Click. The light goes off. Rose is sure of it. Karen expected the room to be empty. She scanned the clearly empty room and was satisfied. Still, Rose won’t open her eyes until she’s counted slowly to twenty.

She is considering making it a hundred when Marion says, “She’s back at her desk. She’s taking a long pull on her soda.”

“Let me know when she’s passed out,” Rose whispers.

“How long does it take?”

“Not sure. Busy, then. Maybe an hour?” Rose can hold this pose without discomfort for a while, but in ten or fifteen minutes she will be distinctly miserable. In an hour she’ll be crippled.

Time passes. Rose’s left foot is falling asleep.

“Another big swig,” Marion says encouragingly. “She’s on Amazon looking at garbage can liners.”

Om ah hum vajra guru padma siddhi hum. Rose silently chants a mantra to calm her mind. Nose between her knees, it is getting harder and harder to breathe. She allows herself to turn her head, resting her cheek on her thigh.

More silent chanting. Now her left leg from the knee down is asleep.

Two more swigs reported wirelessly by way of California. Karen has ordered a box of fifty kitchen can liners and a pair of thong panties.

“I think it’s kicking in,” Marion says finally. “She’s still upright, still facing the computer, but she hasn’t moved at all for six minutes. Not a finger.”

Inch by inch, Rose pushes the chair out. The carpet keeps the scraping to a bare minimum, but to Rose’s ears it is a shriek. “Does it look like she hears anything?” she whispers.

“Nope.”

Carefully, dragging her dead limb between chair legs lest it bang into one, Rose crawls out. Free of the table, she massages feeling back into her leg and foot. While they tingle themselves to full power, she does a few Cat-Cows to loosen up her back. Hearing nothing from Marion or the nurse, she does a Down Dog to limber her legs.

“The computer timed out. Screen saver is up. Nurse most definitely zonked. Still upright, though,” Marion says. “That’s all I can tell.”

Rose tiptoes to the arch and peeks around. Karen’s broad shoulders are slumped. One arm hangs limply at her side, the unanimated hand looking peculiarly dead. The other arm is bent at the elbow, the hand presumably in her lap.

Rose slips back out of sight.

“She’s swaying,” Marion reports.

Rose begins to think this absurd shenanigan is actually going to work.

Again.

“Uh-oh, she’s shaking out her hands,” Marion says. “Rubbing her face.”

Rose hears it before Marion reports, smacking of flesh on flesh.

“She’s slapping herself, trying to wake up,” Marion says. Then, “Reaching for the phone. She’s fumbling for the receiver—she’s got it!” shrills in Rose’s ear.