Brain Damage

by Freida McFadden

“I read this article about you online the other day, about how you were shot in your home,” Regina says. “And until I read that article, I never realized that Clark Douglas was your husband.” “Oh.” This conversation is making me tired. I wish I could go back to sleep. “Yes. He is.” “The thing is, Dr. McKenna,” she says, “Clark was my husband.”

As it turned out, while Clark was trying to suffocate me with a pillow, Vincent Gamble was singing like a bird in prison.