“Like I said, the details are fuzzy. It could’ve been years ago.” I sighed. “Brit says the paramedics thought I was on drugs.”

“Toxicology screens weren’t run until after your surgery. They found nothing.”

“I wasn’t using.”

The doctor nodded slowly. “The last memory you had was your art show.”

“I was nervous. I remember pacing back and forth in front of the pictures I’d just hung at J.J.’s Pub. Suddenly I wasn’t really ready to show my work. I wanted it to be perfect, and it didn’t feel perfect. Jack, the bar owner, told me to stop worrying. The last thing I remember was kissing Jack on the cheek, thanking him, and leaving. That was about two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“And then waking up in the hospital?”

“That’s right.” And yet between the bookended memories were a drink in a bar and faint images of a frantic drive. “Is there anything you can do to bring back my lost memory?” With Brit in the room, I’d never have been as candid.

“As I’ve said, nothing but maybe time will fix it. Brains take time to heal.”

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds.” No missing my bitter tone.

“Not always, but it can help. Keep a diary of your memories. Write down immediately what comes to you, no matter how random or silly. Do this for a week and then go back and read your notes. There might be a pattern.”

“Okay.”

“I’d like to see you back next month. Just a standard follow-up. Otherwise, I’d say you’re almost back to where you were.”

“I’ll make an appointment.”

“Good.”

When the doctor left, I rose and glanced toward the stainless towel dispenser and caught my reflection. I looked almost the same. Felt almost the same. But something inside me had changed since the accident. I was jumpier. Nervous to be alone. Paranoid. The subconscious knew more than me, and so far, it wasn’t talking. But that was going to change.

On the way home, I stopped at the electronics store and found a young guy with green hair and a nose ring who wore the company’s trademark blue pullover shirt. Asking about surveillance cameras sounded quirky to me, but when I finally spit out the words, he didn’t seem to care. His indifference said something about either him or the state of the world. Everyone watching everyone.

I left a half hour later, a few hundred dollars lighter and with three mini cameras in a plastic shopping bag. Back at my apartment, I spent the next hour setting up the cameras, finding the most traveled angles in my apartment and tucking them beside potted plants, between books, and in my camera case (hide in plain sight). Next, I synced up all the screens to Wi-Fi and a freshly downloaded app on my phone.