TITLE: Courting Greta
GENRE: Commercial Fiction
Samuel regained consciousness just as they one-two-three _jerked_ him from the stretcher to the table. He was in the hospital again, damn it.
"Sir, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"
"ER." Even if he never set foot in here again (which, admittedly, seemed a tad optimistic) he'd never forget the telltale stench of ammonia, latex, and blood. Hopefully not his.
"What's your name?"
They were sticking needles in his arms. Light blinded him, first one eye and then the other. "Sam--Samuel Cooke."
"Do you know what happened?" The woman's firm interrogative was accompanied by a flurry of other voices, rattling off stats and commands. Beeping filled in the syncopated silences.
"Not a clue. Gimme a minute." It would come back. It always did. How else was he supposed to relive every humiliating detail? Whatever it was, he prayed it hadn't happened in the office. Odds of him collapsing in front of total strangers were pretty low, but a guy could hope.
"Sir, you've been in a collision."
"What, a car accident?" That sounded awfully daring. And totally out of character. He blinked, trying to bring the nurse or doctor or whatever into focus. "You sure?" He was the most cautious driver he knew. Always looked both ways, never went more than five miles over the limit. Perpetually in the slow lane.
Then he reached the end of his adrenaline and he hurt everywhere and
oh God he wanted to vomit.