Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 13- Momma Peaches

"Maybelline, can you wake up for me?"a man's voice floats somewhere above me.

I wish that he would go away. This sleep is feeling too good. In fact, I wouldn't mind lying here forever. "Maybelline?" he persists—to the point that I don't think that he's ever going away.

"Maybelline?"

"Whaaaat?" My small grunt irritates my dry throat and I erupt into a coughing frenzy—which makes it worse.

"That's it. That's it. Here. Drink some water." Someone helps tip my head up and I lean and take a sip from the cup. Sweet Jesus, it's the best water that I've ever tasted.

The spasm disappears and I collapse back against a hard bed and a flat pillow. "Feel better?" the voice asks.

I nod and start to drift back to sleep. "Maybelline, do you think that you can wake up and answer a few questions for me?" the voice asks Now?

"C'mon, Maybelline. I need you to wake up," he insists. "C'mon." Since he's working my last nerve, I go ahead and fight to open my eyes, but they fuckin' weigh a goddamn ton.

"Thata girl." A blurry face is now attached to the voice. It's an old white man with cotton-white hair and beard.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," I croak and then remember my vow to turn over a new leaf.

"I don't feel well," I amend. "I'm afraid that you're going to be feeling like that for a while," he says, flashing a small light into each of my eyes.

"I'm Dr. Berg and I'm going to be your primary doctor during your stay here at the hospital. Do you remember how you came to be here?" I hesitate.

I haven't had time to come up with a story or at the bare minimum sync my shit up with that crazy, baby-stealing bitch, Dribbles. Should I play dumb and say Alice was plum crazy and I don't know why the fuck she did what she did, or confess the truth and let the chips fall where they may? I should send that white bitch to jail. What would Jesus do? That's a dangerous question because I don't like the answer.

The truth would draw waaaay too many secrets out of the closet and have them play out on the evening news—and what's the point in that? Alice is dead. Snake is dead. Mason is dead.

"It's okay if you can't answer right now," Dr. Berg reassures me. "Judging by the trauma you've sustained, it's not unusual to suffer some memory loss." A lie of omission—I can roll with that for now.

"Rest. I'm gonna do all I can to take real good care of you." He opens a folder. "If you're feeling sore, it's because we had to pump an awful lot of nasty toxins out of your system. Somebody upstairs must be looking out for you. It's a miracle you're still with us."

I smile. You have no idea. "But . . . you have sustained some kidney damage, though I don't think you'll need dialysis. We can probably fix it with medication. You also have two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. "The good news is that you'll survive. We're going to work hard to get you through this," he reassures.

"Now is there anything else that I can do for you? Are you comfortable?" Didn't I tell him that I felt like shit? "All right. Save your energy." He presses a hand against my good shoulder.

"I'll be back to check on you later." He steps away from the bed only to be replaced by a female cop.

She's not in a uniform, but I know a cop when I see one. My mood goes from bad to worse. The chick stares at me, to the point that I think that she's waiting for my ass to say something first. "Uh, hello," I say.