Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. Unfortunately. You know, if it was, you'd be watching this onscreen.

I'm floating. Something in the back of my head hurts like hell. I try to move but can't.

It's pitch dark. I can vaguely hear anything. Muffled sounds of people talking above me. Maybe I'm underwater. I don't know. Everything comes from a distance.

Monitors beeping. A shot flowing into my vein. It's a funny feeling being on the receiving side.

A roundabout carousel. My mother took me to one of those when we used to live back in California. I'm riding on it.

Shivers start from my head and spread down my chest to settle in my limbs. I'm feeling weaker and weaker.

I'm falling off the carousel and into a warm pool of water.

I'm exhausted.

Wait... I hear a familiar voice. Rory. She's saying my name and it sounds like she's crying, telling someone she has to talk to me.

Someone says 'Get her out of here' and I can't hear her voice anymore.

I try to get up, to tell her it's okay. I wanna tell her it's okay and she doesn't have to cry but I'm sinking deeper and deeper until I can't hear my own thoughts anymore.

I'm under.

'Do you need something?'

Yeah. A wall to bang my head on. Damn. My head hurts like fuck. I open my eyes. The light is blinding. I'm lying on a OR table. I think. It's cold but I don't feel it the way cold metal against your ass is supposed to feel. I just know it's cold. Whatever.

'He shouldn't have done that,' someone says. A female voice. Gah, my head does hurt. I lift my arm to shade my eyes from the surgical lamp light and try to sit on the table. My head is dizzy and I think I might throw up. I manage a semi-sitting position, leaning on my left arm.

Someone touches my forehead, softly. Mrs Stanford.

'Poor boy,' she says.

O-kay. What is Elizabeth Stanford doing here?

I look around. And the back of my head kills me.

Yep. We're in OR Four. Where I operated on Elizabeth Stanford.

I'm in a hospital gown. Practically naked. Great.

'Ah, shit,' I sigh.

'Are you surprised to see me?' Mrs Stanford asks. She seems reluctantly curious, like she doesn't know what the right etiquette for greeting someone in the afterlife is. Oh well.

I shrug and let my feet hang loose from the OR table. Jeez, my feet feel heavy.

'I'm dreaming,' I shrug and I think the irritation's obvious in my voice. It's hard to show off my people skills when it feels like there is a hole in the back of my head.

Elizabeth Stanford smiles good-naturedly. At least I think she does. When a ranch granny with white hair and thick-lens glasses smiles at you it's supposed to be good-natured. When you failed to resect said granny's human-baby-sized hydatid cyst and the woman subsequently died on you right on this OR table - let's just say you can never be too sure.

'I guess you could say that,' she nods thoughtfully. 'It hurts?' she asks then.

She must see the suspicion in my look because she lifts her hand to point my head.

'Your head,' she says, 'It must hurt.'

I give her another level look and then sigh. What's the point of giving her attitude when I'm probably deeply sedated and my imagination is running wild.

'Like hell,' I admit and hop off the table which gives me a punch of headache that makes me cringe. I pass her by and she turns after me. I

'He shouldn't have done that,'she says and starts walking beside me.

I contemplate the odds of making her leave. How do you get someone off your imagination? Huh.

She catches up with me as I exit the OR.

'Poor boy, he was always so lost.'

'Really?' I snap at her, 'your grandson shoots people and he's the one you're worried about?'

At least she has the decency to look apologetic.

'Sorry.'

Unfortunately, she decides to elaborate.

'It's just that when you love someone this much, you always care, no matter what.'

No wonder why the guy grew up a psychopath, walking around shooting people.

Suddenly I remember something.

'Rory.'

'Sorry, dear?'

I must have said it out loud.

'Rory,' I repeat. 'She was with me. I tried to tackle her down.'

Memories start coming back and a shot of headache comes along.

'I got shot didn't I,' I say dispassionately. I'm not really asking because I start to remember. Noah Stanford, common waiting area, he raises his gun and I cover Rory, trying to shield her to the ground.

'How is she?' I ask and I'm irritated at how desperate my voice sounds.

'She your girl, isn't she?' Elizabeth Stanford asks.

I feel anger bubbling in my chest and I wanna shout at her to answer the goddamn question. I feel my breathing quicken and my pulse speeds up. Somewhere from a distance a monitor starts beeping.

I look around at the exam rooms around us. We've reached the corridor leading to the ER.

I turn to look at Elizabeth Stanford but she's gone. Stupid imagination. I feel the blood racing through my veins and the headache becomes almost unbearable.

Then I feel someone take grip of my arm and another injection shot must be flying into my system because I feel my muscles relax and my pulse slows down. I feel my body being moved. I wanna scream and ask them what the fuck is going on. I wanna wake up and find Rory. But all I do is fall deeper and deeper.

'It gets a little easier with time. More... familiar.'

Wha... Damn. My whole body feels like mush. I feel like I can grab my forefinger and pull until it starts dangling like a piece of chewed bubblegum. Shit. I try to open my eyes move but it's harder this time. I hear myself groan and my throat is feeling dry, sore.

'Don't rush, handsome. Just ease into it.'

I know this voice.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

It's official. I'm dead and I'm in hell.

'Go away, Liz.' I groan.

'Oh come on, son,' she smoothes some hair off my forehead.

I wanna pull away but can't regain control over my body. I'm trapped.

'Liz,' I sigh. 'I'm really not in the mood to deal with you right now.'

'Are you still holding a grudge, Jess?' She manages to sound oblivious and condescending at the same time. Typical.

Maybe if I stay really, really quiet and will her to go away, she will disappear. Yeah. Like that would ever happen.

'I know you went through a tough time back when our places were swapped,' she goes on, 'and I'm only trying to be helpful here. After eight years spent on that hospital bed, I can at least pass on my experience.'

I manage to open my eyes to I see I'm lying on a medical bed in Liz's old hospital room. At this very moment I decide I don't like my imagination. It's creepy. And evil. And has a really tasteless sense of self-irony that I don't appreciate the slightest.

I try to concentrate but it's getting harder and harder to.

I feel like something's slipping my mind. Something important. Rory.

'Oh. Is she someone special?' Liz asks.

I must have said that out loud. But then again, this is my mind. I don't really think I need to say anything out loud for it to be out there.

'You like her, don't you?' Liz prods. Enthusiastic and oblivious, so very her.

I decide to pretend I'm mute. After all, if a comatose patient isn't allowed to, who is?

Then I remember something. What if Liz knows something about Rory? Liz might be a product of my imagination but maybe I subconsciously know what happened to Rory. What if Liz is the clue to that piece of information?

'Is she okay?' I ask. My voice is raspy and talking makes my throat painfully sore.

'You like her,' Liz claps her hands twice and the claps ricochet like slaps in my skull. The pounding headache is coming back any minute now, I can feel it. I try to rise into a sitting position but my muscles feel sore and lifeless and I give up.

'Shit,' I chew on my lip as I feel the initial pounding of the oncoming headache.

'Don't cuss,' Liz chastises absently. 'So, are you in love with her?' she asks then, with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy shop. 'My little boy is finally growing up,' she gushes. 'I'm so proud of you!'

Then, as if she remembers something,

'Don't break her heart, okay?'

What?. Jeez. Where is this coming from? Whatever. I don't wanna know.

'Where is she?' I ask. Any second now, I fear I might see her walking through that hospital room door, which wouldn't be a good sign. I nurse some hope she's okay because I still haven't met her during my imagination's twisted tour around Deadsville.

'Just listen,' Liz says and looks around.

'He'll come back.'

It's Rory's voice. Close to my ear.

'He'll come back to me, I know it. He will survive this. We will.'

I look at Liz. She's standing above my bed, looking like she's gonna go.

Then I think of something.

'You heard me, all these times I came?' I ask.

Liz smiles.

'Of course I heard you.'

She bends and leaves a kiss over my forehead. I close my eyes and hear Rory's whisper.

'Come back to me. Please come back to me.'

I open my eyes. And see nothing.

TBC