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against pavement, a vehicle twisting in a manner never intended. As the lights twisted away, his vision returned and he found himself staring into his own confused, eight year old, eyes.
    The car flew from the road, disappearing into the woods. The sound of shattering glass and rending metal tore a gaping wound into the night.
    Gwynn’s eyes opened.
    A foreign ceiling greeted him. Harsh florescent light stung at his eyes.
    Gwynn tried moving his head. The room spun and he fell back against the pillow with pain stabbing at his temples. Feeble attempts at movement revealed his right arm immobilized with restraints.
    “Hello?” His voice sounded dry and hoarse. “Anybody?”
    “I was starting to think you wouldn’t wake up.” A male voice, one Gwynn didn’t recognize, said.
    Trying to respond felt like walking through neck–high mud. The stranger’s words spun around in his mind. Why wouldn’t he wake up?
    “How long have I been sleeping?” Gwynn had a hard time forming the words. They creaked and groaned—their bones old and settled into place.
    The man stepped into sight. He wore the long white coat of a doctor. He studied a clipboard
    “According to this, you’ve been in a coma for four days.”
    “Four days?” Gwynn’s shock sent him straight up, which resulted in yelps of pain and had him retreating back to lying down.
    “Easy, don’t overdo it. From what the chart says, you’ve had a hell of a time.” The man said, his voice warm and full—baritone with hearty low notes. A slight lilt accompanied his words, some accent long abandoned but not forgotten.
    “What happened?” It hurt even to talk. Gwynn wished he had slept longer.
    The stranger pulled a pen light from his pocket and clicked it on. He leaned over and shone the light in Gwynn’s eyes.
    “Do me a favor. I’m going to hold the light in front of you. Follow it with your eyes.”
    The light moved side to side. It stung worse than the fluorescents.
    “Do you remember your name?” The man asked.
    “Gwynn. Gwynn Dormath.”
    The light clicked off and the stranger gave Gwynn a long, probing look. “My name’s Pridament Alcandre. I’m a doctor here at the hospital, though I’m not on your case. When I heard your name, I had to check. I knew your parents years ago. I went to university with your dad. I’ve checked in on you the past couple days, but I haven’t seen them.”
    “They…died. In a car accident.” It didn’t matter how much time passed, admitting his parents were gone still hurt like hell. His physical pain paled in comparison.
    The man, Pridament, swept his hand through his bushy brown hair and let out a remorseful sigh. He gave his short–cropped beard a long, thoughtful stroke. “I’m sorry to hear that. They were wonderful people. So who are you living with now?”
    “My mom’s sister, Jaimie.”
    “Really?” Pridament’s voice rose in surprise. “I didn’t know her, but from what your mom and dad used to say, she didn’t strike me as being very…maternal.”
    Gwynn couldn’t help chuckling. Waves of pain and nausea ripped through him. “Oww. I mean, yeah, she’s not exactly. Still, she’s been great. I’m lucky to have her.”
    “I hope you tell her that.” Pridament said with a parental air.
    Gwynn made a painful shift in the bed, his mind returning to its purpose. “You didn’t answer my question.” Gwynn huffed. “What happened?”
    Concern filled Pridament’s gaze. “You don’t remember any of it?”
    “It’s hazy.” Gwynn tried to search his mind, but his jumbled memories read like a book written backward. Recognizable enough to decipher, but foreign enough that it wouldn’t give up its story without effort.
    “All I know are the sketchy news reports.” Pridament said. He rubbed his temples. “An explosion happened at an abandoned house outside of town. Two teenagers sustained injuries and were taken to hospital. A third person, a homeless man, died. What really happened there,