Every one of the girl’s muscles seemed to contract. Her back lifted off the mattress.
An erratic sequence of pulses scrolled across the screen of the heart monitor. Over the course of the next five seconds, the irregular peaks settled into a steady pattern.
The doctor exhaled the breath he had been holding. “We’ve got a regular pulse,” he announced. “Well done, everybody.”
The woman returned the paddles to the carry case. “All in a day’s—or should I say a night’s—work. We’ll hang around for a few more minutes just to be sure.”
“Thanks,” the doctor said. “I better write this up.”
He was halfway to the workstation when a voice stopped him in his tracks. “Doctor, I think you should see this.”
The crash team nurse who had adjusted the machine gestured towards the girl. At first, the doctor couldn’t identify the subject of her interest. The woman pointed again. “Look. Her fingers are moving.”
The man frowned and studied the patient’s left hand. As he watched, her forefinger twitched. “But that’s ...”
His voice tailed off. For the second time that night, he retrieved the torch. He lifted an eyelid and swept the beam across the girl’s eye. The pupil at the centre of the flecked brown iris contracted in size. With mounting excitement, he repeated the process on the other eye and observed the same reaction.
“I’m not sure I quite believe it, but there’s a pupillary response. I checked her myself when the alarm went off, and there was definitely nothing then. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was regaining consciousness.”
All attention focused on the girl. She burst into a fit of coughing. Her eyes blinked open, jittering from side to side in panic. She gagged, and her hands shot up to grasp the doctor’s arm.
“Just try to relax,” he said. “Take deep breaths. Nurse, will you bring some water please?”
The patient met his sympathetic gaze. He raised her head, accepted the proffered glass and tilted it to her mouth.
“Little sips only.”
Gradually the coughing fit subsided. She sank onto the pillow.
“Welcome back to the world of the living,” the doctor said. “Can you understand me?”
After several seconds, she nodded.
“I’m afraid your throat will be sore for a few days, but we’ll administer painkillers to help with that.”
The girl glanced around at her surroundings. “Where—?” she rasped. The question morphed into another cough.
“You’re in hospital. You’ve been here for ...” He shot a look at the woman standing opposite. “... well, for a while. It’s probably best if you don’t try to talk for the moment. I’m just going to give you a quick check over.”
He turned his attention to the heart monitor. The girl’s eyes followed him. The display indicated a regular cyclic pattern. Next, he grabbed the stethoscope from the pocket of his white coat and held it to her chest. He angled his head as he focused on the sound of her breathing.
After a moment, he met the teenager’s anxious gaze. “Well, everything sounds normal. Does it hurt anywhere? Just point if it does.”
Her hand moved to the area of skin where the faint pink outline of the defibrillator paddle stood out.
“Yes, that’s going to be painful for a day or two. It’s where they placed the machine that restarted your heart. We can put some cream on it that should help.”
The girl’s face clouded in bewilderment.
“Your heart stopped for a few seconds, but we managed to get it started again.”
“Not that.” The words came out as a coarse whisper. She tilted her head to one side and studied the doctor from the corner of her eye. Her hand rose shakily and pointed to a spot behind him. “Colours,” she croaked.
A look of confusion spread across the doctor’s face. “Did you say colours? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Flickering colours.” The girl repeated the same process, inspecting each of the nurses in turn. “You too.”
“You’re telling me you can see flickering colours?”
She nodded.
The man hesitated. “You’ve been in a coma for quite some time. It may take a while for things to ...”
He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. The soles of the newcomer’s shoes squeaked on the floor. She was in her mid-forties judging by the grey streaks in her dark, shoulder-length hair. The black skirt and navy-blue cardigan reminded him of a mourner at a funeral. The woman’s tense expression reinforced the overall impression.
“You can’t come in here,” he said. His gaze wandered from her face to the identity badge on her chest. The name tag read Sophie Becker in large text alongside a slightly blurred photograph.
“Is she dead?” The woman ignored the doctor’s statement and approached the bed. “I saw the call for the crash cart on the system and—”
“Who are you?” the doctor asked, but he had already guessed the answer.
She covered her mouth at the sight of the girl’s open eyes staring back at her.
“Mum?” the girl rasped.
The woman lowered her hand and stepped forwards. “Annalise, darling, you’re awake.”
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