CHAPTER ONE

James Matson, noticed the girl standing by the roadside as he came out of the diner toward midnight. She seemed to be a little lost, so he wandered over. "You look lost, Miss," Matson said, he noticed her bag. "You wouldn't be heading my way?"

"Depends where you're heading," she replied.

"South, got some holiday time coming, so it's home to Texas."

"Is Springfield on your way?" she asked.

"Sure is, I'll drop you there," Matson said, thinking as he watched her that the price of her lift to Springfield would be to give him a good time. He led her to his truck, assisted her up into the cab and went round the front and got in the driver's side. "Pretty late now, but we should reach Springfield around about four in the AM."

Matson gazed at the top two buttons of her blouse which were open against the sultry air, he was thanking God that she hadn't noticed the direction of his gaze. "Thanks, my name's Mary Kate O'Hanlon," the girl said as Matson started the engine.

"Hello, Mary Kate. My name's James Matson?" Matson replied as he moved off heading south out of Chicago. They were half an hour outside of the city limits when, Matson made his move, he stuck his hand down the front of Mary Kate's blouse, she screamed and bit his arm.

Matson jerked his hand away and shoved her against the door; Mary Kate stared at the tattoo of a coiled two-headed serpent on Matson's forearm. "You didn't think I'd give you a ride without some kind of payment, did you?" Matson sneered, as he pushed her back. The action of pushing her down caused him to jerk the wheel of the tractor unit, which in turn caused the eighteen wheeler to veer sharply across the divider.

It was getting late, as Greg Hurst drove north on the Freeway that led into Chicago, he was returning home from a law convention in LA, he checked his watch. Midnight, he was surprised it was as late as that. The road ahead was clear the only sign of traffic was an eighteen wheeler coming from the opposite direction.

Greg's heart almost leapt into his mouth, as the giant truck suddenly crossed the divider and smashed into the side of his black Porsche, which was shoved onto the verge and into the culvert at the side of the road, the truck's front wheels landed on top of the car.

Matson cursed, he looked at Mary Kate who had hit her head on the metal part of the door and was now unconscious, he panicked, moved her so that she was in the driving seat grabbed his gear and ran.

It wasn't for another hour that a passing Illinois State Police patrol car spotted the wreck. The state trooper got out of his car and went to investigate, cursing vehemently when he saw the trapped Porsche, he slid down the culvert and wiped the mud of the Porsche's windscreen, cursing again when he saw Greg's blood covered face. He climbed up out of the culvert, calling for ambulance and fire service. Next he checked the driver of the truck, opening the door, he was surprised to see a young woman in the driver's seat.

Oh well! he supposed, I suppose it is the nineties, he checked her over, nothing serious, he climbed down again, he could hear the sirens now, within seconds the emergency teams where there, one of the paramedics started to check the girl.

"She's just unconscious, the other driver is trapped in the culvert, a black Porsche," the fire chief checked it out.

"Shit! Okay! We have got to move this truck, back it on out of here," one of the firemen climbed into the truck and started to back it slowly.

"Damn, that truck handles like a tank, I'm surprised she could drive it, you sure she was driving?"

"Hey! You saw them get her out of the driver's seat, my guess is driver fatigue," the fire chief nodded, it was a common enough problem. The truck had now been backed up onto the road and when he was told that the doors were jammed, he had the men get the cutting equipment.

Swiftly they ripped the roof off, and then stood back as the paramedics examined Greg. "Right, multiple fractures including ribs and arms, legs too, possible skull fracture, not good," the medic intoned.

"His legs are trapped," the medics backed off while the firemen cut him free. "Right, let's get him in a back brace and get him out of here," again working swiftly but not too swiftly they manoeuvred Greg onto a stretcher and up into the waiting ambulance before driving off in the direction of Mercy Hospital.

Mercy Hospital's Emergency Room already looked like World War Three had started. Doctor Michael Hurst looked up from the task of setting an infant's broken left leg as the phone in Theatre One rang. One of the nurses answered it and he went back to tending the toddler, the nurse came to stand at his side. "Priority case coming in. Truck smashed into a black Porsche. The Porsche landed in a culvert the front of the truck onto the Porsche.

"The driver of the Porsche has multiple fractures and a possible skull fracture, also some possible internal damage," the nurse reported.

"Damn! Sounds like he's lucky to be alive. Well," Michael stretched his aching back, "we're finished here and I hope they throw the book at this lad's father," Michael failed to understand the mentality of a man who would beat his own child, come to that any child.

Michael left the theatre and walked to the ER, arriving just as the medics wheeled Greg in. "Greg! My God!"

"You know him?" the police officer who had followed them to the hospital asked. "Yes, he's my brother, Greg Hurst," Michael strode off after the medics. "Fred," the orderly at the desk looked up, as Michael passed by. "Call my parents, tell them that Greg's been brought in, no details," Fred nodded and lifted the receiver, dialling quickly.

Michael had by now reached the treatment room; he stared down at Greg feeling awkward. Why did it have to be Greg? Michael probed along Greg's body gently. The back was definitely broken, but how badly was another matter. Doctor Fredricks, the senior orthopaedic surgeon entered quietly, he watched Michael's face, the strain was evident.

"Michael, I know as his brother, you want to treat Greg, but you're too close, I'll see to him. Your parents will be here soon, maybe it's best that someone who knows the procedures be with them," it looked at first as if Michael would stay, but common sense and training told him the truth of his boss' words, he sighed and backed off. Michael looked around at the sympathetic words and smiles from his colleagues and left the room, just as their parents arrived.

"Michael, I thought you'd be with Gregory," his father stated flatly. John Hurst a well-known psychiatrist, with celebrity patients he saw only by appointment, looked older than his fifty-five years, his mother Rose, standing ashen-faced at his side.

"I'm too close. Doctor Fredricks will treat him, he's good, Dad, the best," Michael tried to imbue a tone of optimism in his voice.

"How bad is it?" Rose asked in a querulous voice. Michael took them to a private waiting room, he waited until they had sat down. He asked a nurse to bring some tea and when that was brought in he answered his mother's question. "Did Fred tell you ..."

"All he said was that Gregory had been in an accident."

"From the cursory examination, I gave Greg, I think his back is broken, how badly remains to be seen. There are other fractures and possibly some internal damage, most likely the spleen and kidneys, we just don't know. They'll probably do a CT scan. Doctor Fredricks will let us know soon enough," five hours later Doctor Fredricks entered the room, knowing them all so personally, he didn't want to have to be the bearer of bad news.

"John, Greg's going to be fine. However, we've had to do a splenectomy, but he can live without that, his kidneys are bruised, but they'll recover. What might not recover is his spinal cord. I'm sorry, but Greg may never walk again, the cord could be just too badly damaged. We'll have to do more tests to be certain."

It wasn't for another three hours that Greg woke in the intensive care unit, he blinked, then tried to say something in a throaty whisper. He wondered why he was in hospital, and who were those people standing by the bed? "Greg?" the question came from the younger of the three men, the woman looked pale, almost as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Whose Greg?" he asked confused, he was getting more confused by the minute. What had happened to him? Why was he here? He didn't even know any Greg, did he?

"Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?" Michael stared at Greg puzzled, he had thought there might be some memory loss, but nothing so complete.

"You were in an accident your car was hit by a truck and as for who Greg is, you and he are one and the same. You're Greg."

"I'm Greg?" Michael nodded.

"Yes, but don't worry, your memory could come back at any time."

"What if it doesn't?" Michael waved the doubt away.

"We'll worry about that later, for now you need the rest," Michael went on to introduce Doctor Fredricks, then he introduced himself and their parents explaining carefully their relationship.

"You're my brother and they're my parents?" Michael nodded. "I'm confused. You're a doctor, I'm a lawyer and Dad," Greg said for the first time acknowledging his father's presence with a look, "is a psychiatrist. What about Mother?"

"Mother's never really been interested in working, although she does do a lot of charity work."

"What about my injuries, will I recover?"

"Of course, don't I always do the best work," Doctor Fredricks said. He went on to explain about the injuries, watching Greg's face carefully as he informed him that there was a possibility that he could be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, a tear trickled out of Greg's eyes.

"I think I'd rather be able to walk, Sir," Greg said in a solemn tone, he certainly didn't relish the thought of living a dependant life, dependant on a wheelchair or on others to help him get around. "I'd like to be alone please?"

His mother seemed reluctant to go, but eventually he was left to his thoughts. "Counselling," John Hurst said after they'd left the room, "he'll need counselling. Like you Michael, I'm too close, I've heard Doctor Raymond is good?"

"He is," Doctor Fredricks said, "and he's almost the same age as Greg, they probably share the same interests."

"What driving a Porsche at ninety miles an hour. He's also stubborn and obstinate."

"That's probably what kept him alive, Dad," Michael said, John nodded, and said they'd come back the next day.

For what seemed the thousandth time a nurse woke Greg up from a peaceful sleep, he glared at her. "Quit waking me up, will you?"

"I can't do that, I'm specialling you. We have to wake you up regularly in case you ..."

"In case I what, in case I die, in case my memory comes back and I can remember all the active things I did? I don't want to remember, if I remember then, I have to acknowledge that I'll never be able to do them again. I'll never be able to have a normal family life as it is, will I?" Greg snarled, snapping at her like a wild animal biting at the hands of those trying to help.

Family, Greg thought bitterly, I once thought I would have enough time to marry and have children, but that won't happen now. "Nurse?"

"Yes, Mister Hurst?"

"The one thing my brother forgot to mention, my age. How old am I?"

"Thirty-four. You're thirty-four years old."

"Thanks, now I intend to go to sleep and this time don't bother me for at least five hours."

"Can't do that, hospital policy."

"Sod hospital policy," Greg snapped at her. Needless to say she woke him up an hour later; he growled at her and closed his eyes again. When Greg woke next it was morning and breakfast was being served, the same nurse stood near him with a tray on which stood a bottle with a built in straw, Greg glared at her and scowled at the bottle.

."Don't even think about it," the nurse said, "you can't eat solids when you're lying down, you'd choke and as yet you certainly can't sit up."

"You don't have to rub it in," Greg snarled, "what is it?"

"Just essential vitamins."

"It looks tasteless, colourless and odourless, but I suppose it's better than nothing," Greg resigned let her feed him, when he'd drunk it down, she lifted it up and wiped away any dribbles which had escaped. "H'mm perhaps I was wrong about tasteless, it tasted like dog puke."

"And you'd know about that would you?"

"No, but I think I just found out."

"Found out what?" Michael said as he approached.

"Mr. Hurst didn't like the breakfast, said it tasted like ..."

"Don't tell me, dog puke," the nurse nodded. "What is its flavour?"

"Catering said it was pork."

"That explains it, Greg never did like pork. Maybe your memory loss isn't so complete at least you still know your likes and dislikes." Suddenly Greg's eyes widened. "What is it, Greg, what else do you remember?"

"Everything. Oh God! I remember the truck. What did the fool think he was doing?"

"The police think it was driver fatigue."

"That explains a lot, Mike. Tell mother and father that I want to see them."

"Okay! Doctor Raymond will be come to see you later."

"Who is Doctor Raymond?"

"Doctor Raymond is a counsellor."

"A shrink you mean."

"If you want to put it that way, but like it or not you need to talk about what happened."

"Okay! I hear you, but I don't want to talk about it, not yet."

"Fine, don't talk, listen. Remember he's here to help you."

"How the hell is he going to do that, can he help me walk again?"

"Greg, one thing I ask of you, quit grousing at least you're alive and we haven't completed the tests. You could still walk again."

"No, I'll never walk again, I've accepted that, but I can't accept living like that," Michael sighed, frustrated he left saying he had to get on with his rounds.