Marah awoke in Tashmore Lake Hospital the next morning. It was already close to noon, and a plastic tray on the bedside table held an unappetizingly sterile assortment of lunch foods. Groggily, she rubbed her head, which was still aching. Her ankle was neatly bandaged and seemed to have gone numb, since she wasn't feeling any pain. She reached for the call button by the side of her bed, and a moment after pressing it, a nurse appeared in the doorway. She was very plump and very pale, with light green eyes and a tired but cheerful manner.
"Morning, Miss Carraway! Can I get you something?"
"What time is it?"
"11:48," the woman replied, consulting a digital watch on her wrist.
"When can I go home?"
"Well, I think you're set to be released in a few hours. In the meantime, do you feel like some lunch?"
Marah shook her head slowly. Then she managed a smile, for courtesy's sake. "Thank you."
The woman nodded and left.
Marah laid her head back on the pillow. If only it would stop throbbing, she might be able to think clearly. Last night… outside Mort's house. Because… she shuddered. Because of yesterday. Because the man she loved was insane. She closed her eyes. Everything she owned was still there, after all that… Once she got out of here, she'd have to…
She was so tired…
She felt sleep taking her again, comfortable and heavy. It was a sleep with no bad dreams on the other side, somehow she knew that. She felt like she was sinking. Then she felt a cool, light pressure on her forehead. And then, although it was impossible, she heard words.
Don't forgive me, Marah. I understand, I do. I'm so sorry. I would die a million times if that would help you to erase my memory. I wish I could. But know that I love you. You chased the dark away. You came and you dug up all the secrets, all the pain and the madness and the fear, but you dug up whatever flicker of goodness I used to have in me too. Remembering you, remembering us, that's what gave me the strength to fight him, to win. You saved me. Marah…
It was Mort's voice, unmistakable, and it was the way she had heard it first, the way he had spoken in those days when she was falling in love with him. No… she realized, as the words echoed and repeated in her head. His voice was older, sadder, more tired. And somehow his voice seemed more pure this way, more compassionate, more tragic.
Her eyes flew open. She remembered hearing those words, not just in the dream, but in real life. The memory was thick and dark and tinged with unconsciousness, but it was real, she was positive of that. She realized her heart was beating quickly, that something light and bubbly seemed to be filling her stomach, her chest. She knew what the feeling was instantly, one she had thought she would never feel again. Hope.