“Hello, Mr. Callagan,” she says.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
There’s something too familiar about her soft, steady voice. It tugs at something I can’t quite reach.
She moves around the room, checking monitors, flicking the bag of fluid hanging from the metal pole.
My vision’s still blurry, like I’m seeing through water, but I catch the shape of her curly dark hair pulled back, shoulders squared, efficient movements that tell me she’s done this a thousand times before.
“Welcome back,” she says quietly. “You’ve had quite a night.”
I blink, trying to focus. “Back from where?” My voice is gravel, words scratching my throat.
“You were brought in with multiple injuries,” she says, scanning the monitor. “A few broken ribs, a fractured nose, and a punctured lung. You’re stable now, but you need to rest.”
She types something into a little rolling computer cart, the soft clack of the keys filling the silence.
“You remember anything?” she asks, her tone professional, but there’s something underneath I can’t name.
I swallow, the motion burning. “Bits and pieces. Just…noise. A parking garage. I think I got jumped.”
“That aligns with the report,” she says, her voice even. “Police might come by to take your statement once you’re more alert.”
Her cart squeaks closer to the bed. “What’s your pain level right now? On the scale one to ten?”
“Uh,” my voice is hoarse. “I, uh...I don’t know. Everything hurts, but it’s not… unbearable. Seven, maybe?”
She nods, jotting it down. “That’s manageable. I’ll see about getting you something to take the edge off.”
Her tone is calm, detached in that trained nurse way, but the longer she stands there, the harder it is to ignore the feeling that Iknowher.
Not just the voice, but also something about the way she moves, how she hesitates before she speaks, like she’s choosing every word carefully.
I squint, but my eyes won’t cooperate. “Have we met?” I ask, my voice coming out slower than I meant it to.
She freezes, just for a second. Then she smiles, polite but thin. “I take care of a lot of patients, Mr. Callaghan.”
She steps away from the computer and leans over me. My image of her gets a little clearer, but she’s looking at my IV, so I still can’t see her face.
“Can you...look at me?” I ask.
She goes rigid, and my heart hammers inside my chest. The monitors whine, and she sighs, steps away, and turns them off.
Then she turns. Steps closer and holds up two fingers.
I’m not looking at them. I’m looking at eyes the color of a cloudless day.
At the lips, the color of cherry blossoms in bloom. At a face I memorized a long time ago.
“Emma,” I breathe.
The machines whine again.
She rolls her eyes. “Mr. Callaghan, you have to stay calm, or this will keep happening.”
Keep calm.
Keep calm?
