Karen is not a monster. Karen bought thong panties online. Rose can’t smash her face or knock her teeth out. Straightening her cocked leg, she taps the nurse firmly but, she hopes, not painfully on the top of her head with the heel of her shoe.

In drugged confusion, the nurse grunts, her single-minded attack momentarily derailed. The fingers around Rose’s ankles loosen. Her shoe pops off, smacking Karen in the chin. The nurse makes an enraged animal sound and glares at the shoe as if it is a live thing come from nowhere to assault her.

Rose’s bare foot slips through Karen’s fingers.

The pinpointed pupils focus angrily back on Rose. “No you don’t,” the nurse slurs. She clenches her fists. They close on empty cloth.

The waistband of Rose’s scrubs is down around her knees. Quick as an eel, Rose wriggles out of the scrubs. Her other shoe is lost in a trouser leg. Out of the pants, she crab-walks back until she hits the far side of the arch, nearly losing her underpants in the process.

Like a startled bear, the nurse snorts, “Ungh?” Then, bear-like, charges on all fours.

Squeaking, Marion shouting in her ear, Rose springs to her feet and retreats into the activities room.

Groaning and shaking her head from side to side as if to clear her vision, the nurse crashes into the side of the arch. Eyes narrowed, squinting into the dimness, she pulls herself to her feet. Head down and swaying, she stares around the room.

Rose wonders if Karen is seeing double, or really seeing at all. Then the eyes settle on her.

“You!” the nurse says. Her voice is thick and wet, it sounds like “Jew.” Not bothering to move her feet—or incapable of moving them—the big woman dives at Rose.

Squawking, Rose clambers backward up onto the table and scoots to the far end.

Karen collapses over the back of a chair, chin striking the table, arms long across the wood, reaching for Rose’s bare feet. Backing away, Rose feels her hand hit nothing, then falls, slamming her elbow against a wooden chair seat on the way down. Her back strikes the floor, knocking the wind from her lungs. For a moment, she lies there, naked legs tangled in fallen chairs.

A thud. The floor vibrates.

“Talk to me,” Marion begs.

Rose can’t. No breath. Then her lungs suck in. Breathing is truly a magnificent art, a miracle. Life or no life, all on an inhale.

Gathering her scattered limbs, Rose grasps the edge of the table and levers herself to her feet. Every part of her quivers, muscles shivering like water in a flimsy sack, breath shuddering in and out.

Beyond the table, she sees a foot and part of a leg.

“I thinks she’s down,” Rose gasps. The words creak out, a kid mocking the speech of a very old woman.