He wanted to reply but there was a heaviness that filled his body, and the effort was too great. He had no idea what was going on and no memory of events that might explain his lying on his back, immobilized, with this woman leaning over him.

Something hurt. Had he had surgery? The pain wasn’t acute. More like a dull ache that radiated through his body with a thick layer of white on top, as cold and heavy as a blanket of snow.

The woman stepped aside and two copies of Carolyn’s face came into his visual frame, one slightly offset, like a watery duplicate. Nausea stirred as the surface ripples widened and dissipated near the edges of his view.

She said, “Walker.”

He focused and the two images locked into one, like a magic trick.

“Do you know where you are?”

Again, he wanted to respond but he couldn’t move his lips. He was so tired he could scarcely pay attention.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Her look was expectant. Clearly, she wanted an answer, but he had none to give.

“You were in an accident,” she said.

Accident. That made sense. He took in the words, searching for corresponding images of what had occurred. Nothing came to him. Had he fallen? Had he been struck in the head by a bullet or a stone? Here, he was on his back. Before here was blank.

“Do you remember going off the road?”

Nope. He wanted to shake his head so she’d know he heard her, but he couldn’t manage it. Road. Car. The concept was simple and he got it. He knew there’d been an accident, but he couldn’t imagine his relationship to it. He was alive. He supposed he’d been hurt and he wondered how badly. His brain must still function even if his body was temporarily . . . or perhaps permanently . . . out of commission. Carolyn knew and he was willing to take her word for it, but the idea was odd.

“Do you know what day this is?”

Clueless. He couldn’t even remember the last day he remembered. She said, “Monday. The kids and I got back from San Francisco late this afternoon and your car was gone. I unloaded the suitcases and I was letting the kids watch a few minutes of TV when a police car pulled into the drive. There was a wreck on the pass. Your car was totaled. It’s a wonder you’re not dead.”

He closed his eyes. He had no recollection whatsoever. He had no idea why he’d been on the 154 and no memory of a collision. From his perspective, there was only a yawning black hole, a blank wall that separated this current moment from the recent past. Dimly, he remembered leaving the bank on Thursday, but the door had slammed shut on anything after that.