Light came over him, slow, dappled, and indistinct.

It was the thick gauze that bordered his eyes, along with a single layer draped loosely over them, which accounted for the lack of definition. It seemed the strongest source was to his left. He turned in that direction; hot pain shot from his trapezoids through the cords in his neck to his temples. Its shock tensed him and the exertion, combined with his drugged and weakened state, relaxed him just as abruptly.

“Brace own yuh neck.”

Startled, he tried to focus on the area from which the words had come, somewhere just above and beyond his feet. His pupils fought with the cotton web and his vision was monochromatic, so he labored to process the high-contrast details of the figure seated against the wall. Hat? Face? Torso? The bed rail behind his feet masked everything below there. His attention drifted upward. Wide dark eyes shone beneath full, angled brows as light as the gauze framing them, against darker, deeply lined leather. The grizzle of high contrast mustache and stubble and a halo of thick hair hugging the head under the hat completed the picture. The lips parted and a tongue wagged in near darkness between rows of brilliant ivory.

“Thet ahron thang keep yuh head fum toinin’ ‘round. Much pain?”

I…don’t…understand. He signaled an extremity and a…hand?...appeared before his face. He turned it slowly, wiggling its fleshy digits arrythmically. Left? He saw the figure beyond rise abruptly. Pressed into him was a zippered bag, its dual handles looped around hands and wrists for…why? He tried to track his movement, but another stab of pain put his lights out.

Sensations of warm breath and cool taps against the gauze at his temples revived him. His eyelids fluttered. He started and recoiled slightly, until he managed to focus on a pair of rich umber irises and black pupils; they receded, joined by soft angular facial bones and a full smile.

“Don’t pay him no mind; he’s crazy.”

She arose from his side, dark hair falling onto her bosom. The starched cap distracted him until she straightened fully; he traced her from her shimmering hairline to her slender waist. Ganglia came to pleasing life in the center of his body, giving him confidence that at least one piece had been added back to his puzzle.

“Can you talk yet?”

Talk?

She touched his barely exposed lips gently. That sensation activated another sector and he heard himself rasping. She tapped his lips again and wagged a finger. He stopped.

“That’s all right; let’s not rush it. I know you’re in a lot of pain.”

He watched her turn a translucent dial on a snake of tubing above his head. She smiled broadly again and warmth bathed his sharpening present. Hopeful?

“You rest now.” She placed two fingers against his wrist and looked at the metallic object on her own. She turned and he followed the rhythm of gluteals undulating beneath her uniform skirt; his pubic nerve endings fired again. After she was gone, he turned away and wallowed in this state of satisfied confusion until the edges bled away into narcotized slumber.

Another specter came into his focus—different. The effect was startling, since it became apparent to him that the gauze had been removed. Her hair was shiny black too, but there was no cap and her face, while pleasant enough, was broader with flatter features. He felt her rough, strong fingers creep past his cheekbones and down the sides of his neck. Her palms slid across his shoulders, their warmth penetrating the gown; she monitored his eyes and facial muscles for sensation. She seemed satisfied. She rose and receded toward his feet, gently uncovering them. He lifted his head slightly to watch and was surprised, happily—no pain. His range of motion told him that the neck brace was gone, too. He felt himself smiling as he caught her thrusting a thumb and forefinger at his left heel pad. An electric charge shot up his leg and flashed hot in his frontal lobes.

She studied him. “You felt that? Good.”

Good?! Shit—OW!

She played off his scowl. “What I mean is, you have feeling in your extremities. No paralysis. That’s good. Doctor wasn’t sure; said your spinal cord was pretty bruised.” She noted his uncertainty and came to his side again. Her upper thigh made contact with his, warming it as she sat. Smiling, she lifted his hand and pulled its digits gently; his reaction made her smile broadly. “I’m Coretta, the physical therapist—leastways, what passes for one around here. We’re going to work together to try to get you back on your feet.” She squeezed his other hand. “Do you remember anything about the accident?”

Accident?

A jumble of partially-assembled images played nonsense in his head, nothing amounting to a full picture. He saw—Coretta?—reach above him for the valve and within moments those indistinct structures melted away like a child’s sand castle in surf.

“John?”

He stirred. John? Who’s John?

It was Apparition Number Two. He was pleased. “Hi—I’m Rosa. How are you feeling?”

“Am—“ The throaty fullness of the word brought him up short. “Am I, ‘John?’”