Officers Cole, Byers, Walker, and Gilbert headed down to the hospital cafeteria to load up on coffee for the long trip ahead.
Officer Gilbert took much pleasure in grinning and waving at Janelle as soon as she awoke that morning and glanced in her direction. She didn’t get the annoyed response she expected, though. Instead, the crazy woman smiled and said, “Hey, girl,” as if they were old buddies, and asked if she’d been sitting there all night. She hadn’t, of course. As soon as Janelle began her restless slumber, Gilbert slipped out for a few hours only she had slept without the disturbances planned for Janelle that night to ensure she would be tired and easier to handle during the trip to the jail the nut thought was really going to be a safehouse.
Psychologists who had studied Janelle claimed that people like her often pretended to be unaware of offenses against them so as not to give the offenders the satisfaction of knowing they had gotten to them. Gilbert couldn’t help but wonder if that was the case when she didn’t get the reaction she expected after the morning greeting.
She sipped her coffee, laughing to herself along with the others at how uncomfortable and annoyed Janelle must be alone with her number one nemesis…Boris.
Janelle Stone was propped up in her hospital bed with Boris sitting nearby reading the paper when a tall, well-built Black man entered the room in a white coat. The “doctor,” maintaining a serious expression, took Janelle’s chart from the foot of her bed without a word. He then walked around to the other side of the bed, quickly threw the chart down, and proceeded to strangle Janelle.
Boris jumped up immediately and shouted for help, but the man wouldn’t release his grip. Being considerably bigger, Boris knew he wouldn’t be able to pull him off. Not even Janelle, with her amazing strength, could pry his hands from her throat.
The man squeezed relentlessly as Boris continued to shout, Janelle’s eyes reflecting a fear he’d never seen in them before. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and it felt like forever before anyone responded.
When a flurry of hospital staff ran into the room, they too, couldn’t pry the man’s hands from Janelle’s throat. It was as if the man was truly made of steel. They picked up various objects around the room to hit and hurl at him, but it did no good—mostly because there weren’t many objects, and what was there wasn’t very big. You didn’t leave those sorts of things in a room with a psycho. By the time six or seven staff members pulled the man off, Janelle Stone had gone four minutes without air. The man was able to escape their grip, run out of the room, and dash down the stairwell at the end of the hall. Despite all the security given Janelle’s notoriety, the man disappeared into thin air. No one could explain how he had such superhuman strength or how he had managed to escape unseen.
It was cold and selfish, Boris knew, but he was more pissed that Janelle was now in a coma than at the attempted murderer who had gotten away. He didn’t care about him nearly as much as he cared about seeing Janelle pay for her crimes. She had violated her probation. She had absconded. She had beaten, stalked, attacked, and killed people. It was suspected she had killed her ex’s aunt, but most of all, she had definitely killed his good friend. He didn’t care if he had started it. He didn’t care if she didn’t mean to kill him. He didn’t care that she had saved many lives, including her own, when she called him while she was held hostage. All he knew was that he hated the delusional racist who had killed his friend—a husband and father of two twin toddlers—and he was going to make her pay. He was going to see to it that she was tried and convicted in every sense that the law would allow. Well, he couldn’t do that if she was in a coma or dead.
The hospital staff assured him that she would come out of her coma in a few weeks or so but would almost certainly have lost many of her memories. She would still be able to talk, go to the bathroom on her own, feed herself, dress herself, etc. However, it was highly unlikely that she would remember people, places, and events.
“So all she can do is go through the motions of life without knowing who she is or where she’s been or what she’s done?” Boris asked in shock and disappointment.
“I’m afraid so,” the doctor said.
“Will she ever remember anything?”
“That I couldn’t tell you.”
“Well, tell me the likelihood.”
“I’d say she’s got about a 50/50 chance of remembering these things in time. It could be all at once, but usually, it’s little by little.”
“And how long will that take if she does remember?”
“Memories usually return within six months to a year.”
Boris wanted to scream. An imprisoned Janelle without a memory was better than nothing, but he wanted her to remember every single moment of pain and misery she had inflicted upon others and those close to them. In his mind, her ignorance would be a form of bliss.
“How do we know she’s not faking it if she doesn’t remember anything?” Boris asked.
“Well, because MRIs don’t lie. The hippocampus shows serious damage, and that’s crucial for memory.”
While Janelle Stone slumbered in blissful unawareness, Boris slumped into the nearby chair and put his head in his hands.
The professional side of the doctor thought the guy was about as selfish and lacking in empathy and compassion as one could get. The personal side of him totally understood.
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