The corridor was empty. The man passed closed patient room doors. He noticed a biohazard waste chute on the wall. He heard sounds coming from another nurses’ station down the hallway. He glanced at a room number. Three more. He wouldn’t have to pass another station. He took a dozen more steps and looked at the patient name on a door to his right. “Creighton Daniels.”

He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The patient lay motionless on the hospital bed. A small fluorescent light above it cast shadows across the room.

The man eyed the room. His heart jumped into his throat when he spotted something completely unexpected. A woman was draped across a small couch, her legs dangling off the edge. She was asleep. There was no place to hide if she awoke. He hadn’t been briefed on this contingency.

He listened to the woman’s breathing. It was deep and regular. He decided to risk continuing. He wouldn’t have another chance. He stepped gingerly toward the patient’s bedside. He had never seen anyone in a coma before; the patient looked as peaceful as the sleeping woman.

Three intravenous tubes led into the patient’s arm. He examined them and selected one. He pulled a syringe out of a plastic holder and brought it up to the clear plastic tubing. He attached the syringe to the needleless port. He turned and looked toward the woman. She roused slightly, then fell back to sleep. He pressed the plunger of the syringe. Five cc’s of liquid were introduced into the tubing.

The man withdrew the syringe, placed it in the holder, and left the room. He glanced down the corridor. A nurse was walking down the hall to the right. He turned left, deposited the holder in the sharps container, walked through the security doors, took a right past the nurses’ station, and approached the door to a stairwell. He glanced behind. No one was following. He exited into the stairwell.

33

I awoke in an overcast haze. My mind was a jumble, as if waking from a dream that still feels real. I heard voices. One was familiar. I opened my eyes and blinked at bright lights. “Abby.”

“Creighton! You’re awake!”

I felt the touch of a hand on my arm. I tried lifting my hand in response, but my arm felt leaden. I turned my head to the right, and Abby came into focus. “Abby.” I collected my thoughts. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Washington General Hospital. You fell into a—”

“Why?”

She touched my face gently. “Creighton, you have a brain infection. You fell into a coma. You’ve been in a coma for three days.”

Three days. Coma. Hospital. I don’t remember coming to the hospital. “Why am I here?”