Hotel California
"But you saved my life!" Lula, the plus size woman in a too tight suit, bursts into tears.
"Yeah, you work for me." Vinnie, her weasel of a cousin, gives a casual shrug.
"And you blow up things!" Mary Lou, her best friend, says with twinkling eyes.
Joe Morelli keeps sending small gifts—cupcakes, éclairs, Tastykakes, Pino's meatball sub, Boston cream doughnuts—and flowers.
Stephanie wants to bang her head against a wall. She can't remember anything. She wishes Morelli can just go away. She's pretty sure she's read plenty of amnesia stories: romantic ones, silly ones, horrible ones, boring ones; but this true story of her life is so damn frustrating that it makes her want to yell. Bounty hunter? Walking disaster? Gun owner? Big Blue and the fleet of blown-up cars? And where the Hell did the burn scar on her arm come from? In a couple days she'll be released from the hospital. Every organ inside her body is alive and kicking, except for her brain. Her pathetically permanently damaged brain. The doctors doubt her lost memories will ever come back. All they told her was pieces and bits. What's hidden behind their friendly smiles? What's trying to escape from their uneasy eyes? Why is her mother's face so pale? Where is her father? Why are they stalling? When are they going to let the truth out?
She twists and turns in her bed. She knows she's going to have another restless night. Something terrible has happened. She had something to do with that. Can she handle the truth? Can she forgive herself? Can she restart her life? And why is she still waiting for that someone else? She opens her eyes and stares at the cheap plastic chair. It's the middle of the night. The hospital is very quiet. She lies in the bed, waiting. Her vision blurs and she falls asleep. She wakes up hours later at the usual noises. She yawns. Her heart sinks a little. The room feels lonely and empty.
No one came last night.