Sounds.

As his mind brutally dragged him from the bliss of unconsciousness, he heard sounds.

Loud sounds.

Gunshots.

His heartbeat knew it was her before his brain did.

She'd come. She'd come for him.

The pain hit him like a truck across the side of his face – and he should know; he'd been hit by a truck before.

His jaw was on fire. He could feel the sticky wetness that had spent hours flooding out of his mouth and down his chin onto his shirt still slowly pooling around his tongue. He didn't dare swallow. He didn't dare move his head.

It was all he could do to stay awake; to stay focussed.

The footsteps were getting closer. His mind analysed the sound for him; light footsteps. Lots of them.

The shouting got louder. They were getting closer.

He forced his eyes to open just a sliver; the brightness almost blinded him. His eyes slammed shut, sending a fresh wave of pain through his jaw. His stomach turned, but his mind clamped down - that was not an option.

He coerced one eye open this time, allowing it time to adjust to the light before slowly cracking open the other.

More gunshots. More yelling.

There wasn't much time left. He needed to open his eyes more if he was to see his prize. To achieve his goal.

To see her one last time.

He pushed his eyes open further. From his vantage point on the floor in the corner of the room, he could see the barred window and a wall.

He would have to move his head.

He slowly sucked a deep breath in through his nose, preparing himself.

He slowly twisted his shoulder against the wall, holding his neck – and head – as still as possible.

Several deep breaths convinced his stomach to keep its contents, but he'd managed to turn just enough that he could see the door.

The shouting was loud, now – he knew they were close.

More gunshots.

His mind began entertaining thoughts that he instantly banished.

She was coming to get him. To take him away.

He blinked slowly, desperately clinging to consciousness. He couldn't sleep yet. Not yet.

The door flew open, and there she was.

He knew he would never forget the look on her face. The relief.

The horror.

He realised how he must have looked; the front of his shirt was fairly well saturated with what he knew was a combination of blood and saliva. His face was similarly covered, and he was bleeding from several other wounds around his eyes.

He tried to come out with some witty retort, but all he could do was choke; the unbidden sobs of relief threatening to overwhelm him. He forced himself to stop as she reached him. He stared into her eyes for as long as his mind would allow him, before the darkness again took him.