Up and up from some depth beneath a heaving dark sea, Madison's lungs were on fire with the need to breathe. He could sense rather than see the surface as he kicked ineffectually, pulling at the water with his arms. Still up, waiting for his head to break through, unbearable the urge to suck in air, then with a gasp taking in the icy water.
His eyes were open, a woman in white hovering over, her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" she said, then affirming "you're alright." Blake took in the etherized atmosphere of the recovery room, lapsed into a dreamless stupor.
Awakening, tethered to a heart monitor, IV drip being checked by another nurse, she rolled his left arm slightly, numb pain climbing up the bone, the knowledge of pain rather than the sensation. Then a man's voice. Madison stared to the bed's foot at the middle-aged doctor, who smiled "welcome back, Mr Madison. You're here atNorth Hollywood Medical Center. How are you feeling?" Madison thought, then said "well, I'm not Beethoven." The Doctor looked puzzled, saying "perhaps I'll come back in the morning."
"No," Blake said "tell me what happened to me."
"You were in a collision.You're lucky. Contusion to the forehead, mild concussion, broken left wrist from the suicide knob on the steering wheel. I haven't seen one of those in years, a suicide knob."
"I wouldn't be without one. Only thing that will bring you out of a Death Spiral."
The Doctor sat down in the yellow plastic easy chair, placing the chart across his knees. "Other things of a more serious nature. Your blood-alcohol content. Near lethal levels of toxicity, much less intoxication."
"When did they bring me in?"
"About four and a half hours ago."
Blake closed his eyes, then stared back at the physician. "It was a special occasion. I was trying to find the Fun."
The Doctor stared back somberly, then said "something else, Mr Madison. We put some hardware in your left arm. During the surgery there was a problem. You experienced extremely erratic heartbeat. I did further tests..."
Blake felt as if he might slip back into the darkness again, but screwed up his forehead, squinted his eyes, and said "what tests?"
"Your heart is in an extremely fragile condition, Mr Madison," said the Doctor. "You run the risk, as things currently stand, of experiencing a major heart attack."
Madison again closed his eyes, feeling the breath drain through his lips. "this isn't it. This isn't the Fun." When he again opened his eyes, it was dark in the room, the monitor beeping in steady pace. He jerked the catheter free, pulled out the IV, swept several electrodes from his chest, stumbled into the bathroom.
He then found the closet, his clothing hung inside it. He searched the pockets of his trench coat, found the flask of Four Roses and drained it, then put on his clothes, the sleeve of his shirt tearing on the bulk of the cast on his arm. Easing the door open, he saw two nurses standing at the station, then he slipped down the hall to where he guessed the elevator might be.
In the harsh light of the hospital foyer, Madison paused, shook off a faint nausea, then stepped outside. A man was taking the keys from a woman, climbing into her car, and pulling off to the overnight lot. Before the attendant could return, Madison watched a man in scrubs pull up in a Porsche 914, get out, and hand Blake the keys.
"Thank you," said Blake.
"Just take good care of it" grinned the man.
"I promise," said Blake, as he slid in behind the wheel, glanced at his wristwatch and gunned the 914 out of the lot toward the Chez Frog.