Almost Dead
Prologue
Bayside Hospital
San Francisco, California
Room 316
Friday, February 13
NOW
They think I'm going to die.
I hear it in their whispered words.
They think I can't hear them, but I can, and I'm listening to every single syllable they utter.
"No!" I want to scream. "I'm alive. I'm not giving up. I will fight back."
But I can't speak.
Can't utter one damned word.
My voice is stilled, just as my eyes won't open. Try as I might, I can't lift the lids.
All I know is that I'm lying in a hospital bed, and I know that I'm barely alive. I hear the whispers, the
comments, the soft-soled shoes on the floor. Everyone thinks I'm in a coma, unable to hear them, to
respond, but I know what's going on. I just can't move, can't communicate. Somehow, I have to let them
know. My condition is bad, they claim. I understand the terms ruptured spleen, broken pelvis, concussion,
brain trauma, but, damn it, I can hear them! I feel the stretch of skin at the back of my hand where the IV
pulls; smell the scents of perfume, medicine, and resignation. The stethoscope is ice cold, the blood
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