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private rooms,
she wondered if she might be a little crazy. After all, she
thought, what was she doing here stalking some poor injured
patient? She looked silently down the hall towards his room.
Perhaps, she reflected, it would be better if I just turned around
now. She was tired anyway; she really didn’t have time for crazy
adventures. Her father was home too, and he would be expecting her.
By the time she decided that she should probably head home, she
realized that she was standing in front of the door to his room.
She didn’t even remember walking down the hall.
    She looked at the name card on the side of
the door; Collin Sykes. This was definitely the right room. She
gently pushed the door open, hoping not to disturb him if he was
still sleeping; it was still quite early in the morning.
    The walls were painted a cheerful blue. It
reminded her of a spring day after months of winter, when the sun
first comes up in the morning. It wasn’t a hospital color at all.
There was a large vinyl reclining chair on one side, a television
set mounted to the ceiling. The television set was silent, but
turned on. It looked like it might be tuned to CNN or some other
news channel. There was also a rolling table that was pushed away
from the bed, but within easy reach. There was a tray on the table
with a half-eaten breakfast. It looked like Collin had chosen eggs
for breakfast, scrambled. There was a half-finished glass of orange
juice, and a fruit cup with everything eaten but the pineapple
chunks. She also noticed something missing. It took her a moment to
realize there were no cards, no flowers, no balloons; nothing to
wish him well.
    As she stepped into the room, he was lying on
the bed facing away from the door, either sleeping, or looking out
the window at the city beyond. There wasn’t much of a view here.
She tried to close the door soundlessly, but it made a small click
as she let it close.
    “Please,” he moaned. “No more. I feel fine. I
swear. I don’t need anyone poking me with needles or taking my
temperature. Just go away.” His voice washed over her, making her
feel faint. He had a tenor voice with a muddled possibly European
accent, though she couldn’t place the country. She thought that it
sounded a bit British, but some of the words seemed to have more of
a Mediterranean accent; perhaps French, or Italian, definitely not
Cajun. It was subtle, not pronounced, but enough to give his voice
an alluring, exotic quality.
    “Um, hi,” Jewell said timidly by way of
introduction. “I’m not one of your attending nurses. My name is
Jewell; I work downstairs in the ER. I was there when you came in
the other night.”
    He was silent for a long time. She thought
that maybe he wasn’t interested in visitors so she turned to leave.
She knew this was a stupid idea anyway. Her heart sank, but in her
head, she knew this was for the best. She was acting like some
infatuated teenager. She reached for the door to leave.
    “Wait.” His plea made her heart flutter and
her knees go weak. “It was you that came to see me in ICU.” It was
a statement, not a question.
    She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
How could he possibly know that? He was in a coma when she saw him
last. “Well, yes, but I’m sure that a lot of nurses came to see you
when you were in ICU.”
    “Yes, but you…” he paused, looking for the
right word. “You felt different. I can feel you that way now.”
    “You felt me?” She had turned back towards
him, but his back was still to her, still looking out the
window.
    “Maybe felt isn’t the right word. Have you
ever been sitting in a room with your back to the door, and all of
a sudden you know that someone is right behind you, even though you
didn’t hear them come in? It was like that, sort of. Well, that’s
still not exactly it, but it’s the same now. You only came in one
time. I could feel you watching me. Not like you were checking my
injuries, but like you were looking at