Page 112 of Theta

"Yeah. Thanks." I sigh as the pain recedes. "Where is Story?"

"Other room. Riposa."

"Can I see her?"

"Dovresti riposare anche tu."

"I'm riposa'd. I need to see Story."

"Chiederò al medico."

"Ask Dr. Lia."

A snort. "Is what I say."

"Well, I don't speak that much Italian, do I?”

She frowns down at me and then fiddles with the IV again. "Riposa." It sounds like a command.

In fact, it's more of a statement of the inevitable, because I fade back into sleep moments later, without getting that drink of water.

Help, I've been drugged.

Kidding. I mean, I have, but I know it's probably necessary.

When I wake again, I'm alone and I need to see Story. There's a wheelchair by the door with one of those little hook-and-pole situations for the IV, if only I knew how to move the thing one-handed.

Fuck it. Let's try.

Dr. Lia comes in while I'm fiddling with the IV machine, trying to figure out how to move it from the bed to the chair. "Ehi, what are you doing? You stop that."

"Need to see Story."

"Why do you think I am here?" She tsks. "Gli uomini. Così fottutatmente stupidi. Cosa sai? Un cazzo. Standing up, gonna move around by yourself. Gonna ruin all my work to fix you. Cosi fottutatmenta stupidi."

I lay back down—not without relief—and Dr. Lia unlocks the bed's wheels, pushes me out of the room. We don't return to the secret room, this time. Instead, she takes me to another room like mine, just a couple doors down, with a real hospital bed. Every door, I notice, has been kicked in, the frames around the latches splintered. Down the hall, workmen are replacing the frame of a door.

Story is asleep when Dr. Lia rolls me in and positions my bed next to hers with a gestured injunction to keep quiet. I nod and let myself relax, now that I'm with Story. She's in a hospital gown, like me, with monitor leads and IV tubes everywhere. She looks better—she’s got some of her color back. Before, she wasn't asleep; she was unconscious. Not the same thing at all.

This is sleep.

Her hand is small and still against the white sheet. I cover it with mine, let my eyes close.

"Mmm." Her voice is a low, sleepy moan. "Kill?"

"Ssshhh. I'm here."

She moans again, turns her hand so our fingers tangle. "Killy."

"Got you."

"Talked to…Mom'n…Mom'n Dad. On…th’way."

“Okay, good. Means we'll be going home soon."

"Mmm. Home soon." Her sleepy blue eyes find mine. "You'n me. Home…t'gether. 'Kay?"

"Wherever you are is home, honey."