t know what leftovers were, but just the same, Neesha couldn’t take it from him. If she took his money, she would be indebted. She shook her head.
“Look,” he said, “I’ve seen you. You find a group of people, usually a family with little kids. And you offer to clear their trays as if you work for the food court. But this is a self-serve place. You’re supposed to busyour own trays—throw out your own trash. But little kids, they don’t always eat
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