Redshirts

hovered over your stretcher during a simulated shuttle attack, ran with it down various hallway sets, and swung it into the medical bay set, where another set of extras, in medical staff costumes, pretend to jab you with space needles and waved fake gizmos over you like they were trying to diagnose your condition. Every now and again you cracked open an eye to see if Abnett or Corey was still gawking at you. One or the other usually was. Your one scene of actual acting had you opening your eyes as if you were coming out of a bout of unconsciousness. This time they were both staring at you. They were supposed to be doing that in the script. You still wondered if either or both of them were thinking of hitting on you after the show wraps for the day.
    Eventually the day was done, and you scraped off the KY and bruise makeup, formally ending your acting career forever. On your way out, you saw Abnett and Corey talking to each other. For a reason you couldn’t entirely explain to yourself, you changed your course and walked right up to the both of them.
    “Matt,” Marc said to you as you walked up.
    “What’s going on?” you asked, in a tone that made it clear that the phrase was not a casual greeting but an actual interrogative.
    “What do you mean?” Marc said.
    “The two of you have been staring at me all day,” you said.
    “Well, yes,” Brian Abnett said. “You’ve been playing a character in a coma. We’ve been carting you around on a stretcher all day. That requires us to look at you.”
    “Spare me,” you said to Abnett. “Tell me what’s going on.”
    Marc opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and turned to Abnett. “I still have to work here after today,” he said.
    Abnett smiled wryly. “So I get to be the redshirt on this one,” he said to Marc.
    “It’s not like that,” Marc said. “But he needs to know.”
    “No, I agree,” Abnett said. He slapped Marc on the shoulder. “I’ll take care of this, Marc.”
    “Thanks,” Marc said, and then turned to you. “It’s good to see you, Matt. It really is.” He walked off quickly.
    “I have no idea what that was about,” you said to Abnett, after Marc walked off. “Before today I’m pretty sure he never gave me a thought whatsoever.”
    “How are you feeling, Matt?” Abnett said, not directly answering you.
    “What do you mean?” you asked.
    “I think you know what I mean,” Abnett said. “You feeling good? Healthy? Like a new man?”
    You felt a little cold at that last comment. “You know,” you said.
    “I do,” Abnett said. “And now I know that you know, too. Or at least, that you know something.”
    “I don’t think I know as much as you do,” you said.
    Abnett looked at you. “No, you probably don’t. In which case, I think you and I need to get out of here and go somewhere we can get a drink. Maybe several.”
    *   *   *
    You returned to your room late in the evening and stood in the middle of it, searching for something. Searching for the message that had been left for you.
    “Hester left you a message,” Abnett had told you, after he explained everything else that had happened, every other absolutely impossible thing. “I don’t know where it is because he didn’t tell me. He told Kerensky, who told Marc, who told me. Marc says it’s somewhere in your room, somewhere you might find it but no one else would look—and someplace you wouldn’t look, unless you went looking for it.”
    “Why would he do it that way?” you had asked Abnett.
    “I don’t know,” Abnett had said. “Maybe he figured there was a chance you wouldn’t actually figure it out. And if you didn’t figure it out, what would be the point in telling you? You probably wouldn’t believe it anyway. I barely believe it, and I met my guy. That was some weirdness, I’ll tell you. You never met yours. You could very easily doubt it.”
    You didn’t doubt it. You had the physical evidence of it. You had you.
    You went first to your computer and looked through the folders, looking for documents that had titles you didn’t remember giving any. When you didn’t find any, you rearranged the folders so you could look for files that were created since you had your accident. There were none. You checked your e-mail queue to see if there were any e-mails from yourself. None. Your Facebook page was jammed with messages from friends from high school, college and grad school, who heard you were back from your accident.