Every minute in the hospital had felt like torture. They'd tell me to rest, but would wake me up every few hours to give me medication. The medication would make my mind fuzzy, and my thoughts would drift as exhaustion and stress pulled me into a disturbed sleep filled with too many dreams. When I had a moment of clarity, I'd called Detective Gray and told him my switching note theory. He'd said he'd look into it. I looked forward to sleeping in my own bed and to more intimate time with Ash. He'd spent most evenings by my side, using his charm to get around visiting hours. But there were certain things you just couldn't do in a hospital. The doctor, a middle-aged woman with greying hair and kind eyes, handed me a stack of discharge papers. "Someone has to keep you company at all times to make sure you aren't suffering any more concussion symptoms." "What about work? School?" Already dressed in clothes Bridgette had brought me, I was ready to get the hell out of there.
