Date: Sunday, April 1st, 2018

Time: 7:19 pm

Location: Diego's Hospital Room, Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital

I feel like absolute shit. My body aches all over and I can barely move. Not my legs, my arms, my fingers, nothing. I'm that weak and it's like my limbs are completely heavy and weighed down. I'm drowsy as hell too and my head is pounding. The worst part of all are my eyes though. I keep opening and closing them, but I still can't see anything at all.

I heard a voice. "He wakes!" she said excitedly. The voice sounded younger. Like she was in her late teens or early 20s or something.

"Where am I?" I asked sleepily.

"The hospital, of course," she replied cheerily.

"Right. That makes sense. I just can't see anything right now."

"Oh." She paused. "Are you blind?" she asked.

I inhaled. Am I blind now? Not that I had much time to think about it, but I assumed that my lack of vision was temporary. "You tell me. Aren't you my...doctor? My nurse? Uh, a student nurse, maybe?"

"Sorry, no. I'm just a hospital volunteer," she said contritely. "You've been drifting in and out all day and they wanted someone to be here with you when you woke up. I normally help out in the front lobby, but I've been sitting here reading most of the day."

"Good book at least?"

"It's alright," she said indecisively. "I kept getting distracted. There were so many times I thought you were awake for good, but then you went back to sleep."

I heard her get up and rustle with some things. "I'll get them to call your doctor," she said. "She's off today but asked us to call her when you woke up."

"Okay," I agreed.

"Will you be okay for a few minutes?"

I laughed. "Don't think I can get into much trouble like this."

She laughed back. "That's true. The nurses will come by soon, I think." She started to walk out.

"Wait!" I exclaimed. Her footsteps stopped. "Before you go, what day is it?"

"Sunday," she replied.

I laughed again. "Sorry, I meant, what day and month."

"Oh," she said, elongating the word. "It's April 1st." I didn't say anything in response. I've been asleep for seven months? "Are you okay?" she asked.

I swallowed. Obviously not, but I'm not going to unload my frustration on some volunteer kid. "Yeah, I'm just surprised." I paused again. "Thanks." She walked out.

Two nurses came by a few minutes later to check on me. They told me that my doctor would be at the hospital in about a half hour or so. She was going to bring some specialists with her. They told me how thrilled they were to see that I was awake. Everyone at the hospital has been waiting for me to wake up.

It seemed crazy for everyone at the hospital to care, but I guess seven months is a long time. I told them that I couldn't believe it was April 1st and they seemed surprised that I knew today's date. I asked the volunteer, and she told me, I clarified. They replied with a knowing "ah" in unison.

I explained to them how weak I felt and about my pain, and they told me that the doctor would advise me on my care plan, but I would likely need some physical and occupational therapy for the weakness. They offered me morphine for the pain, but I declined. I was thinking ibuprofen or something a little less extreme. When I asked about my blindness, they got evasive, again saying that the doctor would know more.

I wasn't able to check, but my doctor seemed to arrive right on time, based on my internal clock. She had what sounded like a 12-person contingent of people with her and they were all chattering as they walked into my room. She instructed them to quiet down.

"Hi Diego!" she exclaimed too loudly. I'm blind, not deaf. "I'm Dr. Clark, but you can call me Ellie. I've been your attending physician since you've been at Shinjuku Heights."

"Nice to meet you," I said politely. "Well, while awake," I added. "Who's your entourage?"

"Yes, I have a whole team of specialists and interns with me. We've all been so eager to finally get to talk to you. After all this time... it's an Easter miracle!"

"Easter?" I asked. "I thought it was April Fool's Day."

"It's both this year. First time since 1956. Crazy, huh?" she asked rhetorically.

I laughed. Mamá will probably call this a sign, but I'm a little more grounded than she is. "A miracle, huh? I think that's what we call a wash."

She laughed graciously. "Day aside, your recovery is miraculous. We all agree." A few of the others made remarks of agreement. "None of us have seen a case like yours before. Most people in your condition would never wake up or would be completely vegetative and living in a long-term care facility."

"I don't know, doc," I replied skeptically. "I can't say I'm feeling too miraculous right now. I can barely move and I'm completely blind."

"Trust me," she assured. "You're a medical marvel. I can't believe how lucid you are too. Your brain is so sharp for someone who's been asleep for 4.5 years."

I could feel my face paling and my heart sank. 4.5 years? "What year is it?" I asked.

She paused. "Oh. I'm so sorry," she said apologetically. "The nurses told me you knew. They said you seemed to take the news really well. It's April 1st, 2018. You've been asleep since August 27th, 2013."

I was speechless but hearing the 2013 date started to jog some more memories: Dahlia knelt beside me, digging through my pockets. The man on the courthouse steps calling an ambulance. My poisoning put me in a coma for almost five years.

I tried to think of what to say. All I could think about was how I went to sleep at 28 and now I was almost 33. Five years of my life gone. I felt panicky. Like I was going to hyperventilate. There was a whole team of people here though.

"What made me wake up after all this time?" I asked, trying not to think about the lost years.

"We're not entirely sure. A medical resident was having a coffee break in your room this morning." She scoffed. "I'm not entirely sure why he was in there. Anyway, he said he heard you groan, and you woke up completely 14 hours later."

The coffee. No wonder I love it so much. It's obviously life-sustaining. I smiled. "I'll have to thank him for his misconduct. 'Wake up and smell the coffee', as they say."

"You can't. He said he'd like to remain anonymous."

"Huh," I reacted with surprise. "Seems like a swell guy."

"Yeah, he's... okay," she said diplomatically. That doesn't sound good. There's obviously more to the story there, but probably better if I don't know.

Ellie started naming all the people in the room with her: a neurologist, an ophthalmologist, an orthopedic surgeon, a urologist, a psychologist, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, a pharmacist, a dietitian, and several medical interns and residents. They all said hello and introduced themselves.

She started going over my treatment plan: physical therapy, occupational therapy, potential surgeries, an EMG, scans, drug regimens, nutritional interventions, psychological therapy, and experimental eyewear, but this whole situation was too overwhelming. I appreciated their dedication, but I just lost five years of my life. I needed some time to process.

As she regaled more and more details of the treatment plan, I finally cut her off. "That all sounds great doc, but I think I need a day or two to wrap my head around everything. I'd just like to see my mom and my girlfriend first, if that's okay?"

Everyone was completely silent. So much so that I probably could have literally heard a pin drop. Ellie shooed everyone out of the room, and I heard the door close.

"I'm such an idiot," she said remorsefully. "We were all just so excited. We didn't think enough about how you would feel." She paused for a long time and then exhaled. "Your mother, Maria, we all loved working with her," she said, her voice faltering. "She died. A little over three years ago."

"What?" I exclaimed. I had stopped myself from reacting too much earlier, but I couldn't hold it in anymore. I started gasping for air. I couldn't breathe. "What happened?" I asked between gasps.

"She had pancreatic cancer." She swallowed and it sounded like she was trying not to cry. "I'm so sorry. It's just horrible, horrible luck. It's one of the worst kinds to get. Most people don't know until it's too late. She probably had it for years."

The tears started falling and I couldn't stop them. She had it before I went to sleep? Were there any signs? Could we have stopped this? I tried to think, but I couldn't focus. I didn't know what the signs were, even if I could think straight.

I needed some good news. Just anything. I wasn't hopeful though. She probably would have started with that if there was anything good to share. I took several deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to speak. "And Mia?" I asked.

She hesitated again and I became more rattled. There was no good news. Mia probably moved on long ago. I guess that makes sense; it had been five years, but it hurt me. I would have waited for her. I just knew it. There was no one else for me but her.

The reality was a million times worse than I thought though. Ellie took another deep breath. "I'm so, so sorry, Diego. She died too. A year and a half ago."

"Cancer too?" I said, barely getting the words out. "A car accident?"

"No." I could hear her sniffling. "She was murdered."

It was all too much to take. I wanted to throw something or hit something or bang my head against a wall until I couldn't think anymore, but I could barely even move. All I could do was hyperventilate and cry.

"You. Need. To. Leave," I gasped out.

"Of course. I'll give you some time. Just ring the bell if-"

I cut her off. "Please. Leave," I said, wheezing.

She didn't say anything else and walked out. When I heard the door close, I started wailing like a dying animal. Like a soldier who had been fatally injured in combat. Crying 20 years of tears all at once.

Date: Wednesday, April 25th, 2018

Time: 3:15 pm

Location: Diego's Hospital Room, Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital

Not much happened that first week in the hospital. The medical team wanted to get me started on my treatment plan right away, but I couldn't handle it. I mostly alternated between bawling my eyes out, completely prostrated, or completely catatonic, not talking or moving the few muscles I could move.

While I declined the morphine when I first woke up, I took as much as they would give me from then on. After almost five years of sleeping, all I wanted to do was sleep so I wouldn't have to think about them. It just hurt too much to think. Multitudes more than the physical pain I was dealing with.

Ellie tried to comfort me, but it didn't work. She assured me that there was nothing I could have done for Mamá with her cancer. Absolutely, no way I could have known. It seemed impossible for that to be true.

I asked her to go over the early symptoms with me, and she begrudgingly obliged. When she mentioned lowered appetite, I felt certain that this was one symptom I had overlooked. Mamá was never a big eater, but she seemed to eat even less before she died. I should have known.

When I asked Ellie what happened to Mia, she explained how Mia was hit on the head with a statue. She died almost instantly. I asked her how this happened, and she said that she didn't know. Mia was killed by this Redd White guy. He was some minor celebrity, I guess. This big business owner who used to appear in these tacky commercials. Ellie guessed that she had angered him in some way; it wasn't random, but the full details were never revealed to the public.

I told her how guilty I felt for not being awake to help Mia. I didn't know what this guy looked like, but I'm strong, or I used to be. I felt certain I could have taken him. Even if he was bigger than I thought, I would have been around to help. She wouldn't have had to face him alone.

Ellie told me that I couldn't know that for sure. No one could know what would have happened if I was there. She told me that Mia wouldn't have thought about it that way anyway. She came to visit me the morning she died; she obviously wasn't upset with me, she argued.

I was happy to hear that she visited me right to the end, but this made the guilt worse somehow. It must have crossed her mind before she died how different things would have been if I had been there to help. If she had forgotten about me completely, she wouldn't have thought about it.

Ellie kept trying to get me to focus on something else, namely getting better. I had a lot of issues and, the sooner we addressed them, the sooner we could figure out my prognosis. She told me that my case was such an anomaly that, even though they had a plan in place, they didn't know how effective it would be.

The team's primary concerns were my eyes, the rest of my nervous system, and my muscles. I was blinded by the poison. After reviewing the substances I consumed, the only one that would have caused blindness was methanol. Ellie said that, if I had ever heard of people going blind from moonshine, methanol was why. They had given me an antidote for it, but one of the other substances in the poison must have counteracted it.

The poison had damaged the rest of my nervous system too, but they couldn't determine the extent of the damage without further testing. They did assure me that I wasn't paralyzed completely, but I would likely have long-lasting pain, tingling, and numbness. Frequent headaches and migraines too.

My muscles had atrophied due to the immobility. I guess muscles are a use it or lose it kind of tissue and not moving for five years meant that I had lost a lot of my lean body mass. There was a scale in my hospital bed, and they told me that I weighed 165 lbs now, about 25 lbs less than I was before I went to sleep. They said that being active again and eating would help; I was still on a feeding tube and couldn't even feed myself, but progress would be slow.

There were so many other weird complications when you undergo what I've been through. Ellie informed me that I was lucky not to have bed sores after laying for so long. Yippee. I mean, yeah, I'd rather not have them, but it seemed like a small victory in light of everything else I'm experiencing.

I did have what she called "urethral erosion" from my catheter, a common side effect, she stated. I made the mistake of asking what this meant. She said that the best way I could think of it was to imagine a flagpole staked into a field on a very windy day. I begged her not to continue her analogy any further; I got the picture. Fuck me.

When I finally got out of my stupor a week later, my first goals were to feed myself and to walk to the bathroom by myself. It felt insane that just obtaining that level of dignity again was my goal, but it was unbelievably embarrassing to not have those things under control. At least I couldn't see myself like this.

I was still weak, and my coordination was still awful, but I was able to get these tasks handled in about a week's time. The hospital food wasn't all that enticing, and I had achieved the bathroom accomplishments of a toddler, but I considered this a triumph, nonetheless.

About a week and a half into my stay, I got some of my sight back, and that did feel like a God damn miracle. A biomedical engineering professor at Ivy University had invented these crazy-looking goggles for the blind and they just passed clinical trials last year. My insurance provider didn't want to pay for them, but the professor had heard about my case and wanted to give me a pair for free when I woke up.

I don't mean to look a gift horse in the mouth but, when I put them on, I felt like a total freak. I debated if it would be better to just be blind instead. I wasn't seriously considering not using them, but I wish I didn't look like a Blade Runner character now. Right in time for 2019, I guess.

I asked Ellie why they looked so dumb, and she told me that the inventor was a total eccentric and thought the design looked cool. He could have made them look more practical but didn't.

My ability to physically see things had been restored, but I could only see two colors: red and black. The goggles appeared to glow neon red too, although I couldn't be sure that it wasn't actually some other color.

I asked Ellie about this too and she explained that the other colors hadn't passed clinical trials yet. They had concerns about the use of shorter wavelength colors like purple and blue. They thought maybe they would cause eye cancer when installed directly into a user's optic nerve. Even though they wouldn't utilize ultraviolet light, the kind you get from the sun, the same thought process had guided the design of these goggles. In theory, red was the safest color.

The stupid design and minimal color range aside, I was grateful to have my sight back. These goggles hurt my head, digging into the side of my face and giving me headaches after a couple of hours of wear, but it was better than the alternative.

Today, I had another visitor in to see me. Not a specialist, but a familiar face, for once. Grossberg: the man about town, the big cheese himself. I didn't think he cared that much.

"Gross-, er, sir," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking in, my boy," Grossberg said matter-of-factly.

My boy? I look like the Cryptkeeper right now. We're past that. "Really? I'm just surprised."

"Well, and there are some legal matters of yours I had to attend to."

There it is. We didn't have a bad boss-employee relationship, but we were never exactly close. The only employees Grossberg really seemed to like were Hammond, because he was up Grossberg's ass 24/7, and Mia, because, well, of course.

"Does that box have something to do with it?" I asked, gesturing to the 12 x 12 cardboard box in his hands.

"Yes, this is from Mia. I was the executor of her estate," he said, his voice faltering. He cleared his throat. "The items inside were in her safety deposit box. She wanted you to have them."

He handed me the box and I opened it. I caught a glimpse of a couple of items: the framed photo I used to keep on my desk and the yellow bear from the carnival. Frantically, I closed the box shut. I inhaled deeply a few times, trying not to cry again.

"Thank you," I said brokenly. I cleared my throat too. "I'll look at everything later."

He nodded and then pulled out a set of keys from his pocket. "I have this for you too." He handed them to me.

"What are these?" I asked.

"Keys to a storage locker. Mia was the executor of your mother's estate, but then she died, so now I am," he explained. "Your mother paid to keep some of your belongings in storage while you were asleep. Your car too. I believe the car keys are in the box though."

"Right," I said, nodding. What a waste. Spending all her hard-earned savings so my stuff can sit idly in a locker and my car in a garage. "Where are they located?"

"Uh, I'll get them to call you," he said sheepishly. "I forgot the addresses. Meant to put them down on a piece of paper and slip that into the box too."

"Did you go through the box?" I pressed him.

"Well...yes. I had to. The box has been at my house. I had to transfer everything out of her safe deposit box when she died."

"So, you just transferred everything into that box? You didn't really look at everything?"

He paused. "Yes," he lied.

I shook my head. Whatever. Can't do anything about it now. I changed the subject. "Were you in touch with Mia at all before she died?" I asked. "You must have been, as her executor."

"Not as much as I should have," he said remorsefully. "I had no idea that she had a will and listed me on it."

"Do you know what happened? The staff told me about this Redd White guy, but I don't know all the details. I don't have internet access."

"I know too much; I'm afraid." He sighed. "I feel guilty over what happened to her. I told her about him. How he smeared her mother's reputation."

I rubbed my face, processing. "How did you know about that?"

"I was a victim of his. He ran a consulting company, but he actually just bribed and blackmailed powerful people."

"How did he blackmail you?" I asked skeptically.

He swallowed. "I was the one who told him about Misty... for a bribe. Then he blackmailed me after."

"What?" I exclaimed. "What is wrong with you? Was it worth it?" I asked venomously.

"No. It wasn't," he acquiesced. "You remember Bluecorp and all their quality improvement work?"

That was the company? They were completely useless; it's no wonder. "He made you use them."

"Yes. Every year since 2002 or he would have revealed the truth."

"Why didn't you just tell Mia? Then he'd have nothing on you."

"I did tell her, eventually. The day she quit the firm. I tried to make it up to her," he assured me. "I gave her money to start her firm. The cost of the bribe and then interest."

I nodded, thinking. She got to live her dream for a little while, at least. "Why did he kill her?"

"I can't say for sure, but I think she knew too much. She must have been investigating him. His company went under after he was sent to prison. His accountant came forward with some financial records and said he had worked with Mia on a list of victims before she died."

"So, everyone's secrets got revealed anyway?"

"No. No one came forward to confirm anything. There was no reason to after Redd White got locked away. He couldn't hurt us anymore. His accountant went to prison for fraud though. He'll be out in a year or so."

"Why didn't you come forward?" I asked angrily. "All her work was in vain."

"Well, I was close to retirement. There was no point." Excuses, excuses. "It wasn't all in vain!" he argued. "She made sure he went to prison. His company collapsed. Her protégé was on her murder case, but he must have used her work."

"Her protégé?"

"Yes, the man who's been running her firm since she died. She mentored him until she was killed."

"Who was this guy? Would I know him?"

"I don't think so. Phoenix..." He stopped to think, trying to remember the name. "Ah, Wright. Phoenix Wright. That's the chap!"

"So, he just took over her firm after she died? What a ghoul."

"No, not like that. You're too harsh on the lad. She willed it to him."

I froze. She gave him her firm? "How long did she know this guy?"

"I can't remember. Two months. Three?"

That wasn't a long time. "When did she write her will?"

"The day before she died," he said somberly.

I was ambivalent. She cared enough to see me right before she died. She gave me all this stuff. These mementos. However, she willed her firm, her pride and joy, to this guy she barely knew that same day. "Were they...involved?" I asked hesitantly.

Grossberg tutted. "Diego, you know I don't pay attention to idle gossip." He thought for a moment. "Maybe though. She did will him her old apartment too. Her sister stays there when she visits."

I wanted to throw up. She kept this stuff for me to be nice, but she had moved on after all. This guy has her firm and her apartment. He's close friends with Maya. It only took her two or three months to be sure of him. Twice as fast as it took her to be sure of me. Three times as fast if you count when we first met.

I shook my head. "This is all a lot to take."

"I know. It's horrible what happened. I still think about her every day."

"It's just...everything. It's too much," I explained, not elaborating.

"You'll get back on your feet." He looked embarrassed. "Uh, literally and metaphorically," he clarified. "I've retired and there's been some turnover at the firm. Reina left. Robert..." He shook his head. "He was killed too. So many tragedies in the past few years. All related to that same case."

"DL-6?" I asked.

"I think so. His former client from that case was innocent, but Robert made him take a deal. He killed Robert in revenge, four days before the statute of limitations ran out on that case."

Good lord, the whole world has fallen apart since I went to sleep. What the hell happened? I never liked Hammond all that much, but he didn't deserve to die. He had kids at home.

"That said," Grossberg continued. "Many of the partners are still at the old firm. They would probably take you back in a heartbeat if you wanted."

"Maybe," I said non-committedly. It would be nice to have some normalcy in my life but, suddenly, the Grossberg name has a lot less shine to it than it used to. "I'll think about it."

"My number is still the same, as is the firm's. I'll let you look at those items alone." He started walking away. "I'll get someone to call you about those addresses. See you soon!" He stood by the door and waved.

"Yeah, see ya," I said, barely waving back.

When he was gone, I looked inside the box. My car keys were indeed in there, along with my favorite pen and my favorite mug. There were old movie stubs and receipts from past date nights. Sea glass and shells from the trip to the beach. A coaster from this coffee shop we used to go to sometimes and a branded T-shirt from The Bar Association. Those items, along with the yellow bear, made me smile. Memories of good times.

Then, there were the emotionally heavier items. The framed photo of us from my desk. I just kept staring at it. It was the first time I had looked at her since I woke up. She's so beautiful. She was. I'll never get used to that. There was another photo of her too, by herself. It was an instant photo, and she was wearing a wedding dress.

It took my breath away and I started crying again. Once I started a few weeks ago, I could barely contain it anymore. She looked so perfect; it was like the dress was made for her. There was a string of numbers and letters underneath the photo and the words "I said yes!" written on the back.

The ring box was in there too. She must have found it cleaning out my old apartment. She was wearing it in the photo. There was no date stamp on the photo, so I couldn't tell when it was taken. Probably shortly after I went to sleep.

I kept looking at it, studying it. As stunning as she looked in it, the photo was now haunting. I can't see white anymore, but I know that's what she's wearing. Seeing her in white, knowing that she's dead... she looks like a ghost.

Finally, there were the bombshell items. A big manila envelope with a sticky note on the outside written in Mia's handwriting. It said that this letter was written shortly before Mamá died. I emptied the contents of the envelope onto my lap.

There were photos of Mamá when she was younger. She was standing next to a man who looked an awful lot like me. There was a clipping of an obituary for the same man in there too. He died three months before I was born. He wasn't even thirty.

It was surreal to look at him and to read his name. Mamá never showed me what he looked like or told me his name before. She didn't want me to look for him. I tried my best to look anyway, but it was nearly impossible with the information I had to go on: businessman, spoke Spanish, from Japanifornia, "rat bastard," and visited the Dominican in 1984. That's all I knew.

I took a deep breath and began reading the four-page letter Mamá had written for me. Time to learn the truth.