Backfire Page #2

The way he looks at me,

begging, the pain in his eyes...

...he asked me to put him out of it.

You mean, kill him?

Is it right, is it wrong?

That's all I want to know.

- Yes or no.

- No.

Tell him I said no.

The doctor's crazy.

They can put him together again.

- They did me.

- But he can't go on suffering like this.

It has been 10 days.

Ten days?

Tell him... Tell him 10 more.

I'll be out of here.

Tell him I said,

"Hang on no matter what."

That's what I wanted you to say.

There's a... A pad.

Write... Write the address.

Ten days.

Ten days.

Ten days.

Ten days.

Good morning.

- Morning, Corey.

- Hello, doc.

- How are you feeling?

- Fine, fine.

Look, I can leave today, can't I?

You said 10 days.

- Gonna hold me to it?

- I'm gonna try.

Well, let's have a look.

Up on the bed with you.

You know, Corey, you're gonna be

a famous man one of these days.

I'm writing a paper about you

for the medical journal.

Thirteen little operations

and look at you.

Practically a brand-new spine. That hurt?

No.

Look, doc, don't think I don't appreciate

what you're doing for me.

I'd like to get out of here

as soon as possible.

Of course. Roll over.

You must understand one thing, son,

you shouldn't do anything heavier...

...than push a pencil around

for the next year or two.

I hear you and your partner

have got a lot of plans.

For all I know my partner may be dead.

Oh, yes.

That exotic vision from the unknown

on Christmas Eve.

Complete with accent. Now, son...

Oh, I know it's a big joke

around the hospital, doc.

But she was here. I saw her.

You also saw her write her address

on the pad. You know...

Yeah, I know all about the guard

at the gate. And that nobody issued a pass.

Julie's played that record

till it's worn out.

But I also know it was Christmas Eve.

Maybe the guard dozed off. Or maybe

there wasn't anybody at the reception desk.

I've got a better explanation.

You've had a tough siege of it, Corey.

You've gone through a lot of pain.

There were times you wished

somebody would put you out of it.

Added to that you were worried about

the disappearance of your best friend.

Given a hypo, started dreaming.

What more natural than for you

to identify yourself with your friend.

You had one dream about him already,

remember?

Now the identification's complete.

It's Steve who's lying flat on his back

with your busted spine, pleading to die.

Believe me, son, just a hallucination.

- Oh, excuse me, doctor.

- That's all right. We've just finished.

Telegram for you, Bob.

For me?

Well?

It's from Chicago.

It says, "Been on the move.

Will get in touch with you.

Everything fine." Signed, Steve.

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