“Thanks for trying to impress me!” she whispered with a wry smile. Intoxicated with desire, her pupils widened and searched for his. John broke his search for a cab and looked down in response, unexpectedly disoriented by the strength of her gaze. She lowered her heels, careful not to break eye contact.
“I’m doing standup comedy next week,” he joked, raising a smile from her as he lowered his head slowly so his lips could meet with hers.
They continued their unbreakable stare, his lips almost upon hers. She could feel her heart racing. All their exchanges of casual conversation and all her amateurish flirting had led to this one, dramatic moment. It would be a moment never to be repeated, though often longed for. Her eyes darted over the features of his face, each time coming back to his eyes, which had once again settled on hers. Hopes for love and happiness flashed through her mind and her body shivered in excited expectation of that magical first kiss. She moved her lips closer, and they tingled in anticipation of a union with his.
In her peripheral vision, through half-closed eyes, she saw the blur of a fast-approaching figure. She was reluctant, at first, to acknowledge the threat, even dismissive of it, but then instinct took over. She turned her head. Surprise, then horror, crossed her features as she saw that a hooded figure, all in black, was nearly upon them. John followed her line of sight, eyes widening as he realized the implications.
His attempt to turn his body to shield her came too late.
The impact threw her, robbing her of breath . . .
Jennifer’s eyelids trembled, and her legs twitched violently. Her mind, charged with adrenaline, processed the images that had played out before her as she was thrown backward: the vicious slash of the steel blade across John’s stomach, its bloody exit, John doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach and dropping to his knees, his wrenching screams of agony.
Her eyelids flicked open and her lips parted with a gasp of astonishment. For a split second, in her transition to wakefulness, she saw clearly the lower half of the attacker’s face—just long enough to notice that his expression conflicted with what she would have expected. She saw signs of surprise, maybe even remorse.
Her breathlessness slowly gave way to a deepening sense of relief as she realized she was awake and her eyesight was returning. Gradually, she was able to focus on and register objects. The first images were blurred and unclear. Bit by bit, she was able to make out the shape of a door, the walls, then more and more detail. She could see the corridor and other rooms through the glazed panels of her room. All was still. The only sounds to be heard were of labored breathing from the patients and the beeping of monitoring equipment.
The light in the corridor seemed different now, as if it had been bathed in a pallid moonglow with an orange tint. It was becoming brighter and had now seeped into her room, its source approaching from her left. Focusing her eyes, she let out a silent gasp as she started to distinguish a human-shaped form at the center of the orange radiance. She closed her eyes, hoping she had imagined what she had just seen, but the glow persisted, penetrating her eyelids with increasing intensity.
Lying motionless, heartbeat quickening, she realized that whatever it was must be right in front of her. It took all her resolve not to squeeze her eyes shut and tense her frame––they would be clear giveaways. But her fear found another outlet to make itself known, to show her sleep was just a ruse—her brow was rapidly moistening and, soon, drops of sweat would appear.
“Why now? Why you?” sighed a voice.
The words seemed to dance in her head.
“Just when I’d met you.” More sighed words, this time with an unmistakable cadence. “Just when I thought my life was starting, it ended.”
Even through the resigned tone, the voice was familiar, beautiful––soft as silk despite the desperation. It was his voice. Just thinking of his name caused a shiver to race over her, and she suddenly became aware that her body was soaked in sweat. It was uncomfortably real. Was his voice real? She slowly opened her eyes, exposing them to the full intensity of the orange light. It was the orange of a sunset, and Jennifer loved sunsets––the light seemed to make all other colors more vibrant and saturated. But this orange emanated from something as amazing as it was unsettling. John was sitting before her, but it wasn’t the John she knew. The figure had no natural color, no depth, but was immaculate in every detail, right down to the clothes he had been wearing the last time she had seen him.
Her first instinct was to recoil her legs and shrink against the headboard in horror. Minutes passed as she just stared at him, transfixed, involuntarily taking in everything before her. His eyes were like fiery wells and when he blinked, he had the same long lashes as before. The lashes she had imagined other girls swooning over, and before them, his aunts when he was a just a boy.
What she saw had initially frightened her, but the longer she looked at him, the more the vision became compelling, even beautiful. She tried to say something, her desperation to understand now overcoming her fear. There was a gasping sound, and then Jennifer’s voice re-emerged from her dry throat. “John?” she croaked.
“My God, you can see me?” he said in a startled tone.
“Yes!” she confided, equally startled. Her childhood memory of seeing her grandmother on the day she died flashed into her mind. She had never understood what she had
