Gregory Burns was driving down Ambrose Avenue toward the Hamilton Motel where she would be waiting for him. He had met her three nights previous at a dinner party and was smitten by her beauty and grace.
Early that morning, not being able to get her out of his mind, he finally gave into an impulse and called a business associate, “Good morning John, this is Greg.”
“Good morning Greg, what can I do for you?”
Greg asked, “Do you remember Loretta, that beautiful girl that was at your party the other night?”
“Sure, what about her?”
“Do you know how I can contact her?”
“Hold on, let me check the guest list.” A minute later he continued, “Her name is Loretta Longtree, but all I have is an address; she is staying at the Hamilton.”
“Thanks John, I’ll take it from here.”
“Good luck buddy, talk to you later.”
Greg called the motel. The clerk transferred the call to her room and much to his delight, she remembered him and agreed to go out to dinner that night.
The closer he got to the motel the more anxious he became about seeing her again. He was fifteen minutes early as he pulled his sleek black 57 Mustang to a stop in the parking lot in front of the motel. She had given him her room number with an invitation for a drink before dinner so he walked down the sidewalk looking for room 416. When he found it, the door was partially open. He knocked and when there was no answer he pushed the door open and called, “Loretta, are you here?”
Then he saw it, a body lay on the floor, obviously dead,
because no one lives long with their
throat cut. The man was lying on his side facing Greg as he walked in and
leaned over the body to see if it was anyone he knew. He heard a noise behind
him and as he turned, he saw…. Suddenly struck on the head from behind, Gregory
Burns lapsed into unconsciousness.
Slowly and painfully he
wakes up in the motel room, not knowing how he got there. The first thing he became aware of was that an
amplified voice coming from outside... "Come out now, Mister. Give
yourself up and no one will get hurt."
Wincing in pain as he
gingerly felt the large lump growing on the back of his head, he slowly and
laboriously raised himself to his knees. Before he could raise any farther, a
shock of pain coursed through his head and he sat back down as two armed SWAT
policemen burst through the door shouting, “Put your hands on top of your
head.”
Greg sat on the floor in
stunned silence because he has no memory of what has gone before...he had no idea where he was, or why he was there. The
officer commanded him again to put his hands on top of his head, and as he
slowly complied to the order, he realized that he did not even know who he was.
One of the policemen
held the muzzle of his rifle inches from Greg’s face as the other cop, seized
both his wrists, forced them behind his back and roughly applied handcuffs.
Greg sluggishly asked,
“What’s going on?”
“Be quiet!” ordered the
rifleman.
Two more SWAT team
members entered the room, dragged Greg to his feet, and out to a waiting police
van. Twenty minutes later he was sitting in an interrogation room and accused
of murder. He was not able to respond to any of their accusation because he
couldn’t even remember who he was, much less what had happened. As his headache
grew in intensity all Greg could do was complain, but no one paid any attention
to his utterances until he passed out and fell from the chair. When the
interrogator rushed to the unconscious man on the floor, he saw for the first
time, the huge swelling that protruded from the back of Greg’s head.
A doctor arrived and
diagnosed that Greg had sustained a severe concussion. Admitted to the
hospital, Greg remained in a coma for nearly a week. The next time Greg
regained consciousness and his vision began to clear; he could make out the
image of someone standing over him.
“Welcome back, Gregory,”
came a soothing voice.
Greg forced his eyes to
focus on the face of an angel and asked, “Am I still alive or gone to Heaven?”
The voice said, “You’re
alive,” then sub vocally added, “for now,” than asked, “what do you remember?”
“I remember one hell of
a headache,” as he felt for the lump on his head.
The voice said, “You
have been unconscious for six and a half days and the swelling is gone.”
As Greg’s eyes finished focusing on the woman standing at his bedside, he smiled up at her and said, “Loretta, is that you” What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were a nurse.”
She smiled her angelic smile and said, “I came to see if you were ever going to wake up again.” Sub vocally, “and what you remembered.”
He tried to sit up, but the IV tube prevented it, and as he lay back on the bed he asked, “How did you know I was here?”
Before she could answer, she saw a flash of recognition cross his face as everything flooded back to him, and he questioned, “Why? Why did you kill that man?”
Loretta said, “I was hoping that you hadn’t seen me or that what the police told me about your amnesia was correct, and that you would not remember.” As she removed a hypodermic syringe from a box on the bed stand, she added, “I do not have time to explain anything other than to say it was necessary.” She injected the hypo’s contents into his IV tube saying, “I am sorry, Greg, that you happened to show up at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I did not plan it this way, but since you are the prime suspect in the killing, I can not afford to pass up the opportunity to let it be otherwise. As far as anyone is concerned, I will report that you never regained consciousness.”
As the grayness began to cloud his vision again, he heard, “It’s really too bad, Greg, I think I might have liked you,” and everything went black.