No, he felt like he’d been to hell. And come back. And perhaps gone again, just because it hadn’t been hot enough the first time. He had no idea how long he’d been sick. A day, maybe? Two? The fever had started . . . Tuesday? Yes, Tuesday, although that didn’t really signify, as he had no idea what day it was now. Or night. He thought it might be night. It seemed dark, and—God damn, it was hot. Truly, it was difficult to think of anything other than the overwhelming heat. Maybe he’d been to hell and then brought the whole damned place back with him. Or maybe he still was in hell, although if so, the beds were certainly comfortable. Which did seem to contradict everything he’d learned in church. He yawned, stretching his neck to the left and the right before settling his head back into his pillow. He knew this pillow. It was soft, and goosedown, and just the right thickness.
