Campbell returned to consciousness all at once. His brain was still a little foggy, but the commotion outside the room where he was lying brought his memories back instantly.
He tried to sit up, shaking his head slightly to clear his blurry vision, as the door burst open. Campbell watched, wide-eyed, as a handful of people spilled into the room. He might have missed the small blur that raced into the room had it not done a rather spectacular- and slightly painful- roll over his sheet-covered legs before dropping down off the other side of the bed.
"Where is she?" It was the small blur-in-question's therapist. She looked absolutely, 100% done, but all Campbell managed to do was stare at her blankly; not everything was quite making sense yet.
A quick flick of his warm brown eyes was met with a pair of cool blue ones. Bethy was apparently trying to make herself as small as possible, arms wrapped around her legs, neck pulled in like a turtle. Her eyes said "Help!"
"What's goin' on?" he finally croaked out.
"Her," one of the orderlies who had entered the room grumbled, pointing a sausage-like finger at the offending patient, who had taking the opportunity to poke her head above the edge of the bed so as to keep an eye on her pursuers.
"Hold it, hold it," Campbell sighed, finally getting himself into a fully upright position and brushing his long hair out of his eyes. "What's she done wrong?"
"What hasn't she done is the real question," an attending white-coat sighed, exasperated.
Up until now, the group of intimidating adults had been standing just inside the doorway, bunched together a bit like a weird gang, Campbell thought in amusement. At this point, however, there seemed to be some unspoken decision made collectively, and the hoard of medical professionals seemed to move as one, finally cornering Bethy between Campbell's bed and the eggshell-coloured wall.
"Seriously, what has she done?" Campbell asked, stalling for time now as well as being genuinely curious.
"She spoke."