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you’re in the hospital.”
    I waited, letting my eyes get used to the light.   When I opened them again, the pain was still there but it was further away, muted by whatever painkillers I was on.  
    Ava was standing over the bed.   Sergeant Nash was behind her, smiling.   He reached forward and touched my leg.   “Good to have you back.”
Ava handed me a plastic cup of water.   I drank, and the pain in my throat cooled.   “What happened?”
    “Someone beat you up pretty bad,” she said.   “You were brought here in an ambulance.”
    “How long?”
    “Two days ago.   You’ve been in and out ever since.”
    “Jesus.”   I tried to sit up, and I felt my ribs shift inside my chest.   The pain was incredible, and I eased back against the mattress.   There were bandages wrapped around my chest and head.   I had a feeling they were the only thing keeping me in one piece.
    “Do you know who did this to you?” Ava asked.   “Did you get a look at them?”
    I looked over her shoulder at Nash.   He frowned and looked away.   I turned back to Ava.   “Yeah,” I said.   “I have a pretty good idea.”
    I told her what had happened.   When I was done she nodded slowly and pulled the blanket up.   “I’m going to find the nurse.”
    I watched her walk out.   For a while I just sat there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for Nash to start in on how stupid I was and how I was lucky to be alive.   Of course, I saw that for myself.  
    “She’s going to leave me,” I said.   “Do you know that?”
    “Wouldn’t be a bad move.”
    Right then, lying in that bed, I almost agreed with him.  
    Neither of us spoke for a while, then Nash came up next to the bed.   “I have some bad news.   I wanted to tell you personally.”
    “So tell me.”
    “Marcus was shot last night.   He’s dead.”
    I tried to sit up, and the pain made my eyes water.   “It was Stover,” I said.   “I told him I knew he tried to blow up the diner.   Now you can go after him.   You can—”
    “No.”   Nash put a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back.   “It wasn’t Stover.”
    I eased back in the bed.   “Who?”
    “It was his son, Phil.   We arrested him this morning.   Apparently, Marcus went by his apartment and there was a fight.”   He paused.   “Phil owed some money to some people, and instead of going after him, they thought they’d prove a point and go after his family.   Marcus knew it, and I guess it got to be too much to keep inside.   He confronted the kid about it, and Phil shot him.”
    When he finished, I didn’t speak for a long time.   When I did, I said, “Will you get me a mirror?”
    “You might want to wait a while, Jack.   I don’t think you want to see it yet.”
    I asked him again.   This time he gave in.   He found a handheld mirror by the nurse’s station and only hesitated for a moment before handing it to me.  
    When I pulled the bandages off, I didn’t recognize my reflection.   My nose was gigantic.   It spread across my face like an eggplant, and a slow dark fluid leaked from my nostrils, drying into a thick black clump over my upper lip.  
    “Oh, Christ,” I said.
    Nash had turned away when I peeled back the first bandage.   Now, he was staring out the window, and when he spoke, it was to the glass.   “The doctor said it would be better once it healed, but you’ll need plastic surgery to get it to look the way it used to.”
    “No,” I said.   “No surgery.”
    He turned toward me.   “Don’t make that decision yet.   See how it heals, see if you change your mind.”
    I knew he was trying to help, but I didn’t care.   I wasn’t getting plastic surgery.  
    I wanted to remember, every time I looked in a mirror, what carelessness and stupidity looked like.  
     
    ~
     
    After the second day in the hospital I declared myself cured.   The doctor didn’t agree.   He said since I lost consciousness I needed to stay under observation for