I caught a glint of something slicing through the veil of darkness in my eyes—a knife?—then came the sound of running footfalls, and Davidson turned and muttered, "What the—" and he let go of my head so it dropped to the pavement, sending a new stab of pain through my skull.

Now came the sounds of thuds and smacks and grunts. Heavy breathing. Shuffling feet. A metallic clattering sound and then a deep smack closely followed by a groan of pain. Fighting. Someone was getting hurt and it wasn't me. I tried to make my eyes see, to scatter the film of blackness that had descended across my vision like a theater screen. Instead I felt myself drowning in a pool of unawareness as consciousness slipped away.

26

The sensation of something cool and wet on my head coaxed me back from unconsciousness. My eyes cracked open to slits, and I tried to orient myself. I was slumped in a chair and someone was working a wet cloth over the spot where Davidson had first hit me.

It was Greta, her face inches from mine, one of her hands cupping my chin, the other holding a large white cloth. On the table was a bowl filled with water. The water held a reddish tinge. Greta dipped the cloth in the water and used it to clean the wound behind my ear. Then she set the cloth aside and uncapped a small bottle filled with a purplish liquid. A stringent medicinal scent wafted from the bottle. Greta moistened a dry corner of the cloth with the liquid and dabbed my wound with it. It stung quite a bit. Then she dropped the cloth on the table, capped the bottle, and proceeded to put two large plasters across the gash. We were in the café, at my table. The same ceiling light that she'd kept on during our conversation earlier that night shone on her face. She looked more worried than I'd ever seen her.

My mouth was dry and my tongue felt like a woolen sock. I worked my mouth around, trying to induce some saliva, and managed to croak, "What happened?"

Greta's eyes, which had been focused on her ministrations, flicked to mine, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. You're awake. How are you feeling? Are you all right?"

I considered her question and answered truthfully. "I ache in more places than I have any desire to count, and my head feels like it's been bounced around some, but I think I'll be fine. How did I make it back here?"

She gestured toward the southern wall. "He brought you."