MemoRandom: A Thriller by Anders de La Motte Read Free Book Online

clearer now, but instead everything seemed to be going the wrong way. He was feeling sick, and his headache was getting worse too. And he was starting to feel frightened.
    A stroke—a brain hemorrhage.
    “Like I said, it was almost two weeks ago,” Dr. Vestman said, but stopped when Sarac tried to say something. Then she went on when he didn’t actually speak.
    “When you came in you were in a very bad way, David. We kept you sedated for over a week to stabilize your condition. To start with we concentrated on the most acute problems, releasing the blood and easing the pressure inside your head. Then we dealt with your other injuries. You’ve broken your left collarbone and ruptured your spleen. Several of your ribs are cracked and you’ve got severe bruising. But, considering how bad the impact was, you’ve actually been extremely fortunate.”
    She paused and looked down at her notebook, as if to give Sarac a few seconds to digest the information.
    “On Monday we performed another operation on your head,” she went on. “We removed the remaining blood clots. You and I had our first conversation the day before yesterday.” She smiled at him, a gentle, sympathetic smile that she probably learned when she was training and had been refining ever since.
    What the hell was she talking about? Awake, for three fucking days! He shook his head, harder this time, as if to shake that irritating smile out of it. His anger came out of nowhere.
    “No way,” he snarled, and tried to sit up again. A fierce, burning pain made him put his hand to his head instinctively. His pulse was pounding in his temples. His right hand slid about, unwilling to do what he wanted it to. A double layer of gauze bandage, tightly wrapped around his skull. His hair! They’d shaved off all his hair. He must look terrible.
    “The swelling in your brain is slowly subsiding, David,” the doctor said. “But it’s likely to affect your short-term memory for a while. That’s why you don’t remember the last few days. It’s not unusual, and in all likelihood it will improve.” Dr. Vestman fell silent and opened her notebook again, as if to let him take in what she’d just said.
    He had questions, so many questions. An infinite number ofquestions. Like, for instance . . . Fuck, fuck, fuck! He had to try to calm down and get a grip on his brain before his headache succeeded in crushing it against his skull.
    “I was thinking of asking a few questions, mostly to see where we are in the healing process. Don’t worry if you can’t answer some of them at the moment,” the doctor went on.
    Sarac still couldn’t manage to say anything. He nodded instead, as he tried to slow his pulse down. It seemed to be working, at least partially.
    “Do you know what month it is, David?
    “How about what time of year?” the doctor added when he didn’t answer.
    He was trying but couldn’t find the words. Instead he tried to conjure up images in his head. A calendar, the date on a newspaper, the screen on his cell phone. Snow, he suddenly remembered. Heavy, wet flakes covering the tarmac, settling like a blanket on the car windshield. Headlights reflecting off the snow. Blinding him, sticking into his head like knives.
    “W-winter,” he said.
    “Well done, David, that’s right.”
    Sarac leaned his head back on the pillow. He felt suddenly relieved. At least he wasn’t completely gone. If he could just calm down a bit, if only this bastard headache could let up a bit, everything would become clear.
    “Do you know what year it is, David?”
    “Of course,” he said. “Two thousand eleven.”
    Doctor Vestman said nothing, just made a small note. But something in her body language had changed.
    “No, no, sorry! Two thousand twelve. Obviously, I meant 2012,” he quickly corrected himself.
    She looked up. Smiled again, the same irritating, sympathetic smile as before.
    “It’s December 2013, David.”
    “W-what?”
    “It’s Thursday, December