QUINN
Earlier that day
Beep.
Darkness. That’s the first thing I’m aware of.
Beep.
It’s the kind of darkness that feels almost thick, something that coats my limbs and the inside of my throat. I’m powerless to move or speak, like I’m suspended in some kind of viscous liquid. And the silence is almost oppressive, a blanket that covers everything other than the steady in-out of my breath.
Beep.
Oh, and that incessant noise.
I can think, though. I suppose that’s something. I don’t know where I am or why I’m stuck in this syrupy darkness, but I know my name and what year it is and the current prime minister. You know, the things they ask on medical dramas to see if someone’s all there.
I know all that, and so by rights I shouldbeall there, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not anywhere.
Beep.
Scratch that, I must be somewhere. That damn beeping is there again, perfectly steady, like it’s keeping time of something. Though for the life of me, I can’t think what it could be.
Maybe I’m sleeping. Maybe I’m in that last part, right before you wake up, when the noises of the real world merge with your dream and just for a few moments, you’re between worlds. Maybe, a few moments from now, I’ll crack open an eye and those familiar whisky-brown eyes will be looking right back at me.
Beep.
I expect the little jump in my chest when I think of Florence. It happens all the time now. It’s soft, like a hum, but strong enough that it sometimes makes my breath catch. It doesn’t happen this time though. And, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure I can feel my body at all.
And I’m still not waking up. Weird.
Then there’s another noise, a scraping like the metal legs of a chair on a hard floor, and as it gets closer, there’s a voice, too. It isn’t the one I expect, though it does sound vaguely familiar.
Beep.
‘It’s working,’ the voice is saying. ‘We’re reducing the sedation gradually, but so far, he’s doing great. This next part might be a little rough, though, so it might be better for you if you step outside for a while.’
There’s a sharp breath closer to my head, and then a gruff, ‘I’m staying.’
Bram.
That’s the moment I know. Something’s happened. I’m not asleep in my own bed at all. The voice said sedation– am I in a hospital? Am I hurt? I don’t feel hurt, though. I don’t feel anything at all.
Beep.
Hold on, I actually think I can just barely feel the scratch of sheets against my heels. A hand closes around my forearm, and I feel that too. It’s cool, like Florence’s, but it feels bigger, heavier. Is it Bram’s? So Bram’s here, but not Florence? She’s probably around, though. Perhaps she’s just gone to get something.
This time the thought of her does make my chest tighten, but then before I know it, that familiar tug has turned into something else entirely. I’m suddenly overcome by the strangest sensation, a panic that starts behind my breastbone and spreads like wildfire through my whole body. That damn beeping speeds, my muscles contract, and I feel like I’m fighting for every breath.
Wait, no, I’m fighting to get a breath at all. There’s something in my throat which my muscles are clenching around, my hands fruitlessly grasping for something as that familiar voice says my name.
‘You’re ok, Quinn,’ it says, but I don’t feel ok. I feel like I’m being deep-throated by a giant statue. ‘You have a tube in your throat to help you breathe, but we’re taking it out now.’
The beeping speeds up even more, and the thing in my throat starts to move– slowly at first, but then it’s being pulled steadily while I tense and gag around it.
The hand on my forearm stays, holding firm against my squirming, but as my own retching slows, I hear a gagging noise beside me, and of all the things, that’s what makes me finally open my eyes. When I do, the first thing I see is my boss dry heaving next to me.
‘Sorry, man,’ Bram says, with a watery cough. ‘But that was grim.’