“I thought I heard you say something,” she said.

“I feel weird,” I said.

“That’s the pethidine,” she replied.

“The what?”

“It’s a medication that takes away pain and makes you drowsy.”

She grabbed the IV bag that I now saw hanging over me and examined the level of its contents. After finishing her examination of the bag, she turned to my arm, checking the bandage tape that was holding the IV tube in place. As she leaned over me, I noticed there was a silver watch pinned to the front of her scrub shirt—not a normal one, like a wristwatch, but a specialized piece that looked like a medal. Like she was a soldier. Like Jo.

Jo . . .

It all started to roll back into my mind. Everything that had happened in the bathroom, the walk across London, the station. It all felt very distant, like it had happened to someone else. Still, a few loose tears trickled from my eyes. I didn’t mean to cry them. The nurse wiped my face with a tissue and gave me a sip of water through a straw.

“There we go,” she said. “Take a nice sip. No reason to cry. Nice, slow breath. Don’t want to upset your stitches, now.”

The water had a calming effect.

“You’ve had a rough night,” she said. “There’s a policeman here to speak to you, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Sure,” I said.

“I’ll send him in.”

She left me, and a moment later, Stephen appeared in the doorway. All of the things that identified him as a policeman were gone—the jacket, the sweater, the hat, the belt of equipment, the tie. All he had left was his white shirt, which was streaked with dirt and full of wrinkles and sweat marks. He was pale to begin with, but now there was a distinct blue-gray undertone to his skin. Now I remembered. It came back in pieces. The station. The needle. Stephen on the ground. He’d been dragged back from the point of death, and it showed.

“We were sent to the same hospital,” he said.

He came to the bedside and looked me up and down, assessing the state of things.

“The wound,” he said quietly, “it didn’t penetrate your abdominal cavity. I’m sure it hurts quite a bit, but you’ll be all right.”

“I don’t feel it,” I replied. “I think I’m on some awesome drugs.”

“Rory,” Stephen said. “I don’t want to put pressure on you in this condition, but they’re coming.”

“Who?”