At first, he thought he had gone blind. There was only darkness. Then he realized his eyes were closed, but when he tried to open them, he failed. He could hear voices speaking in hushed whispers; an urgency in some of them, the rustle of clothing, shoes squeaking on polished tile floors. And other strange sounds encircled him. Beeping noises. Alarms ringing. Something that was making whooshing and sucking noises.

The sharp smell of disinfectant was heavy in the air: that and something else, something tangy and coppery. An odor Rob had never smelled before. It was foul.

He tried to lift his arms but couldn’t. He tried to move his legs, but they held fast. He opened his mouth to scream, but there was something stuck in his throat.

The panic rose in him, choking him. He felt the need to breathe but was afraid he couldn't with his throat clogged. He started thrashing around in the bed he was strapped to. He made guttural sounds, trying to scream for help. The tears rolled from his eyes and down to the starched pillow.

“Hey, hey,” a female voice said. “We’ll have none of that.”

He hadn’t heard her approach. When she drew close enough, he reached out a hand and found her uniform, started pulling on it, trying to bring her closer.

“Stop, Mr. Starre,” she said, grasping his hand, forcing him to let go of her. “You’re only making things worse for yourself.”

Rob felt her touch his eyes, felt her remove something that was holding them down. He opened them, then closed them immediately, making the guttural sound from his throat.

“Too bright? Let me fix that.”

He could see the room darken through his closed eyelids. Slowly he opened them.

“You’re in the emergency room,” she explained as she closed the curtain on the window. She was dressed in a white uniform. Her brown hair was pinned up on top of her head and showed streaks of gray. She wore no make-up. Rob could hear her pantyhose swish on her thighs as she walked. “You were brought in with an overdose. Right now, you are intubated because you weren’t breathing on your own.” She turned around and looked him in the eye. “You almost died, Mr. Starre.”

Rob touched the tube that disappeared into his throat.

The nurse nodded. “Yes, that’s what that is. There’s no need to panic.”

Both of his hands and feet were strapped down. He could see the bag of fluid hanging near his bed. The fluid flowed into the needle inserted in his hand.

He shook his head, trying to point at the straps holding him down and the tube in his throat.

The nurse gazed down at him, the sympathy plain on her face. “I’m sorry, I can’t do anything about that. You’ll have to wait for the doctor. He should be in soon. You just need to relax.” She picked up the remote and turned the television on, lowering the volume. “There, that’s better.”

The guttural sounds came from Rob again as he tried to speak.

“Don’t do that,” the nurse stepped closer, gently lifting his head and fluffing his pillow. “If you keep that up, you won’t be talking to anyone because you’ll ruin your voice. You need to stop fussing. Your doctor will be in soon, and he’ll remove the ventilator.”

After straightening his blanket and checking his IV, the nurse flashed a quick smile and left.

Terror flashed in his eyes. Could he ruin his voice? His voice was everything. He had a contract to fulfill. He couldn’t lose his voice. He couldn’t stay here. He was leaving to go on tour. Right now, he didn’t even know what day it was.

Rob started thrashing about in the bed again, trying to loosen the straps. The tears streamed from his eyes, making his nose run. With the tube in his throat and his nose clogged with mucus, he thought he would surely suffocate. Panic set in and now controlled him.

He was dripping sweat. His sheets grew damp beneath him. He was exhausted and ready to cry when the curtain was pulled aside.

“Oh, Rob!” Lucy cried, rushing to the side of his bed. “Look at you. You’re soaking wet.”

The guttural sounds returned. Rob’s eyes greedily drank in the sight of her. He tried to say her name, but it was no use. Instead, he raised his fingers to her.

She took his hand. She lowered her face to his and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Rob. You won’t be in here much longer. I’m getting you out of here.”

Rob started to cry again. He tried to talk, to tell her how grateful he was.

“Shh, baby,” she smoothed his hair from his forehead, leaving her cool hand resting in place. “Don’t try to talk. I don’t know why you did it, Rob, and I promise not to hound you about it. I just hope it wasn’t my fault.”

Rob rolled his head back and forth on the pillow.

“I’m glad. Do you know why you did it?”

Rob shrugged his shoulders, then rolled his head back and forth again.

“It’s okay. We can talk about it when you get out of here.” Lucy placed a hand on his face and caressed his cheek. “I’m going to run by your place and get some clothes for you. As soon as they get all of these tubes out of you, I’m taking you home.”

Rob gave her a grateful blink with his eyes.

“I love you, too, baby,” she whispered, kissing his cheek one last time. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

# # #

Rob waited for Lucy to come back, waited for Lucy to bring his clothes, waited for Lucy to rescue him from this place. It seemed like he had been waiting for a very long time.

He was waiting for someone to remove the IV and the tube down his throat. Waiting, waiting, waiting. He was getting tired of waiting.

He had started to worry.  He needed to find out if he screwed up his tour or if he screwed up his entire career. He couldn’t even ask what day it was since he couldn’t friggin talk.

Rob heard footsteps approaching his emergency room cubicle. He hoped it was Lucy. Where was she? But the next person to pull the curtain aside was a doctor.

“Hello, Rob,” the doctor said. “Are you ready to get off that thing?”

He blinked. He was more than ready.

“All right. Let’s get you comfortable.” He moved closer to the bed and used the call button. “We need to get some help in here,” he explained.

It was a different nurse this time. This one was pencil-thin with blonde hair that she wore in French braids. She wore glasses, the kind that didn't have frames. The kind that made a person look like they weren’t wearing glasses.

“Let’s get Mr. Starre propped up. He wants his tube removed,” the doctor tilted his head at Rob.

She nodded, walked to the bed, and pushed the button at the head of the bed to raise it. Her hands were slender with long fingers. She helped him up to a sitting position. “How’s that?” she asked, her voice thin and wispy.

Rob blinked his eyes, letting her know it was fine.

The nurse used two fingers to pull the tape holding the tube in Rob’s mouth. It stung a little. Using a small suction tool, she cleared debris left behind by the medical tape. The small cuff built into the ETT was deflated.

Rob’s eyes watched the doctor.

“I want you to take a deep breath and then exhale long and hard, Rob,” the doctor instructed. “This is going to be a bit unpleasant but not painful. Ready?”

He took a deep breath, then blew it out as hard as he could. Simultaneously, the doctor took the end of the tube and gently pulled it from his mouth.

Rob stiffened. At first, he couldn’t breathe. He turned his terror-filled eyes to the doctor.

“Relax, Rob,” the doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have to relax. I need you to cough.”

He couldn’t do it. He knew he was going to die.

“Rob!” the doctor raised his voice. “Stop panicking. Everything is fine. If you cough, then you’ll be able to breathe on your own.”

Rob coughed, then he started to breathe.

# # #

The wheelchair he sat in was uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to leave the window where he perched at the end of the hall. The view of the parking lot was perfect, and he could watch each car as it came and went. There were many. Buicks, Toyotas, Cadillacs. He even saw a Hummer (he didn't know anyone still drove those gas hogs), but Lucy’s car never came.

He waited. And waited. Then waited some more. He wished he had his cell phone. All his contacts' phone numbers were stored there, and he was helpless without them. He wished Lucy would come, or at least call. He didn’t know how long she’d been gone, but he did know it had been a while. The sun was high in the sky when she left to get his clothes. It would be sliding into the Pacific Ocean soon.

It was growing dark outside when Rob finally gave up and wheeled himself back to his room. Something must have happened for her not to come back. Something not good. Something horrible. The rock in his stomach let him know that it was still there, and he leaned forward in the wheelchair, letting his chest rest on his knees. It helped ease the gnawing sensation the rock caused when it rumbled deep in his stomach.

It happened suddenly. The hospital intercom came to life with gibberish that Rob didn’t understand. He forced himself to sit up straight as nurses and doctors rushed past him, the doctors’ white coats flying behind them, the nurses in pursuit, their white shoes squeaking on the tile floor as they ran.

An orderly stopped behind Robs’ wheelchair and started to wheel him toward his room. “Let’s move you out of the way. I don’t think you want to be trampled by this stampede.”

“What’s going on?” Rob turned in the chair and glanced up at the orderly.

The orderly was a monster of a man. Rob gauged him over six feet and must have weighed in at 300 pounds of all muscle. When he smiled down at Rob, his teeth were bright against his dark face.

“Bus crash,” the orderly answered. “Happened a little while ago. EMTs are just now bringing in the people that were seriously injured. I guess it was bad. A lot of people hurt. A lot of people were killed. They had to use the Jaws of Life to get most of ‘em out.”

Rob was glad Lucy had a car and never had to take the bus. He was glad, too, that he wasn’t on that bus since that was his only means of transportation.

“I’m DeWayne,” the orderly said. “Everybody just calls me D.

Rob took the big man’s paw that he offered and shook it. “Rob,” he said. “Nice to meet you, D.”

“Ditto, Rob. Need any help getting back in bed?”

Rob glanced at the bed. That was the last place he wanted to be. “Nah, I got this,” he said.

“I guess we got you for another night?”

“It’s starting to look that way. My girlfriend never came back.”

“Oh,” DeWayne grinned. “You don’t think she ran off with someone else, do you?”

Rob chuckled. “Don’t think so. She’s having my baby. I think she might stick around for a while.”

“I can check your chart if you want. See if the doc has anything planned for you.”

“That would be great,” Rob’s hopes rose.

“What’s the last name?”

“Starre.”

DeWayne's eyebrows rose, creasing his dark forehead. “No, shit?”

Rob laughed. “No, shit. Only it’s spelled S.T.A.R.R.E.”

“Ahh,” DeWayne grinned. “Mine’s Coffey, like the drink, only not spelt the same.”

This time Rob roared with laughter. “It’s not,” he said when he could finally speak.

“It is. Some people say that I could pass for John Coffey. What do you think?”

“I think they might be right,” Rob answered.

DeWayne's laughter was still echoing down the hall after he left the room.

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