Nine Lives(72)

“Am I dead?” she asked. Her voice was scratchy and didn’t sound like hers. Everyone in the room laughed, although some were also crying.

“Well, you came close.” This was from her doctor. “What do you remember about it?”

She slowly shook her head back and forth, trying to find the words that would explain her memory. Eventually, she said, “I work for the FBI.”

“That’s right, honey,” her mom said.

Much later, two people she remembered from working at the FBI came to visit her. It was a good afternoon, her mind swimming with memories, and a bar of summer light lying across her legs and warming them.

The woman’s name was Ruth Jackson and she had a round face and a deep voice. The man’s name was Aaron Levin, and he kept bouncing up and down on his toes. She knew that she and the man had been more than coworkers. Her memories kept throwing a few random slides at her—the two of them untwisting themselves from bedsheets, and laughing uproariously; the man outside her door, thumping at it, trying to be let in.

“You look good,” Ruth Jackson said.

A few sarcastic thoughts went through her head, but she dismissed them, and said, “Thank you. So do you. I like your suit.”

Ruth smiled, and next to her Aaron went up and down on his toes, his hands in his pockets.

“Your doctor tells us you’re remembering more and more these days.”

“Just this morning I remembered all of seventh grade in a rush. It was terrible.”

Ruth laughed, and she remembered how much she liked making other people laugh. “I’m sorry about that,” Ruth said. “Are all your memories old ones?”

“Can you both sit down?” she said. “I’m happy to talk, but Aaron, you’re driving me crazy bouncing up and down like that.”

Both the agents laughed, and she thought that part of their laughter was relief. Then they both sat down on molded plastic chairs, Ruth still closest to her.

“What do you remember about being here?”

“I know that I was shot. I don’t know why.”

“Uh-huh.” Ruth frowned and cast her eyes at the ceiling, as though she were deciding what to ask next.

“Do you remember anything about a list?”

“I remember being asked about a list, but that was here in this bed. Someone else asked me, but now I can’t remember who that was.”

“Probably me. Probably I asked you about it when you weren’t ready. But the list has to do with why you’re here.”

“Oh, then please tell me. No one says anything. I keep thinking that I did something horribly wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

She pushed herself up a little in her bed, the movement causing her to blink rapidly. “So tell me the story of the list, and why I’m here. I want to hear it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you the basics, and please let me know if you get tired, or if it gets too much for you.”

Her arms tingled, and she took a deep breath. “Just start. I need to hear it. What kind of story is it?”

“Not a good one, I suppose,” Ruth said.

“Not completely bad,” Aaron blurted out, scooting forward on his chair.

Her eyes went back and forth between them both, wanting to hear the story, but also not wanting to hear it.

“Right,” Ruth said. “It’s not completely bad. But I’m going to stop talking about it, and just tell it, okay, Jessica? And that way, you can be the judge.”