The rubber wheel beneath e continue to move quickly and silently down the hallway, bumping up and down as if we're going over thresholds on our way into rooms then out of them, going faster and faster, as if there's a definite destination where I'll end up.

Who's pushing me?

It's still pitch black out. As I pass doorways, silvers of moonlight shine through the windows. Is everyone sleeping? Am I the only patient aware of what's going on? In the distance I hear scurrying of feet. Someone call out something about a generator, the control room, but it's like background sound and I can't make it out. If my head didn't hurt so much I would turn back and look behind me, but I'm burning up and ready to pass out.

My leg is throbbing, only I don't think of that now. I'm out of here, away from the bright light, the blue tray with the steel instruments. the sharp knives, the hardware meant to slice people open and take out their insides and cut off their legs. Knives that can cut into your soul. And ruin your life.

Forever.

Something has changed, but what? Am I sleeping? Dreaming? Or dead? It feels like the atmospheric pressure is different and we're flying over the clouds. I'm a balloon being lifted with helium so I can rise and float over the universe. It's not as scary now. Nothing bad can happen to me. Has someone given me anesthesia? Am I going to sleep? What is it? What has changed?

Yoongi? The figs?

Immediately I reach inside my hospital gown and buried inside it, around my neck, is the chain. I follow it until I reach the charm. Still there. They haven't taken it from me. They probably missed it.

I close my hand around it, and then I realize that my arms are free. When did that happen?

It feels like Yoongi's near me. I knew he would keep me safe. It was him, or at least his power. He gave it to me, he helped me. Somehow he knew. Nothing bad can happen to me when I'm wearing it, when Yoongi's watching out.

Do you hear my thoughts? Do you know what's happening? A silent voice inside my head asks him.

I feel myself smiling just before I slip back into unconsciousness.

° ° ° ° °

I stare out a window.

Night.

The moon. The hospital room, I'm back there again. My heart starts to quicken. Did I have the surgery? Machines are attached to me again and I jerk my head up. Omo, please, please, please, I don't want to spend my life in a wheelchair. I don't want to have one leg and have people pity me. I feel beneath the sheet and then I stare down and see my toes. All of them. I lie back again and exhale. Was it all a nightmare?

The soft beeps of the machines are everywhere. Does that mean there's power again? Then I remember the blackout. People yelling out orders.

"Why didn't the generator kick in?" I heard someone say. "What if we were in the middle of the operation?"

I would have been dead.

I would have been bled to death.

I rest my head back on the pillow. From behind me in the darkness something moves.

"Who's there?"

Nothing.

Seconds go by and no one answers. I think of Irene's house, the ghosts. It couldn't be, please.

"Who's there?" I say louder. "Please." My voice cracks. Not the ghosts. I can't stand the idea of their moans, the damp fingers that reach out to touch me. I startle when a figure steps from the dark. A hand touches my shoulder.

"Me," he whispers. "Jungkook."

He steps around to the side of the bed and looks down at me. He has a light beard and shadows under his eyes. the air around me seems filled with his sweet scent.

"I'm glad you're here." I reach my arm out and he takes my hand in his. It's solid. "I'm glad you're here."

He smiles. "You already said that."

It must be the medicine. Or him. I can't think straight. He eclipses my sanity.

There's a chair next to the bed and I lift my chin toward it. "Sit, please." I study the way his black T-shirt outlines his lean, hard chest. He sinks down and leans back, closing his eyes, his hand tightly wrapped around mine. I watch him. Is he asleep? As if in answer he opens his eyes. he looks at me and then turns and studies all the machines. Does he understand them? Can he read the patterns? He shakes his head slightly in disbelief.

"The day before yesterday you were sitting on the beach sketching . . ." he says, almost to himself, in a hoarse whisper.

"Do you know what happened to me?"

He looks at me and then looks away.

"What?"

"You almost drowned."

"Tell me what happened. Please. My mind's all fuzzy. I can't remember anything clearly."

He bites his lips, but doesn't say anything.

"You saved me. It was you, right?"

He doesn't say no.

"I know it was. How did you find me? How did you know?" All I can remember is being angry with him. I wanted to swim and get cool. I'm overwhelmed with guilt for all the horrible, awful things I thought about him. All the blame. If he knew, he wouldn't look at me.

"You were calling, yelling out for help."

"but no one came. I thought I would die." I remember that now. "How did you hear me?"

"Shhh," he says, withdrawing his hand from mine. He leans over me and lightly places his hands over the blanket. I study the bracelet that he wears wrapped around his wrist and realize for the first time that there's an animal tooth of some kind attached to it. But then I looked closer. it's not an animal tooth - it's a figa. It's made out of clear crystal - the exact duplicate of the one Yoongi gave to me. I'm about to ask him about it when I feel a deep, comforting wave of warmth spreading over me, like stepping into a hot bath on a cold, winter day. He closes his eyes. Is he sleeping? Praying? He keeps his hands there and  breathes harder as though it's an effort that takes off his strength. I watch his jaw. His muscles tense. His hands reach up to the top of my head. Slowly, he begins to massage my scalp. He leans closer, his warm breath on my forehead.

And then a nurse comes in. She looks at him curiously.

He pulls back casually and looks up at her, wide-eyed, but there's a pulsing under his jaw.

"She has to get some sleep," she says. She shakes her head disapprovingly.

"I'll leave in a minute."

She stares at him, waiting.

"A minute," he insists, his jaw tense. He stares back, unflinching.

She walks out and his face relaxes. He leans over me again, touching my leg now and leaving his hands there. Is it my imagination, or do I feel the blood pulsing through his fingers as a healing energy seems to flow between us like an invisible transfusion of strength?

Only, that's crazy, it can't be.

He bows his head, finally dropping his head into his hands. He looks exhausted from the effort.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry. It was my fault."

"What was? You saved me."

"I should have known," he insists. He gets up and looks at me as though he'd done something wrong, something he has to be forgiven for. "You don't understand, of course," he says, "but it's okay." He heads for the door. "I'll come tomorrow."

"Jungkook, wait," I call as the nurse comes in again.

"How did you know? I mean, I was underwater, so how could you hear me?" He turns back to me, studying me for a moment.

"I hear your heart," he whispers, as he disappears through the door.

"What?" I say, almost to myself.

I look at the nurse, who's checking my IV. "Did he say what I think he did?"

She studies me curiously and shrugs. "He didn't say anything," she says. "Not that I heard."