TRIS

I am alone in the room, again. The white light still blinding me from above.

Matthew left, insisting that he would return to continue our—conversation—after I'd been attended to by a nurse.

My head is still weighed down, foggy and confused, but I can turn it and also feel my legs and arms now. I can move my feet and hands, and the nurse who just arrived—Beth—seems pleased. She checks my vitals and my reflexes. She tells me to lift my arm above my head, evaluating.

But I can't. I am exhausted.

"Why—?" I say hoarsely, struggling to lean my head forward.

Beth waves me back with a flutter of hands and rushes to a sink I hadn't noticed in the corner. She returns with a cup of liquid and, placing a hand under my neck, lifts me up just enough that I can take a sip.

Water. It feels so good. I close my eyes and groan softly.

"Why can't you move?" Beth asks, continuing to fuss about me and tap intermittently at a glass screen she carries with her. "Is that what you want to know?"

I nod, grateful she understands.

"You've been on a low-dose paralytic to prevent damage in case you had a seizure or other adverse reaction. Now that you've regained consciousness, Matthew stopped the drip. You should continue to regain feeling, and function, in all areas of your body, by degrees," she answers me evenly as she removes a bag from a metal hook behind me and tosses it into a waste bin somewhere on the floor.

I eye the clear plastic tube still taped to my left hand and follow its line to a bag hanging on another hook.

"Well," Beth says, without waiting for the question, "until you're able to drink more on your own, you'll keep the IV in, just to regulate your fluid intake."

My eyes narrow and I frown. I don't like any substances going into my body, no matter what she says it is. "When can—?"

Beth cuts me off with another sip of water and says, "We'll be moving you over to a more comfortable bed. One that sits up! You'll enjoy that." She grins pleasantly, adjusting the speed of the IV. "And that will make it easier for you get moving again yourself. Drinking on your own and so forth. Then, once your legs are steady enough, we'll remove the catheter and start in on some basic physical therapy to regain your strength."

I cringe and stare at the middle of my body, which I don't feel very well, yet, and am glad that I can't.

"So," Beth says happily, tapping at the glass she's picked up again, "as soon as we get you upright in the new bed, we'll try a little food, and more liquid, with a cup!" She grins at me broadly, hands on her hips.

Her overly-peppy demeanor begins to grate on my already raw nerves, and I turn my head away.

She leans over me and says brightly, "And, if you're able to eat a bit and rest well tonight, Matthew will stop by in the morning to check on you and continue discussing your—situation."

I roll my head back to her and nod, already feeling more clear—and more motivated. "Yes," I croak. "Hun—gry." Cough. "Ver—y hun—gry."

"Well good!" Beth says, standing up and pulling the glass screen to her chest, quite satisfied with herself. "Matthew was worried you'd be too distraught to be reasonable," she says with a shake of her head before turning toward the door.

Distraught? I frown, fighting to string together coherent thoughts through the hazy muddle. Why would I be distraught? I probe at the images in my mind, sifting through the memories hovering near the surface. Before the woman in gray...before my mother...before the warm nothingness overtook me.

Pain. Sharp and sudden and permeating before the dullness...

A gun! An older man. In a wheelchair? Farther...

A young man with tousled hair and sad, scared eyes. I concentrate. I know those eyes, the gleam of knowledge and curiosity. Like Matthew, earlier. But also...

Caleb! I exhale in relief. Yes! Caleb. My brother!

I feel an ache rising in me. Stealing over me. Pressing at my chest and my mind. There's more. I know it.

Another man. With dark hair. Intense eyes. I see a hooked nose over a crooked smile and black wrapping around his strong neck. My arms wrapping around his strong neck. He says, "Good-bye..."

Tobias.

I hear another distant voice in the background. "Goodness. If I hadn't eaten in two and a half years, I know I'd be starving!"

I have no breath. Everything is in my throat and I strain desperately to rise from the hard surface, arcing my back as my face contorts, tears streaming from my eyes. My mouth opens—but nothing comes out.