In The Midnight Of His Heart
By AL BRUNO III
August 31, 1993
Zara's eyes were fearful and bloodshot but at least they were open. The hospital had responded to her awakening by unhooking the respirator but leaving the IV's. Phil sat at her side, listening as the doctor spouted diagnoses, advice and theories. The doctor's pronouncements of aphasic, hemiparesis and sensory loss meant nothing to John. There was something unnatural about all of this. If she were in the wild she would have been dead already, the choicest parts eaten, her flesh reduced to a womb for carrion bugs. As far as John was concerned that might be a mercy compared to the kind of life that was before her.
Phil asked, “Will she be able to talk again?”
“It's still to early to tell...” the doctor began again, eager for the chance to drone on further.
“I have to go.” John said.
Phil glanced at him, “Could you wait until the doctor and I are done talking. I need to talk to you.”
“Sorry. No time. I'm late already.” And with that he was out the door and down the hall before there could be any further protests or questions.
The hallway was bustling with activity, nurses busy with arrivals and departures; the doctors winding their way in and out of rooms, consoling and consulting. John thought to himself that it was just as well he was on his way, Detective Connelly would be coming on shift in another hour and he wanted his answers.