Read Left for Dead for Free Online

nurses—along with a lavender silk robe that a patient had left behind. Jane Doe didn’t dare ask if the robe’s former owner had departed from the hospital on her own or in a box. She didn’t want to know.
    “My stomach feels funny, butterflies,” she said, checking Sherita’s work in a hand-mirror. Sherita had laid the rouge on a bit heavily, but she didn’t look too bad. “Is this what it feels like, going on a date?”
    “Huh, I can’t remember that far back, honey,” Sherita replied. “Just keep in mind, he might not be your husband. I saw the photos he brought in, and they’re a little out of focus. In one, you’re standing at a distance, and in the other, you’re squinting in the sun. And the birthmark he said was on your elbow, it’s much farther down on your arm.”
    Jane Doe shook her head. “Please, don’t. I need for this to be my husband. I saw the photos too. They look like me, they do. I—I almost remember them being taken.”
    Sherita smiled tightly. “I know you want this to be the Real McCoy, but I don’t want to see you get your hopes shot down, honey. There are a lot of people—reporters and curiosity-freaks—who would say or do just about anything to get a look at you. This Lon Phelps could be one of them.”
    At three-fifteen, a couple of doctors came into her room. Apparently, they wanted to observe how Tammy Phelps reacted when seeing her husband again.
    “I hope he’s your dream man, honey,” Sherita whispered. Then she stepped over toward the window—out of the doctors’ way. She glanced toward the door.
    Two police detectives, sporting suitcoats and ties, ushered in a man. He had glasses, a goatee, and slick, long brown hair. He saw her and broke into a grin. He was skinny, and dressed in jeans, an old, soiled sportshirt and a jean jacket. “Tammy? Baby?” he whispered.
    Wide-eyed, she stared back at him.
    “Don’t you know me, sweetheart?”
    She didn’t know him at all. She didn’t feel any kind of connection to this man. She glanced at Sherita for help.
    “Tammy, it’s me, Lon,” he said, the smile running away from his face. “What’s going on? You gotta remember me, baby. I’m your husband. I’ve been real worried about you, doll.”
    Gazing at him, she felt herself shrinking back. She slowly shook her head. He wasn’t the man of her dreams. As much as she tried, she couldn’t conceal her disappointment. She felt stupid, having spent the last two hours trying to look pretty for this stranger who didn’t even bother putting on a clean shirt for her.
    “C’mon, baby. How about a kiss?” He took a step toward her.
    “No, get away,” she said steadily. Jane Doe shook her head. “You’re not my husband. I might not remember much, but I’m sure you’re not my husband. I’ve never even met you.”
    Lon Phelps glared at her. “Hey, now cut the bullshit—”
    One of the cops took hold of his arm.
    “You’re not Charlie,” she whispered.
    “Listen, bitch,” Lon Phelps growled. “You can’t do this—”
    The detective pulled at his arm. “All right, Mr. Phelps,” he said. “That’s enough—”
    “You left me once, and you’re not doing it again!” he hissed. “Dwight is my kid too. Where is he? Goddamn it, Tammy, I want to see my son!”
    Breaking free, he pushed aside one of the doctors and charged toward her. Recoiling, Jane Doe screamed.
    The detectives swept down on Lon Phelps again, then tore him away from her bedside. “Get him out of here!” one of the doctors yelled.
    Lon Phelps lunged toward the bed once more, but the two detectives restrained him. Jane Doe clutched the bedsheets to her throat, and turned her head away. He kept calling her a whore and a bitch. As they dragged Lon Phelps toward the doorway, he kicked the night table and sent a water pitcher crashing to the tiled floor. Both doctors were doused.
    Eyes closed, Jane Doe curled up and pressed her face to the pillow. She could still hear Lon Phelps lashing out