“Steve?” I heard an indistinct female voice say.I groaned softly from the pounding headache; only a croak came out when I tried to speak. I felt hands remove the oxygen mask and then a straw against my lips. I sucked gently and choked on the water, then tried again and swallowed.“Steve?” a male voice I now recognized as Al Barton’s said.“Al?” I responded weakly.“Just relax.”“My head hurts,” I whispered, wishing the gnome with the hammer would stop pounding on the inside of my skull.“You had a syncopal episode and hit your head, twice. You have a concussion, a fractured wrist, and a severe laceration over your right eye that required thirteen stitches.”“Jess?” I asked.“In better shape than you are right now,” Al said. “When you fell, you hit your head on the table, then the floor, and landed on your left wrist.”“Passenger?” I whispered.“What?” Kara asked.“Passenger in the car,” I said. “With Jess. Dead.”“What?” she gasped.“Steve, relax,” Al said. “Nobody said anything about a. In the poor light coming out of the two curtained windows, I saw that the house was old. The flowerbeds near the front porch looked overgrown. I had a hard time climbing the three steps and getting to the front door. I knocked and waited. Nothing! I knocked harder. The sound of muffled steps came from within. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. The door opened. A few seconds later my eyes adjusted to the bright light and I saw him clearly. The man was tall and slender, early-thirties, dark-haired. He looked at me from head to toe. I stirred self-consciously."It seems that you need help," he said."Yes," I answered.He stepped back and asked me in."What happened?" he questioned as I hobbled in.I lied back in the armchair he offered me and started to recount my misadventures, starting from the moment when the tire exploded. He listened attentively, his eye fixed on mine. I finished my story and looked sadly at my injured limb."Let me see your ankle!" The man said and fetched a stool."I.
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