“Okay, I woke up in New York, and I don’t know where I’ve been.”

“Where did you get the clothes?”

“I don’t remember where I got the clothes and that’s the truth.”

“So it’s this: You were out of it, drugged. Some guys drove you around, but you never saw their faces. Then they stopped in a house somewhere, and you were given different clothes. Then they drove again and let you off in Manhattan. I can’t drive to the hospital myself, I can’t risk being seen. You better get in the back, stay out of sight of the cameras on the bridge. I’ll drop you at the top of Manhattan, on Broadway somewhere. You can take a cab from there.”

“All right.” Pia climbed into the backseat and curled up. She was exhausted and still shivering.

“Pia, we have to stay in touch. What’s your cell phone number?”

Pia figured he could find out if he wanted to so she told him, and Burim said he would remember it. He didn’t bother telling Pia his number.

Burim continued to talk, telling her little anecdotes about times he remembered from when Pia was a child. Burim convinced himself that his memory was correct, that these things had happened the way he remembered them. He concentrated on the road, and he knew Pia probably wasn’t listening. He would try to reach out to her, but he wasn’t confident she’d respond. After a while he stopped talking, and they rode in silence.

After forty minutes, Burim reached Broadway at the very tip of Manhattan. In the middle of a quiet block, he slowed down and Pia hopped out of the car without saying a word and didn’t look back. Burim stopped the car and watched as Pia walked to an intersection and held out her hand to hail a taxi. A gypsy cab pulled over, and Pia leaned toward the window and told the driver something. Before she got in the car, Burim thought she looked small and vulnerable in her crazy mismatched outfit. But he had a feeling she’d be okay.

Chapter 63.

63.

COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
NEW YORK CITY
MARCH 26, 2011, 1:00 A.M.