Chapter 3: Yoyo, DeDe, and Captain Kirk
Thank god it was dark when I tried to open my eyes. I was floating around in some never-never land. I could feel pain, but it wasn't acute. It was my eyes that hurt the most. They were like two steel ball bearings, rolling around in the bottom of a tin can. Even the slightest movement of my head would set them off again.
I tried to form a coherent thought. Where was I? What had happened to me? I was lying on a cool, firm surface, trying to concentrate. There was a cover over me. I could feel it. Was I dead? No, the cover stopped at my chest. My chest. I could feel the pain just below the surface. Why wasn't anyone here? Was this a morgue? I had to make someone understand ... I wasn't dead.
I lay there, trying to assemble the information I had available. I was alive, it was dark, I was on some kind of a platform, I was hurt, but ... what else? At some point I could hear noises. Footsteps, I thought. That's good. Someone is coming for me. But they never did. And little gong sounds every now and then. What did it all mean?
I drifted off again into that wonderland of dreams. Strange dreams with shiny boots and pavement, three boys and a little girl. A very lovely woman, dressed in dark red. She looked happy. She was saying "Call me," as she faded away.
It was light the next time I tried to open my eyes. It seemed to take a herculean effort to accomplish that little task. As my eyes focused, I recognized I was in a room, a pale green room. There were things attached to me. Tubes and wires. Someone was calling me.
"Wake up, Mr. Prentice," a soft female voice called from a distance. "Time to wake up."
I turned my head slightly. She was dressed like a nurse. If she was a nurse, I was probably in a hospital. That made sense. I felt the cool dampness of a cloth wiping my face. It didn't hurt. It felt like it was the only place on my body that didn't hurt. I tried to speak.
"Whaa ... hawww," I heard myself croak.
The young woman held a cup with a straw and put it into my mouth. Instinctively I began to draw on it. It felt good. Cool and wet, just like the cloth. I could swallow. It didn't hurt. Another good thing. I tried again.
"How ... wha' happen?" I managed finally.
"I don't know, Mr. Prentice. The doctor will be along soon, and he can tell you," she smiled. She had a nice smile. It was just like another smile I remembered. The lady in the red dress. She smiled like that. I felt better. As long as I didn't move, I felt better. I drifted off again, skimming like a porpoise, in and out of consciousness.
"Mr. Prentice ... are you awake?" This time it was a male voice. I forced my eyes to open, in spite of the pain.
"Ya," was all I could manage. The young nurse appeared from nowhere and offered the straw to me once more. I sipped and felt my throat loosen again.
"Where am I?" At least I was making verbal sense now.
"Sutter Medical Centre. I'm Doctor Mike Davis. Glad to see you back in the land of the living," he said. It sounded like he thought it was humorous.
"Barely. What happened?"
"You were attacked, apparently. You were beaten by one or more people. Very badly beaten, as it turns out. You have a concussion, several cracked ribs, a bruised kidney, and possibly a damaged spleen. You're going to be here for a while."
"Robbery?"
"I don't think so. When they admitted you, you still had money in your wallet and your pants pocket. I'll leave that to the police though. They'll want to talk to you when you're up to it."
"When did this happen?"
"The night before last. We've had you on sedatives to keep you from feeling too much pain. That's still to come, I'm afraid."
"Oh goody," I croaked. Again the straw magically arrived at my mouth and I sipped more water.
"What do you remember of that night, Mr. Prentice?"
"I remember taking my lady friend home and driving back to my apartment. Nothing after that, though."
"Do you remember your address and phone number?"
I recited them, knowing they were correct.
"Do you have any next of kin here in Yuba City?"
"No ... no one. I work at Big Valley Box. I'll need to let them know what happened to me."
"We'll look after that for you. What about friends. Whom should we contact?"
I gave them Johnny Gordon's phone number and then, I knew there was one other person I need to inform.
"Please call Mrs. Yolanda Michaels. She lives on St. Mary's Road. She'll be in the book," I gasped, having used up just about all the energy I had.
"Fine. We'll have someone contact them. In the meantime, the good news is that you seem to be fine as far as memory goes. I'm sure your head doesn't feel good thanks to the banging it got and the pain suppressant we've been feeding you. We'll start to wean you off that as soon as we can."
"Okay. Thanks." That was it. I was slipping away again. Too much work to stay awake.
I woke in the middle of the night. The room was dark, but I could make out shapes from the light coming through the venetian blinds. My door was closed and it was silent. I was sweating and I knew I needed to pee. I couldn't find the call button. I didn't want to wet the bed. I went to touch my penis and hold it closed when I discovered a tube leading from the tip. A catheter. I relaxed and let go. It was painful, but it was a relief.
The dreams were back again. The shiny boot. What the hell was that about? It didn't connect to anything. I knew who the lady in red was. That was Yolanda, and I wasn't imagining it when she kissed me or when she asked me to call her. Those weren't dreams. Those were memories. Very nice memories. Eventually, I drifted off again, conscious of more chest pain now. Broken ribs, I remembered.
The pretty young nurse had been replaced by an older, stouter woman when I awoke the next morning. Breakfast looked pretty unappetizing. I was hungry, but I didn't usually start my morning with Jell-O, something that might have been Cream of Wheat and tea. I complained to the nurse. She gave me a dirty look, admonishing me that this is what was called for, and it was all that I was going to get. So much for customer service.
According to the big clock on the wall it was ten o'clock when I got my first visitor.
"Good morning, Mr. Prentice. My name is Detective Sergeant Lofthouse. I was hoping you might be up to answering a few questions."
"I'll try. I don't know what I can tell you, though. I don't remember much that happened that night."
"I understand. Perhaps it would be better if I told you what we know."
I nodded carefully.
"As far as we can determine, you were attacked sometime near Friday midnight. You weren't discovered until the next morning when one of your neighbors found you lying beside your car, unconscious. He called 911 and they brought you here.
"Your wallet and keys were still in your possession and your car hadn't been touched, so robbery didn't seem to be the motive. That leaves other possibilities, of course. Can you think of anyone who would want to do this to you?"
"No ... no one. I didn't think I had any enemies."
"Okay. Where were you that night?"
I explained the dinner date, the dancing, and bringing Yolanda home before heading back to my apartment.
"Is Mrs. Michaels married?"
"No ... I mean ... she's a widow. Her husband was killed in Afghanistan."
