Light filtering through her eyelids appeared red to Darcy. She couldn’t make sense of it. She could feel her arms and legs, but she couldn’t make them move. She could feel motion, though. And there was noise. She slowly moved her head from left to right and back again, plastic pillow crinkling underneath.
Darcy’s eyes fluttered open as the fog began to lift. She watched ceiling tiles scroll slowly above her as the noise separated into voices. One sounded very close.
“It looks like she’s waking up. Darcy? You’re in the hospital now. You’re okay.”
Hospital? Something must have happened. Was she in an accident? Why couldn’t she move? She closed her eyes again and sifted through her hazy memories. A collection of silent snapshots floated up to her awareness.
Three friends perched on barstools, laughing, drinking. A rare ladies night out.
Cab ride home, late, she’d get her car tomorrow.
Master bathroom, toothbrush, Ambien, did she take it already? Better be safe.
Dark bedroom, one sleeping body, hers. David comes home tomorrow. Her gun rests, unseen, in the nightstand.
The voice intrudes on her reverie. “Here we are, Darcy. Exam room two. You can rest on the gurney for now, just until the doctor sees you.”
Thick cobwebs stretched between her tongue and the roof of her mouth as she forced the words out, “I can’t move.”
“It’s for your own safety. Just rest now and the doctor will see you soon.” The door failed to latch as he exited.
Voices drifted through the opening as she closed her eyes and tried to remember.
“Poor bastard caught an earlier flight and surprised her. When the cops got there she was incoherent from the meds and booze. It was too late.”
Another snapshot appeared. Shadowy intruder, gunshot, screams.