4

I feel the brush of lips against my forehead and open my eyes to see Vanessa standing over me, smiling. Her light grey eyes gaze down at me warmly from a face framed by curly dark hair with only a hint of grey at the sides. The only wrinkles showing on her olive skin are the faint crows-feet at the corners of her eyes.

"Have a nice nap?" she asks cheerfuly.

I look around feeling vaguely confused. I'm reclined in a deck chair on the patio of our new home. Overhead I can see that the sun is halfway to the horizon in a partly cloudy sky. Colorful flowers form a line around the patio, broken only by the three-step stairs that lead down to the walkway. Beyond that the garden stretches out to the treeline about a hundred feet away. Various vegetables are already growing in about half of the neat rows plowed into the soil.

I inhale, pulling in the scent of the various blossoms and pine trees around me. "Yeah, I think so. How long was I out?"

"Not long. I decided to let you catch up on some sleep until dinner." She straightens up and extends a hand, her smile brightening. "Which is now. Come on, old man."

I smile back as I take her hand and she provides a little help as I get up out of the deck chair. My knees ache in protest, something that's been getting more frequent. Upon getting to my feet I let go of her hand and put my arms around her waist, pulling her close. She encircles me in her arms and tilts her head back, looking up at me and we exchange a quick kiss.

I smile at her again as I ask, "So, what's on the menu?"

"Well, there was that salmon you bought a couple days ago. I thawed it while you were napping. I figured I'd keep it simple and add some mashed potatos and green beans."

"Mmm, that sounds lovely."

"I thought you might like that," she says with a smile.

We kiss again and I luxuriate in the warmth of her body against mine. After a lingering moment, we release our embrace and I follow her into the house.

As we reach the kitchen she turns to me, "You should take care of the salmon. I've always liked the way it comes out when you do it."

"Alright." I can't help but smile at the compliment even though it's not the first time she's said that about my cooking.

In between tending to the food on the stove, we stand just outside the door to the patio looking out over our garden. I'm standing behind her with my arms around her waist holding her close, as the two of us plan out what we'd like to put down in the garden next.

After the food's done cooking we gather it up and set out the table.

The two of us sit and talk for a while as the sun dips towards the treetops. We discuss all those things we plan to do together one day. I bask in the warmth of being home.

I'm distracted by a bright white flash outside the window, from the direction of the sun. I look to see what it is and see a growing white sphere of emptiness expanding like the blast of a nuclear detonation. I feel a sense of growing panic as I turn back to Vanessa and see her frozen like a statue. I try to get up and find that my legs won't work. Out the window I can see the white void getting closer as it devours the trees, the garden, everything.

It quickly reaches the house and the color begins to drain from the world, turning it all into a washed out image. I look over at Vanessa and watch as she fades like a ghostly image. I try to reach across the table to her, to hold onto her but my arms won't work.

As everything fades to stark white nothingness I hear her voice echo as if from a great distance, "Why did you leave me?"

I desperately try to call out to her, to tell her that I was trying to get to her, that somehow I got lost on the way. I can't make any sound as the white turns to darkness.

Pain seeps through the darkness. A dull, steady ache envelopes my left arm and both legs. The right side of my head is webbed with a pain that centers on my right eye.

I feel conciousness coming on and fight against it. I don't want to wake up, something terrible is waiting for me if I wake up.

Still trying to call out to her I hear my voice, a hoarse whisper, "Vanessa?"

My nostrils are filled with the smell of anti-septic and plastic, the air is dry and unpleasant. A painful raspiness in my throat is amplified by the lump that forms. I know it was just a dream but not for the first time I wonder, does she really believe I'd abandoned her?

The heartache of that thought momentarily overshadows my physical pain and I feel tears stream out of my left eye, running down towards my ear, bringing awareness to the fact that I'm lying on my back. There are the rythmic sounds of electronics and people talking indistinctly. I'm laying on a stiff mattress, my head resting on a pillow.

From nearby I hear a woman's voice, "Doctor, he's coming around." The other indistinct voices stop and I hear footsteps coming closer.

A man's voice, with a slight accent that I can't identify, "How are his vitals?"

"All stable." There's a note of relief in the woman's voice. "Still not getting anything useful off the imaging systems, though."

I hear the man come closer. "Mister Deshane? Mister Deshane, can you hear me?"

Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe I wrecked my truck, got badly hurt and have been in some kind of coma all this time. I slowly open my eyes, or rather try to. My right eye won't open. When my vision clears up a bit, as well as it can without my glasses, I'm able to tell that the bed has been raised a bit so my head is elevated slightly. There are two people standing over me.

One is a dark-skinned woman standing on my left who appears to be wearing blue scrubs. Her left arm, up to the shoulder, is clearly cyberbetic.

The other is a light-skinned man standing on my right. His hair is lighter and greyer than mine and he's dressed in green scrubs with the addition of what look like wire-rim glasses, if the metallic shine around his eyes is anything to go by.

I'm aware enough now that I can see and feel the oxygen mask over my mouth and nose, it's plastic smell filling my nostrils. I get the impression that I'm in some kind of hospital and I feel a familiar drugged haze, like when I woke up from an operation some years ago. If I was undergoing surgery here then maybe it was all just a bad dream. I look around trying to see if she's here.

I call out again, "Vanessa?" Like before, I can't manage more than a hoarse whisper. I'm unable to make out much of the room I'm in yet, but in the back of my head something seems off. The light seems dimmer than I expected, the colors darker, more worn somehow.

With a hint of urgency the doctor asks again, "Mister Deshane, can you understand what I'm saying?" He then shines a light in my eye.

Mildly irritated, I rasp out an answer, "Yes." Even as out of it as I am I've been around enough doctors to know that he's checking me over, so I try not to turn away.

"Can you tell me your first name, please?"

"Jason," I whisper loudly, trying to focus on the man's face past the blinding light. The glare of the light combined with my near-sightedness make that impossible.

"Good," he says with a barely discernable nod. "I'm doctor Dyson Ido." He takes the light away finally. Gesturing to the woman on my left he introduces her, "This is nurse Gerhad. Do you know where you are, Jason?"

I close my eye briefly as a wave of dizzyness hits me. Upon opening it I automatically reply, "Washington."

Somewhere in the back of my mind there's an alarm telling me that's the wrong answer. Doctor Ido glances at the nurse, then looks back at me. I can't quite make out the expression on his face.

"You said Washington?" He pronounces the name a little slowly, as if he's never heard of it before or he's not sure he heard right.

The reality of where I am crashes in on me. My anxiety spikes as my malfunctioning fear response flips out. The rational part of my brain says, 'we'll just play it off. He'll never know any different.' The anxiety disorder amplifies this to near life-threatening levels and screams at me, 'If they find out the truth you could be sentenced to death!'

This sends a shot of adrenaline into my system bringing me briefly out of my drug-induced haze. Memory returns of the last year of my life.

I'm not in Washington state. I'm in Iron City, located on the equator in northern South America, some six-hundred years in the future and I've been trying to hide the fact that I'm not from around here out of fear that undocumented outsiders are likely to be shot on sight. A fear that doesn't seem at all unreasonable in light of the rather brutal law enforcement I've seen up to now. I feel my heart racing as I'm seized by sudden panic. Fortunately whatever drugs these people gave me are muting it, allowing me to keep it in check, even as it muddles my thinking.

One of the machines that is no doubt monitoring my vital signs emits a sharp, quiet beeping.

Nurse Gerhad puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "It's alright. You're safe."

Internally I'm screaming, 'No! I am NOT alright! I am so very far from alright or safe!'

My eye darts between the nurse and the doctor. I manage to say a little more loudly, "Iron City. I meant to say Iron City. Sorry." Some of the raspiness in my voice clears up a little.

"That's alright," he assures me, seemingly satisfied with my corrected answer. "After that blow to the head and your other injuries, a little disorientation is to be expected. Fortunately there was nothing that couldn't be fixed." He looks up and studies the readouts on a small screen off to the left of me for a moment then looks back down at me. "How are you feeling?"

I take a deep breath and my anxiety subsides a bit. I look over at the nurse, then squint up at doctor Ido, trying to see him more clearly. At the short distance he is from me, I can see that he has a faint smile.

I take a moment to consider his question. "Everything hurts, but I can't feel my legs or my left arm." I try to move my left arm to reach up and touch whatever is covering my right eye. The arm won't respond so I reach up with my right hand instead. "My head especially."

The doctor intercepts my hand, gently but firmly holding me by the wrist. "Be careful there. You're skull was so badly damaged I had to reconstruct some of it with plating. It's healing for now but you should be careful with it for the next few days."

I nod and he releases my arm. The import of his words don't quite hit me. I carefully run my fingers over the bandages, feeling what little I can of what's covering my eye. There are I.V. lines in my arm running off the side of the bed, probably under it to the machines on my left. Vague memories of the attack begin resurfacing.

The nurse leans down a bit. "While you were unconcious you had some difficulty breathing. How are you doing now?"

I manage a slight shrug. "Seems fine now," I say almost drowsily.

She glances over at the doctor, who nods.

"Let's go ahead and get that off you then." She carefully removes my oxygen mask and tucks it away out of sight.

I start to become a bit more aware of my current state. Heavy bandages over my right eye, unable to feel or move my legs and left arm. My head swims as I go over his comment about having to rebuild my skull. This has all got to be some kind of dream. I'm about to lift my head up to get a better look down at the rest of my body but a creeping sense of dread makes me pause. Instead I take a quick look around at my surroundings.

I'm in a little room about three meters in length from the wall the bed's up against. The foot of the bed faces the open, arched doorway that opens out into a larger room that is darkened, likely indicating nighttime. The walls of the little room are painted what looks to be a dark green and even to my poor eyesight they appear old.

Turning to the doctor I ask, "What happened to me?" My voice is fairly clear now but I still feel a bit loopy from whatever drugs they have me on.

The doctor and nurse exchange glances and I can sense that what I'm about to learn is likely to be real bad. I try to brace myself for whatever's coming.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asks.

"More or less." The pain in my throat fades a bit only to be replaced by a growing thirst.

When the doctor doesn't immediately respond, I assume he wants me to go on. "There was a man being attacked in the street. From the look of him I think he may have been homeless or something. Some big cyborg guy was there standing over him, looking like he was about to kill the- the beggar I guess?" My breath catches in my throat as I remember the crowd gathered. No one made a move to even try to help. There's a twinge of anger but mostly I just feel a heavy sadness.

I continue, fighting against a mild lethargy as the adrenaline wears off. "I went to try to talk him down, the cyborg that is. I didn't know what else to do. So..." I hesitate, trying to recall what happens next while also feeling hesitant to do so. "I stepped in front of the cyborg and tried to..." Again I try to recall specifics and shake my head as I'm unable. "I dunno, I tried to talk him out of whatever he was about to do to that other guy."

There's a spike of fresh panic as I remember Loretta and blurt out, "Loretta! Where's Loretta?"

"She's fine," the nurse assures me, "She brought you here. She had to get back to the farm a while ago. She and her father have both called asking how you're doing. They seem pretty worried about you."

Doctor Ido interjects, "I'll give them a call in a bit to let them know you're awake. Do you remember anything else?"

After breathing a sigh of relief at finding out that Loretta wasn't hurt, I reply, "I remember getting hit on the side of the head and then a lot of pain, then waking up here. How long have I been out?"

"About two and a half days. Quite a bit longer than expected." His tone has an apologetic note to it.

I feel my heart sink at hearing that. There's a pause and I take the opening to jump in and ask the question again, "What happened to me? You said you had to reconstruct part of my skull. What else did you have to do?"

There's a detectable hesitation as the doctor answers, "There's a bit of bad news there, I'm afraid." He takes a deep breath and lets it out before continuing. "I wasn't able to save your eye. That aside, you're lucky that you seem to have escaped without any noticeable brain damage."

I've always had a fear of losing my eyes. Not just my eyesight but my physical eyes. A strange fear to have, I suppose. Considering that, I think I should be having some sort of reaction to this news but it's like I'm just stunned. I can only lay there looking at him as he continues.

"You're left arm was torn off at the elbow when you were brought in. Both of your legs had been completely destroyed." The doctor pauses for a moment, then continues, "I'm afraid we were forced to amputate them."

Hesitantly, he goes on, "We found out after the fact, that your attacker had a pretty heavy drug habit that eventually got the better of him. He went into a rage when you confronted him. From what Loretta told us of the attack, it was like he wanted to make you suffer. Instead of killing you he just..." The doctor hesitates again, shrugging faintly. "He just destroyed your limbs, mutilated you. I'm sorry. According to her, he ran off as if something was after him. He may very well have been hallucinating. That's likely why you're still alive. If he had stayed, he'd have probably finished you off."

I lay there staring up at the doctor but not really seeing him. My mouth opens and closes a few times as I struggle to find anything to say but there's nothing, my mind is empty. I just lay there unable to comprehend that I just lost a sizeable portion of my body. It's like the air's been sucked out of me. I notice that the doctor is saying something more but I can't hear him over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. A familiar, unpleasant buzzing begins in the back of my skull and a wave of nausea comes over me. My heart begins racing painfully and I suddenly can't catch my breath. My skin becomes cold and it feels like I'm sweating profusely. My vision begins to grey out and the doctor and nurse fade from sight behind a dark fog.

I lay there, helplessly riding out the attack for I don't know how long. I feel like I'm dying. A part of me wishes I would die. I lost the woman I love, my family, my whole world and now this. There's an overwhelming feeling that everything I've done has been a terrible mistake. Driving down that road, coming out of the jungle and getting work on the farm, all of it. Every decision I've made since leaving the apartment a year ago has been a series of horrible mistakes that led me to this point in my life where I'm lying here in this bed in some strange medical clinic with my body torn apart.

I thought life in this world was bad before, but now I'm completely helpless in the hands of strangers. An old 'Calvin and Hobbes' quote floats through my mind, 'no matter how bad things get, they can always get worse.' I have no idea what's going on outside my head but inside I am swept away in a tidalwave of suffocating fear and dread.

It feels like it's going to go on forever, like I'll be trapped inside this terror for the rest of my life, but eventually it does end. My vision starts to clear up, my breathing slows down and the rushing sound in my ears begins to fade. And just like that it's as if it never happened. I fill my lungs, finally feeling like I can breath again, like I'm waking up from a terrible nightmare. Only it's not over, I still have to face what's happened to me.

The first thing I hear clearly is the nurse.

"Looks like he's coming out of it," she says with a distinct note of relief.

When my vision clears up the rest of the way I see the doctor hovering over me, close enough that I can make out the worried look on his face.

"Are you alright?" He sounds genuinely concerned.

I find it unexpected that they might actually care what happens to me, based on what I've learned about this place. Then again, maybe he's just worried he won't get paid if I kick the bucket on him. Off to my left I see the nurse turning her head to keep an eye on both me and the monitors that are tracking my vital signs. The strong sense of relief that follows the end of the attack pushes away everything else for the moment, allowing me to better get my figurative footing.

I look back at the doctor, feeling an undercurrent of embarrassment at having suffered an attack in front of strangers. "Yes. I'm fine."

The doctor looks at me with what might be skepticism and checks me over again, shining that light in my eye and taking my pulse. This seems odd since they have me hooked up to what are no doubt some very advanced medical sensors, at least compared to what I'm used to.

The doctor straightens up and looks me over, as if thoughtful. After a short pause he asks, "Mister Deshane, has that happened to you before?"

I consider lying or playing dumb but I'm not sure I could think of any plausible excuses for what happened, anyway.

"Yes." The sense of relief that swept away my panic is now fading. In it's place is a feeling of emptiness.

"Is it anything dangerous or life-threatening?"

"No."

The doctor sighs and exchanges a look with the nurse.

Patiently, he asks, "What's the last thing you remember me saying to you?"

With a creeping sense of unreality I respond. "That the man who attacked me tore me apart." I suppress an urge to giggle hysterically while simultaneously wanting to break down and cry. A sickening terror starts trying to claw at the back of my mind. The dry raspiness mostly hides my voice cracking. "Or something along those lines." The hysteria passes quickly. I stare up at the ceiling blankly, trying not to think. This isn't difficult since I can feel myself withdrawing, shutting down.

The doctor asks in a concern-tinged voice, "Alright, well you're no doubt worried about what's next. I want to assure you I'm going to do everything possible to get you fixed up."

He gestures towards the nurse, "We've already gotten you fitted for new cybernetics. Once we've worked out a couple of technical problems you should be fine in a few days, then you can get back to your life. Now then, do you have any questions?"

I'm still having trouble thinking clearly but one thing is clear enough, I just underwent major surgery from the sounds of it. They already fitted me for cybernetics? That's likely going to cost me, and my savings is not all that much. I'm certainly not expecting Henry to pick up the tab. How the hell am I going to pay for this? I'm a farmhand, they gotta know there's no way I can afford to pay them. Two legs, an arm and an eye. How much is this going to cost me? Aside from the physical cost, that is...

There's a hollow feeling in my chest as I look from the nurse to the doctor a couple of times. I meant to ask about the cost or something along those lines.

Instead, as if my mouth moves of it's own accord, I find myself asking, "Why?"

"Why were you attacked?" the nurse asks.

I look at her blankly. "I know why I was attacked." I feel a flash of anger as I silently finish the thought, 'I was stupid enough to get involved in something I had no ability to deal with.' "Why are you doing this?" I look over at the doctor. "You gotta know by now that I can't pay you."

The doctor is quiet a moment before answering. "Look, you may not believe this but my primary concern is making sure you get taken care of. We'll worry about the rest after that, alright?"

He sounds sincere enough but I can't bring myself to believe that he's really not that concerned about the money. People rarely do things like this out of the kindness of their hearts around here. However, I'm tired, I'm in pain and in shock over what I've just woken up to, so I don't bother arguing the point.

"Alright," I say in a raspy, quiet voice.

"Here, you should drink this," the nurse says as she holds a cup in front of me.

A mental lethargy starts to pull me under as my mind tries to withdraw further. It takes quite a bit of effort to fight against it just to respond. "Thank you." I feel my depression feeding into the pain of losing my limbs, sucking the energy out of me. It feels like everything is lost.

Out of lifelong habit I go to reach for it with my left hand and see the bandaged stump of my arm come up. It stops just above the elbow. I stare at it a moment before my mind registers the fact that the arm that's supposed to continue down from there no longer exists. The shock of seeing it unexpectedly hits me like a punch in the face. Involuntarily I close my eye and turn away as I let my arm, what's left of it, fall back to the bed.

In a loud whisper I let out an, "Oh fuck." I try to swallow but my throat is so dry.

"Hey, it's alright," I hear the nurse say. "Here, give me your right hand." Her tone is gentle and reassuring.

I grind my teeth as that sensation of sickening terror grows. 'This is not alright!' starts going through my head over and over. The denial that had been keeping it all at bay breaks down. Anger and loss well up inside.

A voice within screams, 'What the hell were you thinking!?' A tidalwave of emotion makes my throat clench painfully as I fight back a sudden onslaught of tears. I feel the metallic fingers of the nurse's cybernetic hand close around my right hand as she attempts to guide me to the cup of water. I pull away from her and cover my face with my hand. Fighting back a sudden flood of tears and I clench my jaw to the point my teeth grind together painfully.

I press the tips of my fingers into the sides of my face and temples like I'm trying to drive them through my skull. My thumb is pressing into the temple that was rebuilt and I can feel the harder metal that the doctor used to reconstruct it. The area around it starts to hurt and I drive my thumb in harder, overcome by a sudden surge of anger directed at myself, making me want to cause myself more pain. I think a part of me wants to do worse than just cause pain.

"Jason!" the doctor exclaims in alarm. There's the sound of the stool moving and then there's a hand on my shoulder and another is gripping my wrist trying to pull my hand away from my face.

I fight for a bit, mainly just wanting to hide my face, to hide away entirely as I feel my control disintegrate. Slowly my hand is pulled away as I give up the fight. I keep my eye clenched shut as tears pour down my face. I lay there, my breath coming loud and ragged through my nose, my mouth pressed shut as I try to fight back the sobs. I can't bring myself to look at anyone. I don't want them seeing me and I don't want them touching me but I know I don't have any way to stop any of it.

I am powerless and I hate it, I hate myself for it. Even so, I somehow manage to keep myself from lashing out. After all, the only one responsible for my situation is me, I did this to myself. I want to tell the doctor to let go but I can't get any words out, so instead I stop resisting him.

When my arm is resting on the bed, I feel the rest of me start to relax, and the anger starts to drain away leaving me feeling lost. I'm breathing hard trying to catch my breath, keeping my eye closed, not wanting to see the world around me as the tears keep coming. I don't want to see the judgmental looks. I just want them to leave me alone.

"Alright," says the doctor. "I can see you're very upset about this, but you certainly don't need to be causing yourself any further injury." He takes his hand off my shoulder but maintains a loose grip on my wrist.

I open my eye slowly and look over at him, feeling drained and listless. My mind is locking up, not letting me form words.

"Here." The nurse holds the cup of water toward me so I can reach the straw.

I take a few gulps of water, then lay back against the pillow and stare off into the darkened space outside the doorway of the little room I'm in. 'Is this really happening?'

She turns and does something on the control console of the nearby monitoring equipment.

"Jason, if I take my hand away are you going to try to hurt yourself again, or am I going to have to sedate you?" The doctor's voice is calm and professional with little indication of any anger towards me. He sounds more worried, if anything.

I take a deep breath, trying to get myself under some semblance of control. I make myself look over at him, "No."

The doctor takes his hand off me and retakes his place on the stool. "Alright," he says, sounding a little out of breath, "you obviously aren't familiar with how this is supposed to work." He pauses for a moment as if trying to collect his thoughts. "Everyone who comes through my clinic, gets fixed up, regardless of whether they can pay or not. So, financial concerns at least, are no cause for this sort of reaction." He clasps his hands together and rests them on his lap. "In light of that, do you think you can refrain from hurting yourself while you're in my care?"

I close my eye and look away, "Yeah."

He nods and releases my arm. "Alright then. Loretta told me that you've worked on her family's farm for about a year now, is that correct?"

His question is a simple one but thinking is like trudging through a thick, knee-deep mud. "Yes." My mind is still struggling with this nightmarish unreality.

The doctor glances over at his nurse as he says to me, "Have you worked with many cyborgs while you were there?"

"Yes." I shrug. I find the wherewithal to add, "For that matter my roommate's augmented."

"Do the two of you get along?"

I look over at him, not entirely sure what the point of this line of questioning is. "We're not exactly friends but yes, we get along alright."

"So, aside from this recent attack, you've never had any problems with cyborgs then?"

Now I think I see what he's getting at. I close my eye and sigh wearily, opening it to answer. "I've never had any problems with anyone augmented." I close my eye again, wishing he'd get this over with and they would go away. I sigh quietly, raising my hand to rub the bridge of my nose. My arm feels like it's become leaden. I suspect they've given me another dose of sedative after I went ballistic.

'My arm.' The shocking thought hits me, 'I only have one arm left. One fucking arm! Where the hell is the rest of me?' I pull in a deep breath, trying not to break down again.

I pull in another calming breath, open my eye and shrug faintly. "If you think I've got some kind of prejudice against people who're cyborgs, I dunno, maybe I do. I've never really felt any differently about a cyborg than a non-cyborg."

The doctor nods and looks down as he slowly rubs the palms of his hands together. "Well, it would appear to me that you've got problems besides the physical injuries. Do you have any friends closer to here that we could contact, anyone that might be able to provide you some support?"

I look over at the nurse and hold up my hand towards the water cup, as I'm overtaken by intense thirst. "Water?"

She hands me the cup, and I take it while studiously ignoring what remains of my left arm.

"Thanks." I take a couple quick sips before turning back to the doctor. "You've already talked to the only people I consider friends around here."

"Hm. Do you have any family?"

"No," I answer as some irritation slips into my voice. That question brings up old wounds I'd rather leave alone right now. I feel like an observer watching someone else going through all this.

There's movement by the door and the blurry figure of what looks like a young woman comes into view. She has dark, shoulder-length hair and is wearing dark clothing, kinda hard to make out against the background of the darkened room beyond. The shirt she's wearing leaves her arms visible from the shoulder down, revealing them to have a silvery metallic look, with dark purple along the bicep and forearm. I can't make out any real details beyond that, but she's obviously a cyborg.

The doctor turns towards the newcomer and from this close distance it looks like he smiles, as if pleased to see her.

The newcomer asks in a strong, pleasant voice, "You're not an exile from Zalem, are you?"

I'm caught off-guard by the question. I consider answering 'yes', but I can't see any real reason to lie about that. "No."

The doctor turns his attention back to me and quietly sighs, letting slip a hint of frustration. "Are you and Loretta close? Is she someone you trust, someone you could talk to?"

I close my eye and think for a moment, both to consider his question and to wrestle an answer out of my uncooperative brain.

Looking over at him, I answer, "Loretta and I are not close friends. She and her father are trying to hold onto their home and livelihood, anyway." The thought flits through my mind that I may not be giving her enough credit. I suspect she and Henry care more about me than I realize, but admitting it somehow seems like I'd be taking our relationship too far.

"You don't have anyone at all?" the nurse asks.

"No. Just me." It's getting harder to keep my attention on the here and now.

"How's your eyesight?" she asks curiously.

I give a half-shrug. "Bad. Really bad." Their keeping me engaged in conversation has pulled my brain out of it's attempts to shut down. Thinking isn't any easier but I am able to keep thinking. This incredible fatigue isn't helping.

After a second's thought I ask, "You don't happen to have my glasses, do you?"

"No," the nurse replies apologetically, "I'm sorry. Loretta says they were lost in the attack." She directs her attention to the doctor, "I'll see if I can put something together for him." Turning back to me, she smiles and adds, "Being able to see clearly might help you feel better."

"Thank you," I answer automatically. Another pang of loss hits me. Those glasses may not have been anything special in and of themselves but they were another connection to home, now gone. "Just outta curiosity, what happened to the man I was trying to help?"

The girl in the doorway answers, "He's fine as far as I know, aside from a broken arm." She leans lightly against the doorframe. "He could have been killed if you hadn't stepped in. You probably saved his life."

I nod, feeling a sense of relief upon hearing that. "That's good." I lay back and close my eye, letting my mind go blank. I'm too tired to want to keep talking, so I wait to see if any of them have more to say.

"Alright," the doctor says quietly, "I think you should get some rest and we'll talk more another time, there's no hurry. Nurse Gerhad will take care of you for the next few days while you heal up, alright? Then we'll get you back on your feet."

'Sure,' I think to myself, 'you guys have all the time in the world to deal with me, don't you?' I can't help but feel a vague sense of helpless anger.

I don't bother to open my eye or answer, I just nod. After they leave, I lay there with my eye wide open, staring up at the ceiling. I remember one other time in my life when I'd felt like this. Dad had gotten raging drunk and chased Mom out of the house. She had fled, bleeding, taking my brother with her. I wasn't fast enough getting out of the house and all I could do was stand in the driveway and watch the tail-lights of the car disappear over the hill. This is what that night felt like. I'm not sure how many hours I lay awake, being reminded of that feeling of being absolutely lost and alone. Fifty-three years old, and I'm reduced to feeling like that little boy again, alone and abandoned.